A boyhood friend returned with his family to the United States several years before it was my turn to leave. Back in the USA, he was so homesick for El Pao that he “ran away from home” to find his way back to Venezuela.

“I’m going to El Pao! [pronounced ‘pow!’]” That’s the explanation he gave to the baffled policeman (“What’s ‘L Pow?'”) who picked him up and returned him to his parents.

What would make him miss the place so much for so long? What kept pulling him back?

Well, you might refer to an earlier post (Life In An American Camp) to begin getting an idea of the “why”.

Perhaps a reason might be the community life, which yielded solid friendships.

The reality was, for anyone looking from the outside in, El Pao’s was an active social life. There were many dinner engagements, which may have been “dull” to the men, who would (this would be heard off and on, usually in lighthearted bantering humor) rather be doing something else, like reading the newspaper or listening to Voice of America on shortwave radio.

Nevertheless, these formal and semi-formal activities served to polish and sharpen the adults’ interpersonal skills while developing the children’s. Years later, as a young man invited to cocktail gatherings or full course dinners, a boy from El Pao would generally know how to behave with decent etiquette in settings among folks who, in theory at least, had had far more opportunities to have developed social graces than families in a South American mine.

Perhaps an enclosed community creates its own pressures to conform to proper behavior and manners, especially if its inhabitants are mostly of the same or similar upbringing, culture, tradition, general religion, and understanding of what is the good, the permanent. Whereas those in large settings, with multiple options, lacking the self-discipline, or the encouragement, to seek to develop such skills, find it easier to take the path of least resistance, which is to avoid such opportunities.

The hosts and hostesses never expressed thinking about a “purpose” behind their hospitality; they simply brought  “continental” habits to a small colony in the forest and proceeded as if they were still in Chicago, New York, Bethlehem, Kalamazoo, or whatnot. In this, they were apt heirs of their mostly British ancestors who had their silverware brought to Kenya or Rhodesia and served tea at tea time, no matter where the location. Given the smallness of the place, these events, no matter how formal, had an intimacy which yielded a greater, longer lasting personal impact than they would have in larger, more impersonal settings.

Consequently, these activities also forged, over a few short years, strong familial chains between folks who, back in the States would most likely have remained strangers for the most part. But here, after visiting one another’s homes and sharing each other’s bread and wine, not to mention working hard jointly as teams, they formed kinships stronger than that of many families. These bonds persevered for decades beyond the end of their pilgrimage in the Venezuelan interior. In some cases, they’ve persevered for life.

Non-work-or-school-related activities in El Pao were many and varied: Bowling nights; volleyball nights; movie nights; Christmas season nights; “free nights” which invariably meant calls on friends’ homes — meaning, over time, everyone’s home. There were also special nights, when, for instance, a magician would be brought in by the company to entertain and educate both children and adults; or some would deliver lectures on eclectic subjects or events. There was a Spaniard who was an outstanding pianist who would regale those in the club, usually on a spontaneous basis.

All this occurred in an Amazonian jungle. 

Some wives complained about being so far from “civilization”. Some sons and daughters would echo those gripes. These were laments the boy never heard at home and never understood. How could anyone not feel lucky to be here? Well, as he once heard it said, there are people who, when viewing the Grand Canyon, will ignore the breathtaking vistas and focus their gaze on the back of a vulture which may be flying below. 

The good news is that most folks bloomed where they were planted.

As for the runaway friend in the States, while the boy joined in the hearty laughter when told the story, he also felt the same yearning in his heart that his buddy had felt in his.