Final Reflections and Lessons Learned

“And the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.” – T. S. Eliot

Four months ago I set out to see a country I knew nothing about. With college behind me and an uncertain future ahead, I was looking for some time to breathe; to experiment; to take a moment to step outside the path to “success” to see what else might be out there. I wanted to test my mettle as a traveler, and see what it would be like to actually live in a foreign country instead of going through another whirlwind of photo-ops and tourist must-see’s. I wanted to see for myself if a politically unstable or less-developed country is anywhere near as inhospitable as they’re portrayed in the media. I showed up in Venezuela not knowing a soul, wide-eyed and anxious about whether the next four months would be a life-changing experience or a living nightmare. In actuality, it turns out that I had nothing to fear at all.

On my last night in Caracas, as I was eating dinner in the kitchen of a friend’s family, the mother asked me a simple question: What did I learn in Venezuela? I had trouble coming up with an answer at the time, but it’s one worth thinking about. I learned (or rather reaffirmed) that no matter where you go, people are basically the same. Beliefs, customs and values differ, but in every country you will find people kind and rude, curious and indifferent, hospitable and dangerous; and more often than not, people’s attitude toward you tend to mirror your own. I learned that even in the most dangerous city in the world, with common sense, proper guidance and a little luck, you can be perfectly safe and comfortable. I learned first-hand that I can be just fine spending months in a house that lacks AC or internet or at times even running water, subsisting on only one decent meal each day – and in fact, normal people make do with even less all the time. I learned that learning a language is an exercise in patience and humility, and that I’m currently lacking in both. Lastly, on a more personal note, I learned that it’s possible to find more in common with a person who grew up in an entirely different world from you than ones you actually grew up with at home.

The most profound change I sense in myself is my attitude toward the future: to be more specific, toward uncertainty. It’s something I started to realize while traveling on semester at sea, but I’ve become more conscious of it recently. Last week, a friend going on the same voyage this summer asked me for advice about how he should plan his activities in each country. My response was to do as little planning as possible: that the most vivid and memorable experiences always come from the spontaneous, unplanned moments that catch us by surprise. Experience has taught me that it’s true in traveling, and (as with most lessons from the road) it’s also true in a larger context. The most profound experiences that force us to challenge ourselves and grow rarely come from moments when everything is planned in advance or when we can see exactly what is coming our way. It’s when we’re pushed beyond our comfort zones and forced to be creative that life gets really interesting. From bribing my way out of encounters with authorities, to getting locked out of my apartment without a phone or money, or having to improvise an hour-long group lesson on the spot, I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter how unpredictable a situation may be, I can deal with it. That belief has spilled over into other parts of my life, and as a result I’ve become much less anxious about the road ahead. I have no real job prospects and only a little money saved to support me in the months ahead, but I’m not nervous in the way that I used to be – in fact, I now think that a traditional job at this point might do me more harm than good, though that’s another topic in itself.

On my way back to the U.S., I’m curious to see how my perceptions of home will have changed as I readjust to the American lifestyle. Spending time in Latin America has certainly shifted my sense of the dichotomy between luxury and necessity; how what we normally consider as basic living could be so far above the reach of so many. I don’t know that I’ll be able to go back to my old habits and ways of thinking, and I hope won’t. My priorities in life have certainly realigned, and with them my plans for the future.

It’s difficult to aptly sum up my time in Venezuela, but I can say that it was an incredible mixture of fun and excitement with a heavy dose of a reality that most of us in the U.S. aren’t aware of. It was an amazing experience to be sure, and I’m deeply grateful to everyone in Caracas who made it possible. For now, I’m preparing to see my own country in a new light again, and excited to see what life brings next.

Semana Santa

When you move to a foreign country, you can’t help but notice that you bring along more than just the things you packed into your bag or suitcase. When the rush of new experiences subsides and you inevitably settle into the habits and routines of your usual lifestyle – wake up, check e-mail, go to work, eat, surf the web, go to sleep – you might wonder why you left home at all. But once in a while there comes an experience that reminds you all over again how far from home you really are.

When Semana Santa, or Holy Week, came along and gave me a week off from work, I took the chance to see another part of the country with a friend. We started off on an 8-hour journey to the state of Falcon with a half-baked plan to go sandboarding in the dunes of the Coro Desert. 3 hours later though, we found ourselves at a gas station in the middle of nowhere in a car that refused to start. With no AC in the blistering heat, I sat there for a good 30 minutes in the car while my friend went off to look for help. Pretty soon though, some of the attendants at the station came over to see what was wrong. When they couldn’t figure it out, they started calling over other cars that were passing through. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by a group of guys with beers in our hands, cheering as a turn of the key finally brought the engine back to life. Such an insignificant thing, really, but I could never see that happening in New York.

We made it through the rest of the drive in a hurry, not stopping anywhere in fear of the car dying again. We reached the mountains of Sierra San Luis just as the sunlight disappeared, and we made our way through the small villages of scattered dwellings in search of our hostel. There I saw a side of Venezuela I’d never seen before. I thought I’d seen Venezuela's poverty at its worst in the crammed barrios of Caracas, but here were houses literally made of dirt and sticks: patchworks of wood and earth that kept out neither rain nor wind. People walked around holding flashlights as entire towns were without power. Nevertheless, they were kind enough to give us directions to the hostel, which we needed every 5 minutes before finally finding the place.


The next morning, of course, the car was dead again. So we took our time and walked through the villages to find a hiking trail, which led to some awesome caves that we explored for most of the day. The nice Swedish couple that owned the hostel helped us get the car running again, and in the afternoon we made our way to Coro, a small town that sits adjacent to a massive desert. We spent the night in a traveler’s hostel, sharing a dorm room with two Venezuelan guys, a guy from England starting off a one-year tour of South America, and another from Australia who’d just visited Colombia. I’d never stayed in a dorm-style hostel before, but it’s a great place to meet interesting people and get information about where you’re staying.

We finally made it to the desert the next day. Unfortunately we couldn’t find a place renting sandboards, so we just spent some time walking around in the sand dunes. It was a pretty surreal experience that I have a hard time describing, but I think the pictures will speak for themselves. Enjoy them, because they’re the last ones my current camera will ever take – apparently sand and digital cameras don’t mix.

Budget Travel to the Extreme: Ecuador

A few months ago, as I was planning for this trip and driving myself crazy trying to obtain a work visa through Venezuela’s consulate, I decided to just forego the trouble and come without a visa. Though this saved me a ton of work, I had to find a way to extend my stay as a tourist beyond the 90-day limit, which required me to leave the country for a few days. So I went online, looked for the airport with the cheapest round-trip ticket from Caracas, and voila: fast forward a few months and I find myself on a plane to Quito, Ecuador.

Having done a little research before, I was super excited about a few things about Quito: 1.) They use the U.S. dollar as their official currency, which means I could take out dollars from an ATM (which is impossible in Venezuela), and 2.) compared to Caracas, everything is dirt cheap. Just imagine this: a three-night’s stay at a comfortable hostel in the center of the historical district, with my own room equipped with hot water and a TV, cost me a measly $10 a night. With my lodging booked prior to arrival, I felt more or less secure about arriving in a foreign country with only $50 (all the dollars I had left after paying my rent in Caracas) in my wallet and almost nothing in my debit account – unfortunately for me, as I was reading the travel documents while waiting in line at the airport, I discovered that Ecuador charges a slight exit tax for air departures: which happened to come out to $40.80. $50 – $40.80 =… yes, $9.20 – that was my effective budget for a 3-day stay in a country I’ve never been to. So, it turned out that I was a little unprepared. I arrived at the airport tired and uneasy, and I couldn’t help but laugh when I asked for the cost of a taxi to my hostel: $8.00. Great. I tried not to think about the days ahead and focused my energy on finding a bed to fall asleep on for the night.




The next morning I got up and welcomed the sights of a new country. After two months in Caracas, Quito was a breath of fresh air: clean, safe, cool, and most of all, beautiful. Declared a Cultural Heritage Site by UNESCO over 30 years ago, the historical district of this city has been immaculately restored and maintained. The stunning colonial architecture and the colors of the buildings held my attention as I spent the morning wandering through the city. Finally left to fend for myself using Spanish, I was proud to finally be able to ask for directions and recommendations, and order food without any trouble. I sat down for breakfast at a restaurant and ordered the local favorite: seco de chivo, or goat meat, with a side of rice, potatoes, salsa and avocado. Together with a glass of fresh juice, it cost a little over $4.00. After months in a city that charges the equivalent of $10 for a Subway combo, I reflected for a minute on how much easier life would’ve been if I’d found the job here instead. I was too hungry to care about the exit tax so I put it out of mind, paid for the food and hoped it would work out. As it happened, long story short, I was able to have some money transferred to my bank account and get it through the ATM later that day.

The country is named so because of the Spanish word for “equator”, and because of its position it is known as “la mitad del mundo” (the middle of the world). Though only two countries over to the West from Venezuela, the people of Quito look remarkably different. People have been there since the first millennium, and the cultural influences of the indigenous tribes can still be seen despite the centuries of Spanish colonization. The people look the way I’ve always pictured Native Americans, with dark skin and long black hair. They tend to dress very conservatively, and both the men and women wear dark cowboy hats (see picture below). I immediately understood the reason why after I felt the burns all over my face and neck after half a day’s walk under cloudy skies. I spent the rest of the day wandering through the city, admiring the churches, plazas, and the central square. In the afternoon, I toured the basilica where I had cake and coffee in the bell tower while admiring a spectacular view of the city, then leisurely made my way back to the hostel.





Next morning I ventured to leave the city to visit a historical outdoor market, on a friend’s recommendation. The market in Ottavalo is said to be the largest gathering of artisans and vendors in South America, bringing together craftsmen from all over the country as well as curious tourists. I took a two-hour bus ride from Quito, which took me through the mountainside and many small towns. On the way I got to hear a musical performance when a few of the passengers suddenly got up and started playing instruments. Though I was expecting the usual Latin music, they played a folk song using a combination of guitars and an unusual flute – something you might see being played by a mythical creature in Greek mythology. Point is, it was a really cool experience. After arriving in Ottavalo, a small town seemingly in the middle of nowhere, I stopped at a small café and chatted with an elderly couple while drinking coffee – a short conversation, but all in Spanish. Such an insignificant experience, but for me it felt like I’d reached a huge milestone. The market itself was different from what I expected, but still very cool. The market wasn’t in an open area, but built into the streets of the city. For what seemed like half a mile each way, there were tables and stands set up displaying everything from artwork, clothing, souvenirs, toys, and of course, food. I walked for a few hours just browsing through, enjoying the sights and smells. Unfortunately I had just enough money in my pocket to make it back, have dinner and get a taxi to the airport so I wasn’t able to pick up any souvenirs, but it was a great experience.




Not quite satisfied with my day, I left the hostel later that evening to find one more adventure. I walked into a restaurant and, remembering a local’s recommendation, ordered the yaguarlocro. This traditional dish is a creamy soup of potato and, wait for it, tripe (pig intestines) – which apparently is an important ingredient in many traditional dishes in Ecuador. Though I’d never eaten tripe before, I actually enjoyed the soup – it was really rich and creamy, though a little greasy. This restaurant though stepped it up above my comfort level and served it with a side of (according to what I was told) dried chunks of blood that was supposed to be mixed in. I took a small bite for the sake of trying it but mostly left it alone.

yaguarlocro: aka, "blood soup"

The next morning I got up early, caught a taxi to the airport, paid the damn airport tax and made it back to Caracas without a hitch. Even better, immigration didn’t say a word about my visa so I’m all set to stay in Venezuela until May. All things considered, I had an awesome time in Quito and would love to return and see more of the country some day.

The Midpoint

March 9th – wow. I’ve been putting this off for a bit, but already half my time here’s come and gone. Though it’s been about a month since my last post I haven’t done a whole lot to write about aside from the four-day vacation I had for the national holiday, Carnival. I’m not sure if the festivities are related to Brazil’s Carnival, but it’s a bit like our Halloween. People get dressed up in costumes and go out at night, but instead of trick-or-treating they throw water or paint or eggs at strangers. I took advantage of the long weekend to finally get out of the city and visited a friend’s place in Maracay, a smaller town about two hours away. There I was treated to a home-cooked meal and finally got to appreciate Venezuelan food done right. The next day I took a bus through the mountains to a beach called Choroni, which is a favorite destination for Caraqueños on holidays because it’s relatively close to the city. The bus took us from the middle of the city up into the top of the mountain and back down again through narrow roads that were built into the cliffside. The verdant mountain of bamboo and other trees, and the winding one-lane roads and bridges that forced cars and buses to carefully negotiate each pass reminded me of the Hana Highway on Maui. As we passed by small villages the kids would come out chasing after the bus, pelting us with water balloons and on one occasion, what seemed like an industrial-sized hose. My friend and I had to stand for the entire bus ride but I was happy to be traveling local-style, listening to Salsa music and the occasional reggatón or Shakira song that everyone would sing along to. Eventually we arrived to a small beach town that was more reminiscent of Jamaica than the Venezuela I had seen so far. In the beaming sunlight and warm breeze, everyone seemed to move along slowly as they made their way to the beach, stopping by at shops here and there for an empanada or a drink. I drank water from a coconut for the first time in over a decade and remembered how refreshing and amazing the real thing tastes.



We arrived at the beach to find the place overrun with tourists, with a mass of what must’ve been at least 500 people crowded together in little tents alongside the water. Famished, my friend and I sat down at a restaurant where a guy brought a large plate of four or five beautiful fish, still raw and unprepared, looking like they were caught just a few hours prior. After we made our selection he retreated to the kitchen, and not ten minutes later the same fish came back battered and fried along with a salad and a side of fried plantains: the best meal I’d had in a long time. We spent a few hours swimming and enjoying the sun, and though it was packed with people it felt great to swim in the Caribbean again. Compared to Maui the water was cold and the sand rough, but it was a beautiful beach nonetheless. Before it got dark we hopped on a bus back to Maracay and spent the night there. The next day we visited a national park, which unfortunately we were unable to explore because of the national guards stationed there, and ended up at an abandoned biological station that has been left open for years. I always get a kick out of exploring old buildings so that was a great time, though I didn’t get to see much of the park itself aside from a short walk through the jungle near the station.



Since Carnival I’ve mainly stuck to my routine of work during the day, studying Spanish at night, and relaxing with friends during the weekend. I was really disappointed in my progress at a certain point when I had felt that I’d reached the limit of what I could learn just by walking around the city looking at signs and advertisements, and by ordering food or drinks. I’d always thought that just living in a country I could soak up the language easily, but given my job as an English teacher my exposure has been pretty limited – my vocabulary related to pastries, coffee and empanadas however are pretty solid. Since then, by a series of fortunate events I’ve acquired some dictionaries and grammar books that have helped me to continue learning. Because I spend so much time teaching grammar the way I think about language has become much more organized and structured; and when I learn new expressions and vocabulary I can’t help but categorize them using grammar-speak, like “Oh so that’s how you form the present perfect” or “that’s the past participle of the verb” – but anyone trying to teach me hasn’t any clue of what I’m talking about. And while my experience as a language instructor has definitely helped me to learn Spanish, I’ve come to the conclusion that obsessing over grammar rarely leads to positive results. With my students, the ones that learn to converse most quickly and fluidly are not the ones who always complete their grammar exercises or know the terminology; they’re the ones who are unafraid to use what they know to communicate as best they can, without worrying about whether it comes out right. Even though I know that, I still have a really hard time using Spanish with the people I’ve gotten familiar here since they all speak English – it’s incredibly frustrating and difficult to force yourself to spend time trying and failing to piece together sentences when you don’t know the necessary verb or preposition or tense, when you can just use the language you both know. So naturally, my speaking skills have improved little, though my listening and reading comprehension have gotten much better – at least I think so. At the end of this week I’ll be taking a short trip to Ecuador to take advantage of a visa loophole, which will also serve as a real test of how far my Spanish has come. I hope to be able to write on that when I get back.

(Un)Happy 11th Venezuela

Yesterday marked the end of my first month here – it’s strange how quickly time has gone by, but at the same time it feels like years ago when I think about life in New York. It’s been a couple of weeks since my last post and I feel like way too much has happened for me to get everything down properly in one post, but I never have time to write aside from these quiet Sunday evenings so I’ll just see what comes out on this page.

As I’ve mentioned, for better or worse, I unknowingly came to Venezuela at a particularly turbulent time. Though things have always been pretty chaotic here, the sense I get from talking to my students about the present economic and political situation in this country is nothing short of apocalyptic. The 4th of February marked the 11th year since Chavez was inaugurated as president, and the past week has seen a number of marches and protests here in Caracas and throughout the country; some were peaceful, like the one I accidentally got caught up in on my way home from work (see picture), and others violent – in one incident that even showed up on the news online (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/01/28/venezuelan-protests-polic_n_441098.html?igoogle=1), many were injured and even killed when a demonstration got out of control.


It’s been a little unnerving living in the midst of all this, like when I received a text from my boss about a riot taking place nearby while I was teaching a class, or when I saw live videos on the news of protesters engulfed in tear gas in nearby districts. It’s especially painful to think that many of these protests are being led by college students just like myself, whose hopes and dreams of a fulfilling life are being destroyed each day by a government that is running the country into the ground. I’ve never been really active for a political cause and it makes me wonder if I would have the courage to do what they’re doing. It’s disturbing to think about being in their situation - at my age no less - being forced to fight for many of the privileges I take for granted at home: for example, not having to sacrifice the direction of my career for the sake of exercising my right to vote for who I want, or being able to leave the country whenever I please. Though admittedly, my understanding of the situation is superficial, I can’t help but feel that “socialism” here has degenerated into a simple dictatorship. Driving through this city, with its gigantic malls and fast food chains and public works of art, you’d never question that the people here enjoy all of the modern conveniences we do in the US; and in some ways, they do – blackberries and twitter and cosmetic surgery are here for everyone to enjoy (at least those with money). But some of the more fundamental elements that allow a society to function are compromised or missing altogether: things like access to reliable information of events in and out of the country; a stable way to preserve the value of the money you earn; or the incentive or even the means to solve the problems faced by its citizens without relying on a corrupt and ineffective government – problems like double-digit inflation or scarcity of basic necessities like electricity and water. Any organization, whether banks or TV networks or hospitals, that threaten to take power away from the government have been or are in the process of being taken over. A friend told me about how one of the most successful companies in the most critical industry in the country, oil, was overtaken (and subsequently ruined by incompetent government replacements) after a failed strike against the president about ten years ago. Through my job I’ve had the opportunity to speak with students and professionals from all walks of life – executives, accountants, pilots, lawyers, architects, high school students, business majors, designers, petrochemical engineers, economists – and not one of them has uttered a word of praise for Chavez. The question on everyone’s mind now seems to be: “When are things going to change?” But after 11 years of watching their country regress, people here don’t seem to have much optimism for change – only frustration, anger, doubt, and fear.

Sorry for such a depressing entry, but I’ve been wanting to organize my thoughts about everything I’ve learned about this country in the past month. Rest assured, there are plenty of things to enjoy in Venezuela and I’ve managed to have an amazing time so far. But this experience has already been worth the time just for the perspective I’ve gained on my own country, and how much more I can appreciate the life I have waiting for me once I return. Hopefully I can write soon about the more positive experiences I’ve had lately. Thanks for reading, I’d love to hear from you!

Rapido Corren los Carros

There’s nothing like the first few weeks in a new country. Every sight, sound, smell and taste is new, exotic; the most ordinary tasks like catching the bus or ordering breakfast is an unpredictable and challenging event. It’s a lot like being a five-year old again: you can’t go anywhere or find anything without help from others, and attempts at communication are generally met with confusion and at times, amusement.

Time has flown by since I finished training and started a regular schedule at work. Now, at the end of my second week here, I finally feel like I’ve found a sense of rhythm and a certain level of comfort with my day-to-day life. I usually get up at about six in the morning and take the metro downtown, grabbing a pastry on the way before getting to work around 7 or 7:30, depending on where my class is scheduled. Like I said, many of my classes are one-on-one at large businesses, so I’ve had to figure out how to get to different parts of the city using the bus or the train. I’m lucky that this job forces me to get out of the center, where I’m surrounded by English speakers, and fend for myself in navigating the city. After getting lost about a half-dozen times I’ve become pretty confident about getting around here. My work day is totally dependent on when my classes are booked, so it can end anywhere from 1 to 9:30pm. So aside from the weekend my job has taken up most of my time, but I’ve managed to have a few interesting experiences anyway.

- On Monday morning, after refusing to even think about work over the weekend, I woke up to realize that I hadn’t prepared a thing for my first solo assignment at a bank that I had no idea how to get to. I went to the center extra early to try and piece together a lesson but got there to find the place still locked. While waiting for the other teachers to come I put together a make-shift lesson plan in my head, and then about 10 minutes before the appointment I was told by another teacher that the place was about 30 minutes away by train. Out of desperation I ran out to the street and hailed down a motorcycle taxi, who after looking at the address I scribbled down in my notebook handed me a helmet and told me to get on. Having never been on a motorcycle I clutched onto the guy as hard as I could with a bear hug (despite the fact that he was shouting at me to let go the whole time), while he weaved through cars on the highway at ridiculous speeds. I got there 20 minutes late to find that my student was also late, and avoided being caught unprepared by listening to his excuses until our time ended. As an added bonus I think I’ve gained some serious street cred – local people’s reactions to my moto-taxi experience have ranged from bursts of laughter to serious concern.
- During the weekend I went along with Augusto, my padrino (assigned buddy in AIESEC), and a few others from the club to a birthday party. The place was full of exchange interns from abroad and I had an amazing time – the local students dragged me to the dance floor and took turns teaching me salsa and meringue, and we danced until six in the morning.
- I finally worked up the nerve to try the infamous perro caliente (hot dog) from a street vendor. Though my stomach has a pretty impressive track record of avoiding traveler’s diarrhea in sketchy countries, it finally met its match here in Venezuela; for the first week I could only stomach about half of a normal meal. But after a week I felt confident enough to try the street food. The hot dogs here are loaded with about five different condiments and some kind of crispy potato chip, and on the stand there’s an assortment of about a dozen different sauces that people douse it with. It turned out to be pretty good and I think my stomach’s toughened up a bit more.
- Yesterday I went to a party at a co-worker’s place, and we spent the night drinking and listening to music by the pool until we crashed on the couch at five in the morning. We got up, made breakfast together, hung out at the pool until we got hungry again, then spent an hour making another meal. We spent the evening eating outside while admiring the view of the city from about 12 floors up. No one besides my friend from work spoke much English but I had an amazing day with them. I discovered some shared tastes in music, learned some new phrases, and even managed to convince them to jump off of a concrete platform above the pool while satisfying my jumping quota for Venezuela.

[view of the city from my friend's apartment]

After two weeks here, I’ve been pretty happy about my progress in Spanish. Though I still can’t really form sentences beyond “Hi, my name is…”, “I’m hungry,” and “What is that?”, my vocabulary and listening comprehension has been improving quickly. If people are speaking slowly I can usually figure out the topic of their conversation and I can also make sense of most signs and advertisements on the street. Today I was watching TV at my friend’s place with English subtitles, and was amazed at how many new phrases and words I picked up. I’m planning on adding movies with subtitles in my study routine in the future. The hardest part so far is dealing with the "rr" sound, which isn't in the English language but is in almost every sentence in Spanish. My friend suggested I try saying "Rapido Corren los Carros" (rolling your tongue with each "rr") for practice.

That’s all for now. I’m having a great time here and I couldn't be happier about coming. Hope everyone's well at home.

Cold Showers and the Present Perfect

[picture: view of Caracas from Mt. Avila]

Yesterday marked the end of my first week here, and I still haven’t found the time to even write about where I’m living or working, much less what I’ve been up to. Keeping up with a blog while traveling can be such a hassle but it really is worth the effort – it regularly forces you to think back on the things you’ve done and once it’s complete, it’s really a great memento of your experiences after going home.

Even though I expected the worst, I wasn’t quire prepared for the living situation here in Caracas. I’m staying in a single room on the floor above my host family, sharing a common kitchen and bathroom with a few other residents. Not only is the tap water undrinkable and hot water non-existent (yeah, even in the shower), the government had this awesome idea to save money by shutting off the water on the weekends. There were also talks of shutting off the electricity for four hours at a time every other day, but luckily they didn’t go through with it. (Turns out I arrived just in time for a pretty dramatic change in the local currency’s valuation, which is leading to fluctuations in the prices of daily goods. there's also been a lot of problems in energy and utilities, but I’ll talk more about that later). So my daily routine, after the first few soul-crushing experiences of taking a cold shower at six in the morning, includes heating up water in pots in the kitchen before showering and boiling water so I have something to drink. Security is a major concern in this city: though I live in the center of Caracas, which is considered to be much safer than the Eastern or Western ends, it’s not uncommon to have three or four gates/doors separating the street from the inside of a home, which is the case with my place. The fact that I need four different keys to enter my apartment from outside is both comforting and disturbing at the same time. On a brighter side, the family downstairs has been incredibly welcoming and warm. Vicky, my landlady who speaks zero English, lives with her husband, two daughters and grandson. Fortunately for me one of the daughters, Alkris, speaks a little bit of English so she helps me communicate when I need something.

As for my job, I’m working at a surprisingly nice building in the middle of the financial district downtown. I accepted a job at the Wall Street Institute as an English teacher without knowing much about the place, but it turns out it’s a pretty legitimate business. They’re one of the biggest global English-teaching franchises, and they cater to large corporations that want their workers to improve their English skills. So I spend about half of my time teaching in-center students, which have ranged from students in high school to 80-year olds, and the other half visiting clients in pharmaceutical companies, banks, etc., to teach on-site. The proficiency levels range anywhere from knowing nothing to conversational mastery, so I have to vary my lessons according to each student; luckily they have a really organized teaching method to make things easier. My training over the first week was super intense – I probably spent about 10-12 hours each day observing teachers and dove right into teaching classes after the second day. It’s been a humbling experience to see how little awareness I have about the technicalities of our language – being a native speaker doesn’t mean a whole lot if you can’t explain why things are the way there are to others. Words like past simple, present perfect, and gerund haven’t meant a thing to me since grade school and I’ve been repeatedly caught off guard by questions on terminology. Relearning everything will be a pain, but I think that learning to break down English to teach will help me understand the nuances of Spanish grammar as I learn it. It’s true in a sense that the best way to learn something is to teach it first.
[picture: Centro Lido, the building where I work]


So I haven’t had a chance to do much else besides work this week, but I’ll start a normal schedule starting Monday and hopefully try to find some sort of order in my life here. Again, and this seems to be a common thread in Venezuelan life, the people I’m working with and teaching are the only things that make it all worthwhile. The company recruits teachers from all over the world to expose students to different accents, so right now I’m working with a teacher my age from England, another from Romania, and a few others from here. Each day I have opportunities to have conversations on just about any topic (though they inevitably lead to a discussion about how awful the government is) with teenagers, college students, business executives, and elderly people. Venezuelan people in general love to tell you their opinions on politics, so I’ve learned quite a bit about Hugo Chavez’s exploits in recent years. But that’s a topic for another time…

Before I get used to everything, I’ll just jot down some of the things that I’ve noticed in the past week.

1. The most obvious, as I’ve mentioned, is the pervasiveness of the people’s disappointment and resentment toward Venezuela’s government and especially President Chavez. Talking about him is like a national pastime: in the classroom, at lunch, at the line in the grocery store, wherever.

2. Except for the gasoline, which is the cheapest in the world thanks to a government subsidy that makes zero sense to me, everything from food to clothing to entertainment is expensive. I expected to come here and eat like a king with the dollars I brought, but even after exchanging at a good price it’s impossible to live as well as I do in the U.S.

3. Despite the fact that crime here is among the highest in the world, people tend to be very courteous, warm and polite. I remember smiling to myself as I rode the elevator at work for the first time: when someone walked in and said “Buenas Dias (good morning),” everyone replied in unison. It happens every time. Men and women greet each other with a kiss, even if they've just met each other. It's an endearing practice that I've happily adopted.

4. Trends and fashions are a big deal. For example, everyone in the city has or wants a blackberry, though they cost about three times what it costs in the U.S.

5. Almost no one wears shorts, despite the fact that it’s always sunny and around 80 degrees.

6. Driving is a precarious endeavor: red lights are meaningless, highways are congested, and it seems that no one takes drunk driving seriously.

7. Salsa and meringue are on just about every radio station, and people break into dance at night wherever there’s music.

Anyway, I had a great week and I’m excited about the one ahead. Hope everyone’s well at home!

Shane