A year in review: Part 1 Poland

I suppose it's time to jump back on the pogo-stick, or the horse, or whatever thing you might jump on to travel to new places. I have taken a bit of a break from blogging over the past year, likely because I was having way too much fun traveling around Europe and simply engaging with my environment wherever I was.

Before I get to excited about my next adventure here in the Pacific Northwest of the United States, I owe it to myself to share some brief stories about each other places I have been since I last wrote.

Polska
My year in Poland allowed me to learn many things about myself, and allowed me to recognize what I wanted to do with the next chapter of my life. Living in former-Communist post-WWII Krakow, I recognized that there is some beauty in the solemn nature of a quiet and somewhat broken community. Polish people are not seemingly happy people on the streets, and will likely stare you down if you are smiling to wide or laughing too much, but one-on-one, they are truly kind and welcoming. Krakow itself offered me many treasures, most in the form of beer.

While in Krakow I met travelers, teachers, and friends. I struggled with finding many locals that I connected greatly with, but the ones I did find I plan on keeping for life.
My most favorite spots to hang out were: Manzana- mexican style restaurant with charming all-female hosts and delicious cuisine (not to mention mojitos that'll rock your world), Viva la Pinta- a treasure in the old city with deliciously-brewed creative beer and simple bar food, along with a quaint basement and outside eating area where you can hear the trumpet sound at the end of each day, Multi Qlti-a pub on the second floor of one of the main party streets just off the main square, with bartenders who know their craft and gracious owners who are seemingly always working, and then there is Tap House the rather un-oriniginally named taphouse for Pracownia Piwa brewery. Fortunately for me, all of these places were within a twenty minute walk from my house. On top of all of that, I also found a beautiful craft beer dispensary called Swiat Piwa, or World of Beer, where I'd buy my local brews.


On top of drinking beer, I greatly enjoyed spending time with the local art around the plante, or walkway that surrounds the castle district which used to be the old city moat, geocaching with my great ladies Sharon and occasionally Natasja (seen below locating her first cache), hiking in the Tatra Mountain National Park, mountain biking, and eating local food (bread, lard, and pickles anyone?)

I could go on about Poland for a long time. I have expressed to many people that I didn't really enjoy Poland and that's not quite the truth. I struggled with my life in Poland for many reasons, but the country itself made no negative impact on my life, and the people I met truly will stay in my heart and on my mind. 

Cześć from Krakow

Being mistaken for being "from here"- not a problem I’m used to having when traveling overseas, or at least not used to recently. I have come to Poland with a rather strange reality in front of me, I no longer stand out. While it is calming to some extent to be mistaken for a local and no longer ogled at simply for the color of my skin (a privilege I do not always recognize in the place I call my home), it is still surprising. I walk into a bar and people don’t know me by my white skin or my gringa attitude; moreover, they don’t know me at all. While Cracow is a rather small city, it boasts an impressive tourist pull from the rest of Europe, as well as North America, and a sizable population to match for such an old and quaint city. This is a rather great culture shock for me from Anaco, which had less than a dozen westerners residing there, and those who did were predominately oil tycoons. Cracow is a whole different animal. There are diplomatic employees, businessmen, tourists, locals, vagabonds, students, and generally an impressive mezclade of nationalities (with the predominant race being exclusively white). 

Just outside of Krakow stands to this day the death camps that thousands of victims of the Holocaust were persecuted within, Auschwitz and Birchenauw. There is a face of this city that is running full-speed ahead as a young-person mecca with its many universities and language schools, as well as healthy nightlife of bars, restaurants, clubs, and music. There is another face, with a quiet eeriness to it, that lurks in the cobblestone streets and the synagogues- the Jewish culture of this city was robbed over 70 years ago, along with the lives of many Cracovians. I wish that the Polish language were a bit easier to learn, as I would believe I would be able to have some intriguing conversations with people of an older generation- though I can imagine the history here is something  they may not want to make casual conversation about.

On a lighter note,I will say I am extremely glad to be back in a land of beer. There are honey beers, and sweet beers, and lager beers, and dark black ales and stouts. This is a huge change from the Venezuelan beer-tinted beverages that we drank weekly… though we didn’t complain too much, because it was cheaper to buy beer than water. I have tried four different honey beers to this day and they all have been excellent- excellently sweet. 

As I sit at a pizza restaurant with wines on the walls, an eclectic range of art and techno music playing, I remember that while I am not “from here”, I still find this a good place to be right now. Cracow has offered me an opportunity to further explore the world, and the world of education. I have purchased a bike and have been touring the city and the Wisla river trails and am feeling healthy and happy with my move. Venezuela is still in shambles in its economic downturn, and I find it hard to not think about my close friends who still live there and are struggling with the government, with empty grocery shelves, and with insecurity in their day-to-day lives. I am fortunate for what I have, and the security that I have, even if I am not “from here”.

Saying goodbye

The past few months have been chock-full of transitioning both physically and emotionally. I recognize that I didn't write much about the rest of my school year in Anaco, but I suppose that is reflective of how busy I was and how involved I was in the community I didn't make time to write.

The top five things I learned/felt in the second half of my year in Anaco:

1. Events in our lives are more unexpected and random that being flexible and open-minded will take away a lot of unnecessary stress.

2. Biking is my happy space and there is a community within this sport that transcends borders and languages.

3. Children are amazingly emotional and adventerous creatures, no matter how young.

4. Be grateful for the freedoms you have based on your birth-rights- gender, race, and even nationality.

5. Home is what you make it

I say goodbye to Anaco this summer; I shared hugs with my friends, students, and colleagues for a short while but I know i will be back eventually. Venezuela has a piece of my heart and I know the future holds many new adventures for me there.  Gracias por todo. 

"Vamos teacher!"

I stand at the track and look around me. Usually i show up about ten to fifteen minutes early, simply to avoid arriving at dusk when traffic is a little heavier, but also so that i have a few moments to think before we head out. The track is called Las Ballenas, otherwise known as "the whales", and the shrine of the track is a stunning statue of two women with voluptuous bodies, though in my head they remind me of the Incredible Hulk. Around the kilometer track are signs or placards with how beneficial exercise is in your life. The track is heavy with traffic early in the morning (not that I'd ever know) and once the sun sets over the palm trees. People run, walk, mosey, sprint, rollerblade, and usually they have a buddy with them to keep them company. On the inside of the track there are soccer pitches, people playing kicking ball (or kick ball), soccer cages, kids flying kites, bars for body mechanics, and a small tienda or store for buying energy drinks and water. 

The heart of a city is its sense of community, and this track in Anaco is certainly one of those places. There's the juice guy, or flaco (skinny), who stands in the parking lot without fail nightly from 5:30ish-late, slicing and serving fresh-pressed orange juice; i do not lie, it's the best jugo I've ever had. But I'm getting ahead of myself; juice comes after.

Around 6:03, the guys show up. Sometimes it's only one or two, sometimes we make up our own biker gang with more than ten of us riding. We're lit up like Christmas trees so that we don't get hit by cars, trucks, motorbikes, or pedestrians, and dogs, and despite that we're riding on roads, no one has a road bike. We greet each other like old friends, but that's normal in these parts. I cannot keep all their names straight, but somehow they all know mine. Their bikes make me feel poor, with Specialized and Merida being the main players in this game, with RockShox and the occasional Fox or other brand for parts, but no matter, everyone is welcome for the nightly ride. I am almost always the only woman to ride, which I think they value me for, or at least they put up with me because they know I won't ever respond to most gruesome or sexist remarks because I simply don't understand them. I ride hard and don't give up.

We take off from the track around 6:15, heading out through the PVSD neighborhood, the state-based oil company that essentially founded this town. We cruise into downtown Anaco, and I can smell the shwarma, alcohol, petrol exhaust, and I see the glances of people from their stores. They are not surprised, and we occasionally get hollered at or whistled. We enter into a dangerous intersection, and down Avenida Merida along the airport strip. It's dark, but with all our lights and reflective gear you simply can't miss us. I usually fall a bit behind here, but this crew doesn't drop anyone and they patiently wait. It's a quiet stretch of road, except when the city buses going flying by. The tree cover and empty airport strip make for a nice ride. We cross over to the other side of the airport strip, and are passing restaurants and banks. The banks always have lines of people waiting at the ATMS, without fail. We cut back towards the main highway, my least favorite road to ride simply due to traffic. It's a great way to see the city of Anaco, and pass the circus, many stores, restaurants, grocery stores, banks, pharmacies, and liquorias.

We continue on to do another stretch of road that enters into a neighborhood, and it's a whole different feel. Passing the playground I hear children shrieking, laughing, and parents chatting. We pass the local police or national guard station, I'm still not always sure of the difference, and we finally slow to stop at a cafe, simply to sit for a few moments and chat. I listen quietly, sometimes the conversations of these guys follow politics or money, but often this is their time to relax, so they talk about bikes or other stress-free topics. Most of the guys know that I understand enough Spanish to follow, as I smile and nod along. 

We head back out onto the road and back towards the major vein of the city, Avenida Jose Anzoategui. We head down the hill, I swear Anaco only has one. And all the guys fly by me, as my body weight simply doesn't compare-as I didn't grow up eating empenadas, tequenos, or malta daily, they are simply far more sturdy than I. I trail along down the hill, and eventually get to the roundabout where we head of course, back up. Slowly but surely, we make it, though I often get yelled "come on Ms. Morrrrley or vamos teacher!" as I strain my already tired legs to make it back up, legs burning and eyes tired from the dust and exhaust of the cars. 

Occasionally we take a ride into the parking lot of the local shopping center, UniCasa. I'm still not sure the interest in this is, but riding up a steep car ramp, flying around the parking lot, and back down again avoiding cars, people, and shopping carts has its own appeal I suppose. We then head back into the darker area towards my school and towards the track, working hard to stay as a group and to not block traffic and avoid getting hit by distracted drivers. We make it back to the track, usually about an hour or so later, happily tired, sucking wind, and all caught up on adrenaline.

We are immediately served orange juice, thick with pulp and glory. We share a few words, and then we all head out, always making sure that everyone has a safe way to get home, and I usually receive an escort from one of the guys in the group, often a parent of one the students at my school who live extremely close to me, and we head off into the dark. Calmer. More clarity. And we go back out again. 

It's not perfect, it's not mountain biking, more like extreme urban riding. There have been flat tires, near accidents with cars, many Spanish swear words which I learned quickly, and a lot of simply jackass moves by these guys, but they are safe, they are smart, and they ride hard. 

Akupekuruman (thank you very much)

You stretch your legs to take a rather large step onto the stairs of the plane that extends most of the way down to the tarmac, but doesn't quite touch; there is no connecting gate or ramp that extends to the airport here. In the former capital of Venezuela, stunning Ciudad Bolivar, most flights leaving from this regional airport are heading south, into the jungle. The security consists of walking through a metal detector (though it may not actually be turned on), and the security personnel pass your bag around the x-ray machine, only to be hand-searched for knives, bug spray in aerosol canisters, matches or other potentially dangerous items (please note that the latter two items are acceptable to take with you, because you know, you are going into the jungle and just might need them).

Once you board the plane with your 18 fellow passengers, you will be instructed by the pilot, who turns around from the cockpit to look at the passengers and speaks to you instead of over an inter-com system, to go back into the terminal because there is something wrong with the plane. You de-board, and twenty minutes later, re-board. No harm, no foul.

Now that I have your brain adjusted to how things seem to work in this part of the world, I will share with you my past four days exploring Canaima National Park in south-eastern Venezuela, home to the world's highest waterfall, Salto Angel, or Angel Falls.

I traveled with four co-workers and another American friend over our Thanksgiving holiday break to visit one of nature's finest creations. After a three hour car ride from Anaco, we spent one night in Ciudad Bolivar and explored the old town, a quaint colourful city center that is dead once the sun slips under the horizon, which happens to be around 6pm this close to the equator.

For this trip, having a packaged tour arranged by our wonderfully accommodating venezuelana co-worker Andreina, allowed us to stay in a clean and welcoming guest house in the city, transportation to the airport,  tickets to the village of Canaima, bedrooms in another guesthouse in Canaima, transportation up and down the river in gas-powered motor canoes, and food and hammocks provided once in the jungle.

We flew into Canaima and spent a day romping around the beach of the lagoon, exploring some of the lower yet incredibly gorgeous lower water falls of the Caroni river, el Sapo and el Sapito falls. Our guides brought us in canoes across the lagoon, through the stunning jungle, and on a hike up and behind the waterfalls. Seeing the vines, smelling the sweetness of the forest would have been enough. Having never been behind a waterfall of such magnitude, I have a new-found respect for water and its sheer power. Having always lived in a place with close access to large bodies of water, I was happy to have had an entirely new and enticing experience with one of earth's greatest treasures. Clinging to the sandstone rock walls and a few guard ropes, we slid our way under the falls. A secret world seemed to exist under these falls, a climate and habitat unique to only this place in the world. Due to the slippery-ness of the stone under the falls, our guides instructed most to take off their shoes and venture forth in socks. Seeing many men and women in their skinny speedos or bikinis and hiking socks was quite the fashion statement.

Furthermore we were led to top of these smaller falls to take photos of the surrounding landscape, darted with tepuis, or sandstone plateaus that are unique to this area. If you have ever seen the movie "Up", this is exactly what I was able to see. I swam in pools of cool jungle water while viewing the tepuis and imagining how a simple earthquake or plate-shift may have caused such a stunning formation thousands of years ago. The only thing that could have improved that moment would have been a beverage in-hand.

The following day began my true relationship with water. We spent four and half hours surging forth up the Caroni River in search of earth's highest waterfall. Our guide, Kaiko, along with two cooks and two boat captains, prepared our two canoes with the provisions for the next 24 hours and encouraged us to bring as little as possible as the river was low due it being so late in the rainy season. We packed 12-people deep into long but thickly-built wooden canoes,  enjoyed the sun, the surrounding jungle, and the stunning tepuis that felt like stone giants watching us from above. Putting my faith in the expertise of our guides (who only lost the boat once when both men were talking to a man about a horse, at the same time during our lunch break) was a freeing experience. Each boat had a rather strong motor, and one of the Pemon guides in front with a thickly built wooden paddle used to draw the boat quickly away from rocks. I almost felt at home on the Brule as they drew these 25 foot boats swiftly out of harm's way.

We reached our destination, and surged forth into the jungle, ariba. Up, up, up the side of the tepuis for forty minutes, reaching a breath-taking view of Santo Angel. It was hard to take your eyes away from the falls, simply because the water seemed to disappear from the top to the bottom as it turned into mist. We also spent time bouncing around rocks and around trees on a roughly designed path to bathe in a pool below the falls. I can firmly saw that I have swum in the highest waterfall in the world. Moreover, I felt one with a stunning new part of Mother Earth.

The most exhilarating part of the day was the descent. The group started slow, but light was fading rapidly. I made friends with a Brazilian man in our tour group, and he started trotting slightly on the path. I followed him as he seemed to be in good shape; he soon-after admitted he had a large fear of snakes and that was exactly the time when they come out to feed. He and I decided to run as much as we could on the root-ridden path to get out of the jungle and to catch up with some of the others in our group. We walk/ran for over 25 minutes, seeing shadows of trees, passing other groups who shouted motivating words in various languages at us, and eventually we made it out. I feared for the many others in my group far behind us without headlamps, struggling over boulders, winding paths, and thoughts of snakes, spiders, and getting lost in the jungle.


Everyone made it safely, was ferried back across the river, and led by headlamp to our camp, where our guides had our hammocks and spits of chicken over the fire waiting for us. Life was perfect. We changed into dry clothes, gulped down chicken, rice, salad, watermelon, and the ceremonial Coca-Cola, and a cup of coffee to keep us warm. The rain descended just after everyone made camp, and everyone was appreciative to be warm, dry, and to have amazing photos and memories of the surrounding sites.

After dinner, around 8pm, most people headed to their hammocks as we were all pretty knocked out physically and emotionally from a long day. Later in the evening, one of our guides subtly offered me a finer beverage (rum), which was greatly appreciated after such a heavy day and as the cold air rolled in with the rain. I attempted to sleep but due to the grueling day, sore muscles, and rolling thoughts about nature and our greater existence, I sat with five guides under candle light and listened to them speak in Pemon (the native language of this area, part of the Carib language group and the language in which the title of this blog is written). The moments spent drinking with these guides reminded me much of my parents' travels and of our trip to Thailand where my father smoked a pipe of some substance with a local woman. I felt honored and welcomed; you do not say no when offered such a gift. I listened to Pemon and thought of all the places in the world that I could be, this place was where I was meant to be at the moment. I slept little that night due to the cold air and the light blankets, and watched moths commit suicide in the flames of the candles that were scattered about the sandy floor of our camp (only a thatched roof above but it kept all the rain out).

The following morning was celebrated with arepas for breakfast (seemingly the national food of Venezuela, a corn-flour pastry that you cut open in the middle and stuff in things like eggs, cheese, ham, etc. It's delicious, and filling to say the least. Later we sped, much faster due to the greatly bloated river due to the night's rain, downriver and back towards civilization. I was sad to be departing from the jungle, the tepuis, and the sanctity of the wilderness, but glad to be able to find dry clothes once again. I couldn't seem to erase the smile from my face.

After celebratory beers shared with new traveler friends and our guide at the "airport", an open air thatched hut with one man at a computer desk with a clipboard of paper checking in passengers and assigning them to bush planes, we boarded a plane once again, and made it home only a few hours later than predicted.


All photo credits to Matt Tilford, who I owe a beer for stealing his pictures to put on my blog.

Amistad

Over the past month I have had the wonderful opportunity to meet a great number of new people and have learned a lot about myself, about communities, and that friendship truly knows no language or borders.

I spent four days at the stunning Hard Rock Hotel, a 62-floor monstrosity,  in Panama City with all our international staff, and felt like a queen. During out adventures we traveled out of Venezuela at one in the morning after the power in the Barcelona airport going out (full black-out inside a terminal obviously leads to confident travelers), and arrived in Panama City at four am. We visited the Panama Canal, the old city, enjoyed spoiling ourselves to dinners out and buying local crafts. We enjoyed roaming around one of the largest malls I've ever been in (not as big as MOA) during the monsoon-like rain. I spent our last afternoon camping out at El Rana Dorada (or the golden frog) cerveceria, or brewery, nestled into a cobble-stone street in the old city. Having micro-brewed beer was a treat, but even more so were the other people that I met during my three hours there. First I met the brewer, a late 20-something guy named Marshall from California who used to work in Colombia; he shared with me a lot about the business and his experiences of biking to and from work in Panama. He then informed me that there was a brewery tour on Mondays at 5pm, which was quite a treat. Listening to him talk intelligently about the brewing process and then turn around and say it all in fluent Spanish was very impressive to me. During my time I also met a former Venezuelan baseball player who had played in MLB apparently in the states for a few years, and a US navy vet hanging out (it happened to be Colombus Day). Furthermore, I met two guys who are former PCV, and now work for Peace Corps in Panama, they had some great stories to tell, despite spending the majority of their time at the bar hitting on the other two American ladies who were present.

I have also enjoyed friendship, or maybe simple group-bonding, with the group of guys that have a bike club that I join about once a week or so. I am one of two women that goes, and the other lady is an extremely fast and fit road biker, while the guys are not all super fit but ride fairly quickly down the streets of Anaco. We ride after dark, because otherwise you will melt into a puddle on the road, and we must be quite a site with everyone lit up like a Christmas tree. This week I went for a ride well knowing that the impending thunderheads would likely catch up with this, and boy did they ever. We rode hard for about 15 minutes, found my friend Homero who came flying out of nowhere with a rather amusing "helllllo"; note that I am in the process of teaching Homero English in return for bike help, beer, and friendship. Oh, and learning Spanish. I am learning Spanish quickly from all of these guys, but they certainly are teaching some of the groserias, and they regularly call me "teacha", mostly because they know I work at the school and a few of them have students that are in my classes.

My latest sentiment of friendship was brought to me this weekend, when Homero invited me over to his friend's house to meet a few of their panas, or friends. I had a great time just messing around and watching music videos on what I'm pretty sure is the oldest TV in Venezuela, and I enjoyed our conversations in Spanglish. I was invited back for the next night, Mexican food. Sometimes I forget that when the word fiesta is uttered, this usually details staying up most of the night, copious amounts of food and beverages, and a great time. It was all of that and more. I sat around a kitchen table and was serenaded by gorgeous voices of love songs new and old, and met many new faces that made me feel so much more at home here. I was immediately added onto Facebook by most of them, and was told that we are going to the beach in one of the upcoming weekends. It was so calming to have a group of people simply allow me to walk in to their group of friends, and to be charmed, as my friend Nathalie so eloquently phrased it.

Transportation, treats, and teaching conferences

Big things happened this week in my life. I suppose it was more than a week, but I'm going to say that almost every day in the past ten days or so, something wonderful happened. No, I'm not going to tell you how absolutely amazing my every single day has been in Venezuela, but here are a few highlights, along with photos (none of which I can take credit for... my pictures are coming as soon as I can find my connector cord. No promises on quality though, I haven't purchased a camera yet.

My first BIG purchase in Venezuela, has been a bike. My good friend Dereek brought me to downtown Anaco to check out bikes. We walked into one store, saw the five or six bikes that were for sale, and then started to wander around looking for one of the other two bike shops that exist in Anaco. For being a not very bike-friendly city, it certainly has enough bike shops to keep me happy.

We were walking down a street, and found a few empanada shops, but no bike shops. Out of the corner of my eye, as I was in deep thought about about how I was told that Anaco was kind of a sh*thole (sorry for the language, but that was how it was expressed to me), I saw it. The banner. On the next street over, a banner with bikes and motorcycles on it plastered on a concrete building. Dereek just stared at me for a moment, wondering how I had even seen it (I think he believes I have eyes in the back of my head now).

We walked into the bike shop, and saw a few really expensive bikes: 40,000Bs, or 1,000$. We asked about something cheaper, and found this beautiful gleaming black beauty pictured below. As we checked it out, I was shown the different helmets, bike pumps, patch kits, waterbottle holders, and globes that I would later purchase. Oh, and I was served a glass of iced sparkling wine during my time at the shop. Magical.

I will say that this new bicycle has taken a lot of my time in the past week, especially since the crank on the left pedal was so loose at one point it fell off, the gears wouldn't switch into 2nd gear, and the front brake squeeked intensely unless I actually hit my brakes. However, after three hours, two different mechanics, a drive through the barrio of Anaco, one malta and empanada dinner with my bike mechanic later, my bike is rideable and good to go once again. Don't worry mom, I'm being extra safe.


One Sunday I spent the day with the family of two of my students, who delightfully offered to bring me and another teacher to the beach with them. Little did I know this would include taking a boat taxi out to one of the most gorgeous islands I've ever seen, snorkeling for coral and fish, eating fresh fish, drinking cocada (coconut smoothie) con ron (rum), and enjoying a wonderful day with their amazingly kind family. The eldest son (5th grade) is one of my students, and their daughter, who is 3, is also one of my students. Talk about student-teacher bonding! We had a great time and I learned so much Spanish just being with them as well.

The school week was pretty average, other than not having water two days in a row (something with the power system failing to pump the water from our school's well), which involves not having water to flush the poo in our Pre-K bathroom. #venezuelanproblems.
I will post pictures of my 3 year old cuties later this week. On Thursday a few of the staff organized a photo for International Day of Peace, and had all students dress in white. This is a view of our school grounds and all of our students and staff (Photo credits to Sir Jamie DaCosta who climbed up the water tower to take this picture)


Last but not least this week, was our first professional development conference, which took place in Puerto la Cruz, a little over an hour drive away. It was a great opportunity to meet other int'l teachers (even met two from Wisc and one from Roseville, MN), and to network. Furthermore, the focus of the conference was writing, which helped me to learn so much about what other teachers are doing.
Here's a little photo montage that my friend and co-worker Andreina made up, using "The Dot" concept that the conference built off of. The middle picture is the staff that attended (I'm in red)




Now back to the grind, three more week until fall break, Panama, and I couldn't be more excited to be where I'm at. September is rolling along nicely.