Maracay – The Pull Of The Land

Childhood Friends

December 13, 2023December 13, 2023 Richard Barnes

Friendships made in college have been known to last a lifetime and in many cases they issue into productive and highly successful partnerships or careers throughout life. Ditto as to many friendships made in high school. In my case, as an example, I’ve remained closer to several friends made in high school than those made in college.

Back in February of this year, I thoroughly enjoyed meeting with a friend I made in junior high. We were classmates from the 8th through the 10th grades and then I transferred out of state. But we remained close throughout the years since then and when we met for lunch it was as if we had said farewell “yesterday”.

In the case of childhood friends, I wish I could say I’ve been able to stay in touch over the decades. I truly wish so. However, that was one of the negatives of living in El Pao; society was more transient than in, say, Kalamazoo, Michigan, for instance. My next door neighbor, with whom I had two or three fist fights, only to shake hands and be friends again, left when I was about 7 or so. I still remember him, but have no idea where he might be. I like to think he also remembers me with the same fondness.

The Carrasco’s were dear family friends. I was deeply saddened when they left El Pao for greener pastures in Maracay. They might as well have moved to the moon. I was about 6 or 7 and missed them for years. About 10 years later, we had a family trip wherein we drove from El Pao to Maracay — that was the trip I first drank coffee to enable me to stay awake in order to relieve my father driving.

We had a wonderful time with the Carrasco’s that trip. Our love for one another was rekindled as we enjoyed the day together, visiting the Maracay Zoo and also the first national park in Venezuela, Parque Pittier, named after the famous Swiss naturalist, Henri François Pittier. Mr. Pittier was born in Switzerland but lived out most of his life in Venezuela, where he named over 30,000 varieties of plants and flowers. He lived to 92 years of age, dying in 1950 in Caracas, Venezuela, where he was interred.

I still remember the clouds or light fog and the dark, deep green as we hiked the park and climbed ever higher. The exercise was strenuous but the spectacular sights, the strong breezes, and the cool, moist weather made it all the more memorable and satisfying. I never returned although, over the years, I’d very much wanted to.

The Maracay Zoo was where my father took Aba, his pet jaguar in the early 50s. As with most wildlife, the jaguar tended to revert to form as time went by and although she never struck or bit my father, she did slash another employee in the arm — the employee had reached toward Aba’s plate as the animal was feeding. The wound was not serious, but it was enough to indicate it was time to dispose of Aba. After some inquiries my father learned that the Maracay Zoo had an excellent reputation and so he took her there. By the time we had visited, the jaguar had died and so we did not see her on our visit.

I still get a slight sinking feeling, reminiscent of the sense of loss I felt as we drove away from Maracay that year as our visit ended. “We’ll see them again,” my father — the eternal optimist — said. But we never did.

Childhood friends come to mind often, but especially during the Christmas season.

It was not unusual to see Jaguar as pets, such as Aba. The above jaguar was the first in the Maracay Zoo (Las Delicias) founded by Juan Vicente Gómez in his favorite city, Maracay.

Henri François Pittier (1857 – 1950). The great Swiss botanist, born and educated in Europe, labored in Costa Rica and in the United States from whence he was assigned in 1917 to a short-term project in Venezuela, then governed by Juan Vicente Gómez, who saw Pittier’s potencial for Venezuela and convinced him to stay on. Stay on he did, living and laboring in Venezuela until his death in 1950. He identified over 30,000 varieties of botanical specimens. Above sculpture is in the Henri Pittier National Park near Maracay.

Henri Pittier National Park

Henri Pittier National Park

My friends, Omaira and Jose Luis Carrasco with Doña (I unfortunately do not recall her name) – Circa 1958

As Christmas approaches, childhood friends come readily to mind.

“Are They Natural?” — Charles Lindbergh in Venezuela

August 6, 2020August 6, 2020 Richard Barnes

On May 21, 1927, not far from Paris, France, the first modern traffic jam developed.

Colonel Charles Lindbergh, having flown for 33 hours and 30 minutes, and not having slept for 55 hours, touched down and was instantly swarmed by tens of thousands (some estimates range up to a million) of men, women, and children, all seeking to see, touch, embrace, and take mementos from the man and his plane. Incredibly, only 10 people were hospitalized. Parisians feted Mr. Lindbergh like no one else before. By the end of the week, millions (no debate on this estimate) had seen or greeted him as he was driven from ceremonies, to banquets, to historical sites, such as the Champs-Élysées. Throughout, the twenty-five-year-old pilot behaved with modest aplomb and his speeches were gems of diplomacy.

The adulation and joy followed Mr. Lindbergh to Brussels and London, where the behavior and lionization exhibited by the phlegmatic British could not be distinguished from that of the exuberant French.

By mid-June, Charles Lindbergh was back in his own country, where New York City feted him with a ticker tape parade in which several millions joined in the celebration.

President Coolidge, whose July 4th, 1926 speech on the 150th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence (see here) evinced a disquietude with the spiritual reality of the country, and who urged a return to eternal verities, apparently saw in the young pilot something of a personification of what he had in mind. Below is the transcript of President Coolidge’s welcome and Charles Lindbergh’s response before a large crowd in Washington, D.C.:

Calvin Coolidge: On behalf of his own people, who have a deep affection for him, and have been thrilled by his splendid achievements, and as President of the United States, I bestow the distinguished Flying Cross, as a symbol of appreciation for what he is and what he has done, upon Colonel Charles A. Lindbergh.

[Applause]

Intelligent, industrious, energetic, dependable, purposeful, alert, quick of reaction, serious, deliberate, stable, efficient, kind, modest, congenial, a man of good moral habits and regular in his business transactions.

[Applause]

Charles Lindbergh: When I landed at le Bourget, a few weeks ago, I landed with the expectancy, and the hope, of being able to see Europe. [Laughter and applause]. It was the first time I had ever been abroad [Laughter], and I wasn’t in any hurry to get back [Laughter and applause]. And I was informed, that while it wasn’t an order to come back home [laughter], that there’d be a battleship waiting for me next week. [Laughter and applause].

President Coolidge requested Lindbergh, who the world saw as an embodiment of America, to fly to South America as a goodwill ambassador for the United States. Lindbergh did so, taking off on December 1, 1927, on the famed Spirit of St. Louis, the same plane he flew across the Atlantic Ocean. His itinerary took him to Mexico City, Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador, Tegucigalpa, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panamá, Cartagena, Bogota, and Maracay (Venezuela), where he touched ground on January 29, 1928.

Although Caracas was the capital of Venezuela, the president, General Juan Vicente Gómez (see here and here) had made his home in Maracay, about 75 miles west. And that is where Lindbergh landed and where he was met by Gómez. But, first, he had flown over the capital city where enormous crowds had gathered in plazas, streets, and balconies, cheering loudly and waving frantically. In this, Venezuelans behaved like Parisians, Londoners, and New Yorkers.

Along with the crowds from Maracay and multitudes from Valencia, Puerto Cabello, and Caracas, innumerable automobiles invaded the roads converging towards the airport, creating Venezuela’s first massive traffic jam, immovable since the early afternoon. Many of the cars’ hoods displayed the national colors of Venezuela and the United States. By the time the plane landed, the airport was encircled by vast and loud multitudes, who gave the Águila Solitaria (Lone Eagle) an apotheotic reception.

The president himself walked to the hangars urging the crowds to give distance to the plane. Colonel Lindbergh had stayed a few minutes in the hangar, checking his plane’s fuselage and engine. The president’s entourage, seeking favor (a common phenomenon in all countries), expressed “concern” to the chief of staff that the American was being rude. But the chief brushed them aside, reminding them that President Gómez respected a man who “first took care of his horse”. This was true of Gómez. He was known to enjoy and to converse and seek good counsel on ranching and cattle breeding.

Two of Gómez’s daughters came forward and handed a magnificent bouquet of tropical flowers to the the famous aviator. “Are they natural?”, he asked. The president replied, “Yes, they are, but they are recognized and come from good families.”

This anecdote quickly made the rounds throughout the country, as the president had 74 children from numerous concubines. Lindbergh was referring to the flowers; however, depending on context, natural also refers to the status of children, in which case the word alludes to offspring of an unmarried couple. These become “legitimate” once the couple marries. It was in this sense that Gómez had understood the question, and he wanted to make clear that he “recognized” his daughters, having given them his name. But Gómez genuinely liked Lindbergh and no offense was taken, as none was intended.

The next day had been declared a national holiday, with Lindbergh being feted and honored in Maracay and Caracas, where he laid flowers adorned with Venezuelan and US flags at Simon Bolivar’s grave. Upon exiting the National Pantheon, he was instantly greeted with deafening ovations by the thousands who had gathered to see the American hero. The festivities culminated in a sumptuous banquet and dance in Caracas. Lindbergh did not dance, but, as in Paris and London, he was a gracious guest.

On January 31, 1928, the third day after having arrived, he took flight again and, after visits to St. Thomas, Puerto Rico, Santo Domingo, Port-au-Prince, Havana, he flew back to St. Louis.

Upon Lindbergh’s departure, Presidents Coolidge and Gómez exchanged warm greetings by diplomatic cable and Lindbergh himself wrote the following farewell:

I wish to give my thanks to President Gómez, to the officials of the army, to the functionaries of the government, and to the people of Venezuela, for the heartfelt reception they have so graciously given me during my visit and I also wish to express my gratitude to the press for their cooperation.

I am very impressed with the efficient manner in which the Corps of Venezuelan Aviation prepared the landing field and for the warm manners and gracious behavior of the people of Venezuela towards me.

Colonel Lindbergh returned to Venezuela in September of 1929, inaugurating the first experimental flight of Pan American Airways on a Sikorsky S-38.

The Spirit of St. Louis was donated by Charles Lindbergh and is displayed in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C. The aluminum exterior of the plane reflects the national ensigns of all the countries visited by the young man. Among those ensigns is the flag of Venezuela.

With the President of Venezuela, General Juan Vicente Gómez, January 29, 1928

Charles A. Lindbergh posing with the *Spirit of St. Louis*

Coffee

April 5, 2019April 20, 2019 Richard Barnes

This in no way is the opinion of a coffee connoisseur; just an anecdote in the ongoing education of a layman who likes coffee.

I often wondered why coffee tasted so good in Venezuela but so bad in Colombia. The conundrum was a challenge because having brought both Venezuelan and Colombian coffees to our home in Michigan and, later, Texas, preparing and drinking the Colombian was a delight, whereas the Venezuelan was a bitter memory. This neatly inverted my experience when actually drinking coffee in the respective countries: in Venezuela, coffee good; in Colombia, coffee bad.

Why was that? Why was coffee so flavorful in Venezuela, whether in fine restaurants or on street corners or in middle-of-nowhere joints, but so insipid in similar venues in Colombia? And yet, when you took the same coffees out of the country, the experience was exactly the reverse?

During an assignment in South America in the early 1990’s, I was invited for dinner at the home of a European executive and his wife. They served exquisite coffee.

“This coffee is very good. I assume it’s Colombian,” I said.

“Well, no. It’s Venezuelan,” our hostess replied. And then she and her husband laughed. They went on to explain that the reason coffee tasted good in Venezuela is that, although Venezuelan coffee is, in general, really not very good, the country’s bistros, restaurants, street corners, and country kiosks were equipped with the best European coffee makers, whether simple, Italian-made stainless steel stove top expresso makers (not to be confused with made-in-China Bialetti’s, whose coffee soon has the whiff of aluminum) or the marvelously complex, Swiss-or-Italian-made stainless steel commercial barista-operated machines.

“That is not the case in Colombia, for the most part. Yes, their coffee is indeed superior, but they go cheap on the coffee-making equipment and hence their coffee suffers.”

The point they drove home was that, for a tasty cup of coffee, the coffee maker can be more important than the coffee itself. Experts may disagree with their statement, but my own experience, anecdotal and unprofessional as it is, bears it out. And did I mention that the executive was a longtime employee of one of the largest food and beverage companies in the world? He likely knows what he’s talking about.

Once, in my mid teens, during a 24-hour drive from the interior to Maracay (a city to the west of Caracas), my father was not comfortable stopping for the night given that the inns we had inspected were, shall we say, not family friendly. He decided to continue driving but asked me to assist given that my mother was too sleepy to do so. I was excited for my first opportunity to drive on one of our excursions but was just as sleepy as he was. My father knew that the large cattle ranches in the area (known as hatos) would at times have giant kiosks with generators and excellent coffee along some roadsides. Around three in the morning, we saw one, like an oasis bathed in bright lights piercing the stark darkness. It was open air and the cowboys could be seen from the road as they leaned on the massive mahogany counter chatting and sipping their “negritos”, a very strong espresso-like concoction. My father ordered two. It was my first ever and it kept me awake and wired through the rest of the dark hours and into the middle of the morning when we drove into the city.

Three impressions stay with me from that incident: first, the bright lights in the darkest period of the night; second, the vaqueros in their boots and large hats as they leaned and talked and took their coffee; and, third, the intricate and polished espresso machines which, to a boy, seemed to extend the length of the wooden counter. This was an example of the Italian-made coffee makers one would find in the remotest corners of Venezuela, producing a coffee so excellent, that it would make Venezuelans dining in Paris bistros yearn for that homemade brew.

Venezuela once rivalled Colombia in terms of coffee production (not taste, except for rare artesanal coffee). Sadly, Venezuela’s coffee production has been in steep decline, especially since early this century when the effect of state regulations interfered with and disrupted coffee growers’ operations. In this regard, Venezuela has more in common with Cuba than to its neighbor. In Venezuela, power is now officially rationed but we can be grateful that, unlike Cuba, coffee is not.

Well, Colombia and Venezuela were supposed to be one country, not two. Maybe they’ll agree to unite one day, for the perfect cup of coffee.