It's a beautiful day in Mérida. It's supposed to be the rainy
season, but today is clear with an occasional fair-weather cloud. The
peaks surrounding the city are all visible, including the immense Pico
Bolívar, Venezuela's highest peak at 5,007 meters or 16,422 feet.
Today the lines of the Teleférico glow in the sunlight, leading
the eye up and up and higher still to Pico Espejo, craggy and covered
in snow. It would be a good day to ascend, but I have Spanish class
at 10:30.
The mountainsides transform smoothly from deep green at the level of
Mérida to a darker green and finally to black. At the very tops,
the black is thinly coated with white, giving the appearance of black-veined
marble. There are few houses on the hillsides because there are few
roads. Anyone building up there would need to haul their building supplies
up on their backs. This is a major reason why hillside housing in Latin
America is primarily reserved for the poor and desperate.
As I walk to class, old women watch me go by from the rooftops. They
lean over the parapets looking like life-sized kitchen witches, gnarled
and brown and kind. From the tops of nearby churches, angels watch over
the populace, perfect and white and aloof.
During the day there isn't much traffic in the streets. Folks generally
stay indoors, out of the sun. From 12-2, most of the city shuts down
for siesta and almuerzo (lunch). At around 5pm, the people of Mérida
emerge to mingle in the squares and internet cafés. Muchachos
rollerblade and skateboard, doing many of the same stunts performed
by kids in the U.S. Old men tell stories in doorways.
Walking around the streets of Venezuela, you see a lot of beefy off-road
vehicles. The car of choice seems to be the Toyota Land Cruiser, with
the American classic Jeep coming in second. Every sort of off-road vehicle
is represented, however, including pseudo-off-road vehicles such as
modern American SUVs.
Originally I thought this reflected the poor state of the roads. Lately
I've been thinking it's simply a guy thing. Many of these vehicles are
more tricked out than is practical, and some of them approach parody.
I saw a vehicle in Caracas with a dozen 20 liter gas tanks filling the
roof rack. Many of these cars have Hi-Lift jacks, winches, huge beefy
tires, and all sorts of stickers for off-road accessory companies.
I called Dan last night from the corner of the Plaza de Milla. As I
spoke to him, a scruffy yellow dog set down beside me and started licking
itself. Thinking of the flea bites Jeanne and Shay had recently received
on their ankles, I moved as far away as the telephone cord would allow.
A few moments later, I noticed a small rat feeding on food scraps in
the street. A little later, the dog's ears perked up as it noticed the
rat. It slowly stepped out into the street and stuck its nose out, and
took a sniff. The rat responded by squeaking and jumping at the dog,
bouncing off the top of its head. The dog jumped back, and the rat charged,
again jumping onto the dog. After the second attack the canine retreated
to the curb.
The rodent's victory was short-lived, however. Within a few minutes
a rough-looking caballero (cowboy) walked down the street. He spotted
the rat and altered his course slightly so that one heel landed directly
on the unfortunate animal's head. Having defeated his opponent, he kicked
the body out of sight under the curb.
That rat was pretty tough, though. Just as I was finishing my conversation
with Dan, I saw it wobbling back into the street. It looked a little
unsteady, but it found some food and continued it's dinner. I hoped
for its sake that the cowboys were all in bars.
Last night we ate at Restaurante La Abadia (The Abbey), located
at 17-45 Avenida 3, between Calles 17 and 18. This restaurant is located
in a beautiful old building decorated with modern (and whimsical) renditions
of saints. The waiters (all in their 20's and beautiful) wear maroon
hooded monk's shirts. It's definitely a high-end restaurant, and pricey
by Mérida standards.
I ordered the Sopa de Cebolla, which was the best I've had since arriving
(and I've eaten a lot.) Sopa de Cebolla in Latin America is similar
to it's french cousin, but is made with chicken stock, which I consider
an improvement. The onions in this soup had an amazing smokey taste.
As a second course I ate the Ensalada "El Nombre de la Rosa"
(The Name of the Rose). It had tomatoes, hearts of palm, avocado, lettuce,
and black olives. The dressing was a balsamic vinaigrette and the entire
salad was covered with toasted sesame seeds. It was a very good even
by San Francisco standards for salads.
Tyler and Jeanne ordered the "Fajitas Gringas", which were
only somewhat like the fajitas currently popular in the States. The
plate consisted of grilled meats served around a bowl of papas fritas
(french fries.) The only other accompaniment was a small portion of
guacamole. Much simpler than fajitas in the States, and Jeanne and Tyler
both polished off their plates.
Ron
