The "B" team goes to Mérida, 1999: New Homes

The “B” team goes to Mérida - 1999

NOTE TO READER: These writing are coming from a shared Google Doc with other members from the legendary 1999 group. All memories and impressions here are mine and mine alone and do not necessarily represent those of the group.


MARK: I now considered myself an old hand at the art of flying for Flight #4 in two days, from Maiquetía to Mérida. I had only been to the mountains once in my life, a family vacation to Colorado. I didn’t remember them being so green, and in all my time in Mérida, I never stopped appreciating the lush vegetation hugging every roadway in the state capital where we lived.

We landed in Mérida mid-afternoon on a Monday and this time, a first for me, we disembarked not onto a jetway, but directly onto the runway. There were, as I would discover there always was, people watching from above the runway, awaiting or sending off their loved ones. I knew that my host family was among those waiting….Which ones would they be? How would we get along?

The sun shone brightly as we made our way to the luggage carousel. I have to imagine, although I don’t remember specifically, that this is when Gladymar breezed into our lives. I can just imagine her and Rachael whipping off directions and advice left and right, soothing nervous gringo hippocampi.

Our host family bore signs, like you see in the movies. I fought panic as I had trouble locating my name. Those 90 seconds seemed an eternity, and then I saw my host brother, Edecio (a name I would take weeks to pronounce correctly). I went up and introduced myself in broken Spanish; he just nodded and helped me with my two big suitcases, packed for over four months in a new country. (There were several people in our group--Ben, Jake, Karl, Alena, come to mind--that had arrived in-country with only a well-stocked hiking backpack. I remember being fucking AMAZED by this).

Edecio introduced me to my host sister, Lucía (this name I could pronounce). They had hosted international students for years and knew the drill. They knew they would need two cars to get all the luggage in. My nerves were at their rawest yet in the last 48 hours as I would now be leaving the security of the group and their wonderful, beautiful English. Rachael and Stephanie assured us we would all see each other the next day at the Facultad.

Lucía (may she rest in peace) led me to her car, a mid-1970’s white Mercedes. We took a right as we headed out of the airport and...up. (I was to discover quickly that pretty much every trip within Mérida, which sits in a finger-like valley in the Andes Mountains, could be summarized succinctly simply as bajando or subiendo, roughly translated as “going up” or “going down”. This led to occasional moments of levity when an earnest English-learning merideño would ask “Will you go down with me?”).

We were almost as far up as you could get without leaving the city. Maybe 30 minutes later, we pulled up in front of a white wall housing a green, wrought-iron gate. Edecio got up and slid the gate open, the cars pulled in, and I was in my home for the next four plus months. I met my host mother, Elba, another host sister, María Auxiladora (another name I would take months to master), and her brand new baby (I can’t remember his name right this moment). My host brother Juan came out of his room at one point; he was fighting a stomach bug. Juan would become my lifeline in those first weeks, as he spoke a good deal of English.

All I remember about the rest of that afternoon is learning two words from Edecio: bizcocho (a type of sponge cake) and pesebre (a manger scene typical of Venezuela during the Christmas season). The rest of the time I spent between my room, slowly unpacking, and wandering outside to take in the mountains and vegetation, time and time again.

When my host dad, Edecio, Sr., came home, we sat down for supper. Arepas, of course. I would grow to have a love/hate relationship with the omnipresent Venezuelan staple. It was dark when we sat down, and after saying grace, the family busily recounted their day. It was clear Lucia was the life of the party, as her comments led again and again to boisterous laughter.

I had no idea what she, or anyone, was saying. It was all so fucking FAST. I had taken five semesters of college Spanish but my language was tentative and my vocabulary utterly not up to the task. I had no earthly clue what was going on. The cautious confidence I had flown into the city with slowly grew into a gnawing terror as I began to realize that those five semesters didn’t count for shit on the ground.

I had made a commitment to myself to only journal in Spanish throughout my journey. Luckily, I didn’t have the vocabulary at that point to express my fright. When I laid down to sleep an hour or two later, my stomach was wound up tighter than a spring. I just kept reminding myself that the next day, I would see everyone at the Facultad. We’d known each other only a day, but already my twenty companions were my rock. Soon enough, the exhaustion of the last two days took over, and I fell into a deep sleep.