Venezuela

Before I headed to the USofA (which is the best country EVER) I spent a few days in Venezuela. I've wanted to visit Caracas for a long time and had a $50 voucher (due to some engine troubles on my way here) from the airline, so I scheduled a (free) 4 day layover in Venezuela without actually making any sort of plans.

I was a bit alarmed when I learned that hostels don't exist in the city, hotels are mega-expensive and Caracas is purportedly extremely dangerous.

I ended up finding a place to stay with someone on couchsurfing.com, Rebecca's a lovely Idahoan with Venezuelan roots. I went to her house, hung out with her kids and wandered around the city a bit. I drank good coffee and ate arepas and marveled at how dirty Caracas seemed. I walked across the University campus and watched break dancers (cardboard and all) and capoeira groups compete for most time spent upside down.

The next day I took Rebecca's suggestion to go to the beach at Choroni/Puerto Colombia and then on to Chuau
(pronounced 'chew-ow'). There are no roads to Chuau, so you have to take a little boat. I got a boat early in the day and decided to walk up to the pueblo from the beach.


The road wound through a mango and cacao forest. As I walked along, the trees threw down perfectly ripe mangos at my feet, which I felt obliged to devour. I also saw some blue frogs.









When I got to the town it seemed like everyone was on the streets, including the kids. It was around 10 am on a Wednesday. I then noticed that most of the young men had knee-high, brightly colored socks and house shoes decorated with items like sequins, tinsel, plastic flowers, hair ties and pom poms. I further noted that most of the adults had tiny bottles of beer in their hands and some were already trashed.

I began my investigation by getting a cup of coffee and a fish empanada (so brilliant! why don't they make those in Bolivia? oh right, landlocked.) and asking the coffee/empanada lady if there was "a festival or something?" "Yes." "For Corpus Christi?" "Huh? The devils are going to dance." "Ok. Thanks."

I got a little more info from a tienda lady on my search for a public bathroom. Mostly she just that it was worth not going to the beach to see the devils and that I must be a complete idiot/incredibly lucky for not knowing this was happening and showing up anyway.

I stuck around to watch the gents of the town don devil outfits (made of everything from winnie-the-pooh bed sheets to gold lamae), masks and fancy shoes and dance around the town square. Each devil carried a maraca-like instrument and white hanky and followed the same path:

First, someone let off a bottle rocket and another started drumming. The devils entered town dancing in a line.







They danced and danced around 2 corners of the square. And sometimes they sat down.








When they approached the 3rd corner, they turned and danced backwards by the badass priests.







The priests blessed them with branches dipped in water. Some old ladies joined in the anointing too. This seemed to be the turning point. The good triumphing over evil, or something.

Then the devils saluted the drummer, who provided the only music for the whole dance.




Finally, they ended up in front of the church, prostrate until an old man in devil outfit, but mask-less, shouted at them. Another bottle rocket went off and the dancers returned to their clubhouse while another group of devils started from the other end of the square. There were three groups in all, the same path taken by each group.



I feel lucky to have happened upon the dance, though no one I talked to afterwards seemed to be able to explain the significance of it all. It's nice to have mysteries I suppose.