Second Note from Venezuela: Church, Beach, Food, and Music

I can't say I forgot how hot it gets here on the island, but it's hard to conjure up what it feels like when you're eight years removed from the dripping wet humidity, the energy sapping sun, and the just plain oppressive caribbean atmosphere. It makes you appreciate one thing, for sure: the breeze! 

It's 7pm on a Sunday night. Now, I don't want to sound like I'm complaining, just making the observation: I AM BEAT! The excitement and non-stop motion of getting here has gotten me feeling like I need a rest from this "vacation" so far. But it's been a great visit so far, so I can't complain. 


CHURCH

Today I saw the little chapel where I served as a missionary in 1986. There were only two branches then, one here in Prolamar, the Island's largest city, and one in La Asuncion, the state capitol, but a much smaller inland community under the cooler canopy of tropical palms. (For non-LDS readers, a branch is the smallest type of Mormon congregation, and can be quite small. My father opened a branch in Peru in the 1960s of only two members. Porlamar in my time probably had twenty adults, and La Asuncion, 15.) Our chapel then was a small "sacrament hall," where all members meet together to take the sacrament every Sunday, and a few small classrooms, a kitchen, and a baptismal font that was just at the back of the small sacrament hall. When we had baptisms, we simply opened a sliding partition, turned the folding chairs around to face the other way, and there it was. This was the chapel that my wife was baptized in, and the entire structure would have fit very neatly in just the sacrament hall of a typical American chapel. I have two - make that three - very positive recollections of that little chapel: firstly, it was the constantly moving oscilating fans that blew from the tops of the walls. As they blew toward you, you could hear anyone speaking fine. As they blew away, the breeze would take with it the speaker's voice as well. Secondly, it was the sound of the Tio Rico Ice Cream vendor who would pedal by every Sunday. Hia little music would fill the sacrament hall with the temptation to run and buy some relieving cool ice cream right in the middle of the meeting. I never did it, though. And thirdly, the Yamaha piano, miraculously, was always in tune. Maybe it's because it got very little use; in my time, I was the only one around who new how to play. I was always careful to replace the red felt running cloth that covered the keys to protect them from the closing lid after I played. 

Well, the little chapel still stands, but right next to it, the church built a gorgeous new building about seven years ago. The new sacrament hall is now full size, with padded pews, two aisles, and a real dias for church leaders and a choir. The sacrament table is purpose-built, not just a nice little table that fits in the corner, and there is a board with changeable numbers for the hymns, not just a chalk board. And - get ready for this all you missionaries who served here in the 70s, 80s, and 90s: IT'S AIR CONDITIONED.

The old building is still in use - the kitchen, Relief Society Room, and some classrooms. And the basketball court has been moved from the side of the walled-in property to the back. By the way, I was there to help raise the first backboards to be put up there in 1986.This was much to the joy of my companion, Elder Palmer, who was an all-state Arizona athelete who loved to go down to the Plaza Bolivar and challenge guys to 2 on 2 games on the courts behind the Catholic cathedral. The Venezuelans would take one look at the two of us (Dan was 6'2") and say, no way. Then he would say, I'll give you my friend, and point to me. Then they would accept. Little did the Venezuelans know, though, that I STUNK at basketball, so it guaranteed Palmer a win every time. Once, and only once, I was able to stuff one of his turn-around jump shots, and he burst out laughing right there on the court.

Oh, and that little Yamaha piano? It's the same one. And it's still in tune! Looks as good as new. The little red felt runner, stained and with holes worn through it, was still lovingly spread over the keys by whoever played it last this morning! 

BEACH.

In this case, Pampatar, a small, crescent-shaped beach in a nearby town. Gina is blown away by the fact that, even at four feet deep, you can see right through the water, and the only stuff floating in it are little clumps of sea weed. No garbage, no junk. Norka took me there when I went to visit her after the mission, and we took apicture there sitting along the pier. We took another one in the same spot after we were married, and yet another with Gina and Sofia as babies in 2000. We'll take another one this trip. In the 1987 picture, there was only one building on the hill in the background. Now, that same hill looks like one in the Cote d'Azure, or St. Moritz. Some spots have progressed. 

I also bought the most DE-licious cachito de jamón at the Pandería Del Castillo today, which brings me to

FOOD

I tend to eat less when I am traveling, I suppose for a number of reasons, including cost, schedule, and just plain excitemen. But today, about four in the afternoon, I realized that all I had eaten was a patacón pisado and an egg about ten this morning. I was starting to feel faint. So I suggested at our table under the thatched shade roof on the beach that I go get something to eat, and suddenly everyone decided it was time to go find a restaurant. Ugh. So up the stairs I went to the boulevard that runs along the beach, and into a very typical panadería, where I found the cachito and a Diet Coke (Coca Cola Light, as it's called here). There is no more heaven-on-earth experience than standing with a panoramic view of a caribbean beach, biting into a warmed Ham cachito, and slurping a Coke so cold the can burns your hand!!!

And then cam dinner at La Conga, a road-stop restaurant with heavy wooden tables and chairs under a a churuata. It's basically a large, pointed wooden roof with no walls such as the natives would have made. We ordered large platters of various meats for all of us, all barbequed "a la parilla" on the outdoors pits. The steak was incredible! And the water cold! Although, the cap on my bottled water was loose, making me wonder if they hadn't just refilled it with the tap out back! how would the Gringo know? 

MUSIC

And at La Conga, we were treated to some live música criolla! Venezuela's native music is called joropo, and it features the harp. Now, before you go thinking of angels in heaven or uptight classical spinstresses, go listen to "Alma Llanera" athttp://www.movingon1.com/bill/perez prado - alma llanera (1).mp3. Joropo is written in 3-4 time, or "waltz time." But it's also built on a paso doble, which means it's like there are two distinct speeds going on at once. This might be hard to explain in words, but in essance you have the quick three-four waltz going on:

ONE-two-three, ONE-two-three, ONE-two-three, ONE-two-three, ...

And at the same time a second. slower rhthym in three on top:

ONE-two-THREE, one-TWO-three, ONE-two-THREE, one-TWO-three, ... 

It's a great effect, and fun to hear live. The harpist was great. I couldn't help but notice that it seems like it's tough to find a good bass player ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD; right, Ben, Garrett and Katie? And what the main singer lacked in tuning he more than made up for in energy. It takes a lot of guts to walk around a half empty venue during the first set and sing to the tables and still make it look like you're not phoning it in! Been there, done that. Fortunately, we restaurant patrons really enjoyed the spirit of it. I mean, I'm in an outdoor restaurant on a tropical island, eating parilla and listening to legit joropo. Who am I to complain? For my purposes, they sang their hearts out. 

Anyhow, we found the camera charger tonight, so hopefully we'll add some photos soon.

I'll save the political discussion for tomorrow.