Friends From Long Ago

Me, Bart and Bob 44 years later

This past weekend, August 17-19, 2012, I had a reunion with a couple of my closest friends from the time I was in the Peace Corps in Venezuela. I had seen Bob Buffin a few times over the past few years, but this was the first time since 1968 I had met up with Bart Briefstein. Sure, we are 44 years older, but in most ways it didn’t feel we had changed very much. We quickly fell into the same character and relationship rolls we had all those many years ago.

Bart Briefstein 1966

Bart’s Peace Corps experience was perhaps more impactful on him than it was on all the rest of us, as he met Marina in Caracas. They have been married all these years with two grown children. Bart’s business career took the family from NYC to Minneapolis for many years. Later they had stops in Austin, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico and Prescott, Arizona. They presently reside in Reno and take advantage of all that city’s cultural offerings to keep active. Bart is still as clever as he always was.

Bob’s time in the Peace Corps was important to him as well. After his two year assignment, Bob became a recruiter with the organization for a number of years.

Bob Buffin 1966

Later he earned a law degree from the University of Wisconsin and eventually went to work for the National Labor Relations Board for 35 years. Bob recently retired after 42 years of government service. Bob lives with his long-time partner, Karen, in Half Moon Bay, south of San Francisco. Bob plans to get back into music (he played his guitar on many a long bus ride in training to entertain the rest of the trainees) and keep up with his wine making (we all agreed his Shiraz was excellent).

Charley Mallon 1966

My service was important to me as well. The association with other volunteers, many of whom were quite high quality individuals, gave me the confidence and desire to do much more with my life than I had heretofore considered.

Visiting Tim While He was in the Peace Corps- Second Trip

Saturday, November 15, 1997  (11:34 am)

I am sitting on a bench overlooking a fenced-in pond stocked with tropical wading birds. It is hot, so I sat in the shade. Yesterday morning when I got up to spend a couple of hours in my Boulder, Colorado office before I left, I had to shovel six inches of snow off the sidewalk.

I’m at the zoo in Santa Cruz, one of the ways I plan to spend the day here in Bolivia’s second largest city. I expected a raw, thrown together town in

the jungle. Instead, it is very clean and well-organized, situated in a verdant savanna. The zoo, a green oasis in the concrete city, is the best I have seen South America.I arrived here this morning, leaving Denver 17 hours ago. I feel pretty well, as I was able to get 4 to 5 hours of sleep on the leg from Miami to La Paz. Tim will be coming in on Lloyd Aero Boliviano this evening from Cochabamba. I will join his flight as it continues on for another two hours to Manaus, Brazil, in the heart of the Amazon! Between now and them, I will see the rest of the zoo, have a long lunch and perhaps visit a flea market. The only negative is that my 26 lb. pack/suitcase, which I dare not let out of my sight, gets heavier every time I pick it up.

Monday, November 17

A lot has happened since my last entry. I never did make it to the flea market but rather spent most of the day at the zoo,

Santa Cruz, Bolivia Zoo

including taking a nap on the grass under a tree, I decided to return early to the airport but, just down the street, I came across a Canadian bar where I found some La Batt’s beer and English conversation. Tim’s plane came in at 7:30 p.m. and we just were able to extract his checked baggage in time to make the departing 8:15 p.m. flight to Manaus. On the flight Tim started to tell me about how he had to rush around at the last moment to obtain his entry visa for Brazil. This was quite interesting to me as I wasn’t aware of the need for one. I had no choice but to stay on the plane and try to get through passport control. pleading stupidity, which of course was just the case.

Well, even though we had a sympathetic officer who appeared to be willing to look the other way, someone else got involved who claimed she did not want “to take the responsibility” and I was denied entry. We had to get back on the airplane which was continuing on to Caracas. While the airline was obliged to give me free passage, I had to put more than $700 on a credit card so that Tim could accompany me. The ticket agent really tried to put it to me in charging that much, but I had the last laugh. That charge somehow never showed up in my bill, ha! All this occurred around midnight after a long day.

We finally got to Caracas around 3:30 a.m. and took a taxi to a cheap hotel nearby. We awoke just before noon and, after stopping at the airport to cash money orders and to get out bearings, we took a taxi up the mountains to Caracas, which is situated 900 meters above sea level.

We checked into the hotel Las Americas (Where I had stayed many years before when I first arrive in Venezuela with the Peace Corps in 1966) and spent the afternoon walking the Sabana Grande and eating a fine seafood meal. I am determined not to let this “change in plans” ruin the trip. We spent much of today, Monday, in a very disorganized travel agency attempting to arrange a trip to the Venezuelan Highland’s resort of Canaima, near Salto Angel. Also I am having difficulty making my cash card work in the appropriate machines here and have wandered all over in an attempt to cash travelers checks.

View of the tepuis from Campamento Canaima

Tuesday, November 18

It’s 10:31 a.m. and I’m sitting next to Tim on an Avensa flight to Canaima. When we got to the Caracas Airport this morning, two hours before the flight as required, we were hustled into

Tim in Campamento Ucaima

signing up for a full-day boat/jeep tour from the camp to the base of Salto Angel. The cost was an additional $125 each, which seemed a little steep, but when are we going to get to this part of the world again?

Last night, after finally picking up the last part of our ticket package from the travel agency at 5:00 p.m. and finding a money exchange house to cash some money orders, we took the “Metro” to Plaza Bolivar. This is a more upscale part of Caracas and the statue of the “Libertador” astride a horse was impressive. There was an orchestra warming up when we arrived, so that we decided to take a long walk and return to their music. Unfortunately, even after an hour they still hadn’t started and, as were tired from the frustrations of the day, we took the Metro back to our station of Chacaito and turned in.

Wednesday, November 19

View from Canaima

It is a small world. The Canaima lodge we have arrived at was founded by “Jungle Rudy,” a Dutchman whom I knew in Puerto Ordaz thirty years ago. In fact, he lived with me for a while when he was down on his luck. Ending up in the resort he founded was purely by chance.  Also, one of the guides at the camp attended Fe y Alegria in Puerto Ordaz where I taught in the Peace Corps, although well after I had left. He tells me that the Sisters Teresa and Sacramento, two nuns that I knew, are still there.

We took an afternoon trip to Salto Sapo the first day. the waterfall was broad and we were able to walk behind it.

Today we were picked up at 5:15 a.m. for our trip up the river in a dugout canoe to Salto Angel. There were 16 total in our group

Goin’ up river to see Salto Angel

divided up into two boats. All the Venezuelans were excited about a professional baseball player, Omar Vizquel, and his wife being among us. The trip up river took most of the morning and we finished it off with a long hike through the jungle to the base of the world’s highest waterfall, 1005 meters. After the clouds finally parted, we were treated to a spectacular view. The day was memorable and goes a long way towards replacing that which we had expected from a visit to the Amazon.

Friday, November 21

Tim and I are sitting in an English pub called La Reina Victoria in Quito, Ecuador. Yesterday we left Canaima at noon and spent the day traveling to Quito where we arrived at 9:30 p.m. We took a taxi to the hotel Real Audiencia in the Centro Colonial of the city. We spent this morning on a walking tour through that part of town where they have attempted to maintain the original building facades and character of the early XVII century.  As we could find no place to exchange travelers checks or a travel agency to purchase tickets for our planned flight to the coast, we took a cab to the “new city.”

This part of town is much more modern, with a lot of European-looking faces on the street. However, we were well reminded that we are still in Latin American as it took one-half day to organize our airplane tickets through an agency, and then we really didn’t get what we had been promised. The Quitenos are very friendly and the city, which almost strides the equator at 9,300′, has a pleasant climate with green hillsides and palm trees in the city plazas. Lots of cars, and of course, lots of evidence of poverty, but overall, the inhabitants appear healthy and happy, with a fairly good level of prosperity.

Jungle trek to see Salto Angel

Salto Angel through the clouds

Sunday, November 23

Yesterday morning Tim and I got up, checked out of the hotel and took a taxi up to the tortured looking statue of the Virgin on Panecillo. This “sugar lump” hill gives a wonderful panoramic view of much of Quito.

Just after mid-day we flew from Quito to Guayaquil on the coast and Ecuador’s largest city. We then took a bus about 110 K’s north to the fishing village/resort area of Playas. The heat and humidity of this place is overwhelming.

After checking into a mid-level Las Redes Hotel, we walked the beach, which was populated by late day bathers and a long row of fishing boats. Our room was sweltering last night and while trying to let in some cool air we just invited in a mosquito party. Today we moved to a better hotel, El Tucano, and got a room with air conditioning. We now sit beside the pool, reading and contemplating what to do with the rest of the day.

Monday, November 24, 1997

We decided to leave Playas early. However , it rained all last night (El Nino) and we were afraid the bus would not be able to  make it back to

Beach at Playas, Equador

Guayaquil. We saw a number of flooded out homes and intersections with more than a foot of water. Eventually we made it to the airport just to find the whole place flooded with everyone who could perched on any elevated surface.

Tuesday, November 25

Flooded Guayaquil airport

By good luck we were able to exchange our Quito return tickets on SAETA, which was  closed down, for TAME which still had occasional flights. We arrived mid-day to a drier, yet very overcast, Quito. A very friendly taxi driver took us up the central valley to the indian arts and crafts town of Otavalo about 100 K’s north.

The driver talked to us of history, current politics and took several side trips to show us sites of interest. We looked at several hotels in Otavalo and decided upon the Ali Shungu, which was highly praised in the Lonely Planet guidebook. We especially like gathering around the fireplace. We find this pueblo very charming with friendly Indians who still wear their region’s costumes on a daily basis. Everything possible to be made of wool is for sale. Quality is good and prices are very low.

A favorite photo. Notice the “LATITUD 0′ 0′ 0′ ” banner in the background, we’re standing on the equator with my pant legs still wet from being in the Guayaquil airport on the coast hours before.

Our friendly taxi driver and me somewhere between Quito and Otavalo.

Thursday, November 27 (Thanksgiving)

Tim and I are sitting on bus in Otavalo’s “Terminal Terrestre” waiting for it to fill up so that we can leave for Quito. We have spent these past few days relaxing in this pleasant town.

Warm and cozy in front of the fireplace at Ali Shungu in Otavalo

Disappointingly, we continue to suffer from the effects of “El Nino,” as we have been unable to see the surrounding, snow-covered volcanoes due to the cloud cover.

The quality of goods sold here by the  Indian cooperatives is outstanding. You can buy the heavy white wool sweaters. so evident in Ireland, for around $6.00! Tim purchased several items as gifts for his Bolivian Friends and a Fedora hat to complete his traditional dance outfit. I bought several small paintings, some shawls and two sweaters.

Central Market, Otavalo, Equador

We arrived in Quito around mid-day and took  a room at  the San Sebastian Hotel. This is a first-class facility with all the amenities, so that we were able to enjoy a traditional American Thanksgiving afternoon, watching the Dallas Cowboys play football. This evening, after a feint-hearted attempt at finding a traditional turkey dinner, we went to Las Redes restaurant and had a magnificent shellfish feast.

Friday, November 28, 1997

I’m on my way to Miami and then home. Unfortunately, one leg of Tim’s scheduled return flight had been canceled, so he had to spend another day in Quito. This was quite upsetting to him, as tomorrow is the first day of a weekend fiesta in Tarata that he “could not miss.” He is part of a dance group and doesn’t want them to feel he puts traveling above participating with them. Additionally, he has invited friends down for the event.

I was sad to leave him and sadder still to see him so disappointed in not being able to meet his obligations. However, all in all, it was quite an adventure and a pleasure to spend two weeks with my son.

Visiting Tim while He was in the Peace Corps – First Trip

In 1996 my son Timothy followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the Peace Corps. In the spring of that year he headed off  for three months of “in-country” training to prepare for a two-year assignment in that high altitude, South American country. Having been a volunteer myself 28 years earlier in Venezuela, and later obtaining a degree in Latin American Studies, I was looking forward to visiting him down there once he got settled. Here is an account of my first visit.

Thursday, September 26, 1996

Tim and me at lunch first day in Cochabamba

I left work at mid-day to catch a 2:45 p.m. flight to Dallas. From there I will go to Miami and finally to La Paz, Bolivia where I will arrive at 6:30 a.m. local time. Tim has a ticket waiting for me at the LAB office in the La Paz airport that will take me to his nearest airport, Cochabamba, later in the morning. I have two bags weighing 90 lbs. and about 30 lbs. more in a backpack filled with gifts that Tim requested, so I am concerned about getting everything through customs.

Friday, September 27

I am sitting in the La Paz airport awaiting the departure of my flight to Cochabamba. I dozed off a little last night, but really got very little sleep. However, I feel pretty well right now, we’ll see how it goes when the adrenaline wears off.Customs was not a problem, as they only gave my large bag a cursory look. So far the Bolivians are very attentive and helpful, more so than I have noted in other Latin countries.  My heavy bags finally caught up with me as I had to pay a 41 Bolivianos ($8.00) charge for 20 kilos of extra weight.

Anyway, I arrive in Cochabamba at 9:30 a.m. and was greeted by a very happy and skinny Tim. We checked into the three-star Empeador Hotel, where Tim’s Peace Corps group had been booked when they started training. We spent the afternoon touring the town and climbed a nearby

The “Cristo Rey” statue

hill on which the “Cristo Rey” statue is located. This piece is a copy of the one found in Rio, but the local organizers made sure it was a few inches taller. From the top of the hill we had an excellent view of the town and the mountains beyond, including 16,000” Tunari, which Tim had earlier climbed. The steep ascent left both my legs shaking, while little kids scampered up and down with little apparent effort.

Later we visited Tim’s Cochabamba weekend digs and got an early start on what proved to be a great evening at a Peace Corps Volunteer party with beer, cacha, visits to various bars, beer, coca leaves and great conversations. It only took me a short time to forget all the years that had passed since my service, I was back in the Peace Corps again. Aside from seeing Tim, this may have been the highlight of my trip. I finally stumbled

View of Cochabamba, Bolivia 1996

back to my room around 3:00 a.m.

Saturday, September 28

Tim came by at 8:00 a.m. to pick me up to see Cochabamba’s “Cancha”, their open air Saturday market. After some discussion and considered appraisal of our physical condition, we decided to blow off the Market and head down on a “trufi” to Tim’s work site, Tarata.

Before leaving, however, we decided to buy plane tickets to leave Monday morning for Chile. We opted to go there my first week down, as there are a lot of fiestas happening the second week in some of the Bolivian towns we are planning to visit.

After the 45 minute trufi ride we arrived in Tarata. The pueblo consists of

Peace Corps Party in Cochabamba

cobbled streets with adobe walls. As we are still in the dry season, there is a lot of dust. The pueblo is exceptionally clean and many of the younger people call out “Timo, como estas” as we walk by.After a well deserved nap, we took a walk in the campo to appreciate the beautiful, Southern California type landscape. In the evening I tried my first chicha, a corn and wheat liquor that reminds me of limeade with alcohol. Back to Tim’s room for an early night.

Sunday, September 29

After a tough night for me on Tim’s hard mattress, we got up for coffee and a breakfast roll and a tour of Tarata given by Tim’s

Tim with some of the peach farmers he worked with in Tarata

good buddy, Jaime, the town tour director.Jaime was very well prepared and we were soon joined by a high school group down from Cochabamba to see the historical sites. It seems that Tarata was a very important agriculture center for most of Bolivia’s history and produced at least three, and maybe as many as five, presidents. There were also many other historical figures that ran the gambit from Chaco War heroes, modern-day music composers and artist. Also, there is a lot more to the crumbling building architecture than originally meets the eye. The town now is in general decline as events have passed it by.In the afternoon we returned to Cochabamba and Tim’s apartment there. We were joined for a good Italian dinner by one of Tim’s roommates,

The “campo” in Tarata

Cathy, and after a return visit to Tio Lucas’ (the site of the previous Peace Corps party), we headed back for a short night’s sleep. We had to be at the airport at 5:00 a.m. to be first in line, as we are heading for Santiago, Chile tomorrow and one of the tickets is standby.

Monday, September 30

Not a good day!

I was sick from when we left Tim’s apartment through the flights to La Paz and Santiago and all night in a Santiago downtown hotel.

Tuesday, October 1, 1996

I’m still not feeling well today. We took a walk around central Santiago in the morning. The city appears more European than

Tim’s Tarata digs

South American. I was especially impressed by how well the people were dressed, especially the men in well-tailored, modern suits of the latest fashion.We caught a Tur Bus for Vina del Mar at midday and took a two-hour trip down the coast through some beautiful country. Unfortunately, I slept most of the way.

We checked into the four-star O’Higgans Hotel and took a walk through a part of town to the beach. Locals say the ocean water is polluted (don’t eat raw fish), but it looked pretty food to us, especially to Tim who has been in landlocked Bolivia for nine months

Tim’s room in Tarata

Tim asked an American girl, who was  working at the hotel, out for drinks and dinner. I joined them for the drinks (Pisco Sours = too sweet!) and went back to the hotel for an early night.

Wednesday, October 2

The money (Peso) here in Chile is very confusing. Inflation has driven the value down to the point that all the prices are in 1,000’s. 1,000 pesos = $2.50.

We had a relaxed day today, as we spent most of our time walking around town. We visited the Vergara Estate which has been turned into a museum and public gardens. Unfortunately, the house/museum was closed due to a public employee strike, but the gardens were extensive and well-kept.

Thursday, October 3

We took the early Tur Bus back to Santiago and checked back into the Metropoli Hotel. We spent the afternoon walking around

Concha y Toro Winery, Chile’s largest

the central city and took in a movie, “The Usual Suspects“. As I said earlier , Santiago has a very European feel. People appear healthy, prosperous and move with a purpose. Service is the best south of San Diego, California and there are not nearly as many beggars as there are in Boulder. We made Tim’s evening by going to the “Phone Booth Pub” and having some Guinness beer. He is taking one of the cans back to Bolivia to open on his next birthday.

Friday, October 4

We took a taxi out to Pisque, about 45 miles south of Santiago, to visit Chile’s largest winery, Concha y Toro. It drizzled the whole time, so the tour was limited to their warehouse and tasting room. We were a little put off by the fact that they charged for wine samples, but it was interesting.

We had a great seafood meal back in Santiago at the Mercado Central (no raw seafood!) and caught the evening return flight to La Paz. La Paz was beautifully lit up as we rode in from the airport to check into the Republic Hotel.

Bus station in La Paz

The city is old and worn down. Lots of traffic congestion and business suits are hard to find. The population is heavily Indian and moves at its own pace. However, the Spanish is much easier for us to understand here than in Chile.

Saturday, October 5

Tough night in a bed that collapsed around me, We spent too much time this morning buying airline ticket and finding breakfast. We also found a new hotel, as I could not spend another night in the old “cama.”

We ran into “Big” Tim, one of the guys from last Friday’s Peace Corps party in Cochabamba and have promised to meet up with him this evening.

Spent much of the day walking around La Paz. The city s in a magnificent setting, surrounded by dramatic, snow-covered

Lake Titcaca

mountain peaks that reach over 20,000′. However, it is not as attractive close up. Planning has been haphazard, roads, sidewalks, everything is either broken or under repair. Traffic is loud, stinky and combative. The people are good-natured, as they swarm across the roads and through markets.This evening we hooked up with a number of volunteers and had dinner at a very good, moderately priced Italian restaurant, Prontos. From there we headed out for a night of Cacha (some sort of dice game the volunteers learned from the Bolivians), beer, drunk locals, coca leaves and celebrating the other Tim’s 28th  birthday.

Sunday, October 6

We got up fairly early to catch a bus for the four-hour ride from La Paz to Copacabana, an historic site on lake Titicaca, the highest lake in the world. I got my first real view of the Altiplano, as the ride took us past camposinos breaking up the dusty, hard soil using teams of oxen and small town festivals (it’s Sunday) involving brass bands and dancers in their finest.

Bolivian marketplace

As we did not have enough time to take a boat out to the Isla del Sol (traditionally the birthplace of the Inca race), we made do with getting to know Copacabana and it’s elaborate Moorish style church. The lake water is very clean and a turquoise blue. We had an excellent lunch of lake trout and headed back for the ride home and an early night.

Monday, October 7

Up early again and off th La Paz’s airport for a trip down to what is supposed to be Bolivia’s most beautiful city, Sucre.

In my opinion the town lives up to its reputation. It has a very Mediterranean look and feel, with white-painted buildings and red tile roofs. The municipal buildings are large, ornate and well-kept up. There is a very appealing central plaza, many parks and a large European-looking population.

We have run into as many German speakers here as we did in La Paz. For some reason this country appears to be a major

Che, the revolution lives in Sucre, Bolivia

destination spot for these travelers.We also continue to run into what we are told is a common problem, no one has and change; coin or bills. I don’t know why, but almost every business transaction, from taxis to restaurants, involves requests for smaller denominations or the running off to neighboring businesses for “cambio.”

Anyway, back to Sucre. We took a walk around town and of course once again ran into the local volunteers. We ended up having dinner with a few and watching Monday Night Football at a bar with cable.

Tuesday, October 8

Cerro Rico, Potosi, Bolivia

Had a relaxed day. Spent a good deal of time with my book, Lost World, while sitting at the hostel or in the central plaza. We did take a hike up a hill for a view or the entire city and toured the Textiles Indigneas Museo.

The latter was very interesting display of the different types of cloth, weaving, designs and colors used by the various groups of indians in the Sucre area.

We watched Bolivia lose 0-1 to Uruguay this evening in a boring futbol match. The Bolivians appeared to to expect to lose.

Wednesday, October 9

Went back to the Textile Museum early and bought a beautiful piece of

Our guide helping us buy “explosivos” dynamite as gifts for the miners we will encounter in Cerro Rico

work. Now, what am I gong to do with it?We took a bus for the four-hour ride to Potosí. As Potosí is the highest city in the world (13,300′), the bus climbed most of the way. I was interested to see that once we gained this altitude, which is well above tree line in Colorado, there were not only trees, but the land is intensely cultivated for field crops (is all has to do with proximity to the equator).

We were able to tour their main church, Iglesia de la Merced, which had been built in pre-independence times for Spanish (white) only worship. We also had the opportunity to experience a wonderful tour of the Casa Moneda, given by an excellent guide. This is where the silver from Potosí was turned into Spanish Reales from 1545, and into Bolivian Soles and Bolivianos, after independence. The “Casa” continued to produce coins until 1909.

Thursday, October 10

Had another tough night, as sleep is difficult for those not used to this altitude. We found ourselves awakened often, gasping for air. We took a tour of the infamous Cerro Rico, where eight million Indian and African slaves died while extracting silver from 1545 to 1875.  Conditions are said to have improved greatly since the miners’ rebellion of 1952 wrested control of the mines from the hands of the few owners.

Tour group for the Cerro

We started the tour in the shopping area where the independent or “Colectivo” miners purchase their necessities: dynamite, cord, coca leaves, cigarettes, alcohol, etc. We were encouraged to purchase some of the items as gifts for the miners we would find working. First time I ever bought a stick of dynamite!

We proceeded with a German couple and our guide to the hill where we arrived at a hole in the rock that served as the mine entrance, we donned helmets and rain coats and, carrying lanterns, entered into the low-ceiling passageway where we were shown figures of Cristo and “Tio” (the Devil) to whom the miners pay homage,

With the high altitude, my cold and the low, narrow space, I asked to wait

Bolivian silver miner

outside for the rest of the time the group would spend underground. I passed the next two hours baking in the sun on the side of the hill, while the rest of the group dispensed their gifts and observed the miners at work. Thank God I wasn’t born into their situation.The average miner works 12 to 16 at day, six days a week. They typically have a large family and drive themselves hard, with coca leaves keeping hunger and exhaustion at bay. On a good day a miner can make 80 Bolivianos ($16.00).We spent the evening watching a poor American film, In The Nick of Time, and enjoyed some indigenous music in the Central Plaza, which was the beginning of a week-long cultural festival.

Friday, October 11

We caught the only scheduled flight that day out of Potosi for La Paz at 8:15 a.m. At 13,000+ feet only a small craft can get up enough speed to take off.  I’m glad air traffic is so reasonable within Bolivia, as this $60 ticket saves us six hours in a bus.

I’m happy to be leaving this high altitude, as the thin air and head cold have given me a constant headache.

We spent the day walking around central la Paz and checking out our last market. We also took in yet another movie, this time a repeat, Independence Day, and had dinner at yet another Italian restaurant, Pronto, with a friend of Tim’s. Lisa, who was celebrating her 25th birthday.

Saturday, October 12

The long trip home. Leaving La Paz at 7:15 a.m. but I won’t get into Denver until 10:40 p.m. It has been wonderful spending the last two weeks with Tim and sharing a part of his adventure. Unfortunately, I have been ill with amoebas and a head cold much of my time here, so I have not had the energy I would have wanted.

The Bolivian people are in general very gracious, but I find much of their country bleak and desolate. It has been a good trip, but I look forward to returning home.

                                                                      La Paz market

My Peace Corps Experience

By Charley Mallon, on May 8th, 2012

 

My passport photo 1966

Early in 1966 I had a decision to make; consent to being drafted into the army or accept a last minute invitation to training for a two-year Peace Corps assignment in Venezuela. I had just gotten my Associate of Arts degree after two plus years of junior college and had no immediate plans to attend a four year institution. About a year earlier I had filled out a 16 page application form for the Peace Corps because the romance and adventure of it appealed to me, but had heard nothing from them since, so I had pretty much forgotten about it.

Although the war in Viet Nam was heating up, and going into the army meant very likely ending up there, this was not as easy of a decision as many would think. The Peace Corps was only a deferment of my service obligation and I knew I’d be subject again to conscription upon my return. Also, I had gotten used to the idea of going into the army and had taken some tests that indicated I might be able to get into officer training school.

Ultimately, I decided upon the Peace Corps because it was different from that which my peers were doing and I thought it would look more interesting on a resume one day. So, in March of that year, at 20 years old, I found myself at the University of Arizona in Tucson, along with 60 others from across the country, to begin a three month training course.

We quickly divided up into our natural groups; the drinkers and non-drinkers, idealist and adventure seekers, married and un-married, men and woman, jocks and non-jocks. Ultimately, it seems to me, that the adventure seekers/drinkers had the better experiences and the idealists/non-drinkers had the more difficult.

Our training consisted of intensive Spanish classes and, as our group was focused on “Directed Recreation”, courses in teaching sports. In the beginning we were tested for language skills and assigned to study groups based upon the results. Most days began with two hours of Spanish study, an hour of

The Boys- Peace Corps Training, Tucson, Arizona

recreation and back for two more hours of “Castellano”. Many of us started speaking Spanish in our sleep. Although I worked hard to learn, my ability in Spanish ended up about average for the group. Afternoons were spent learning how to coach sports, often taught by members of the University of Arizona athletic department.

After a couple of months of this we were all sent down to the states of Michoacán and Jalisco in México to spend a couple of weeks in villages where we were to practice our new language skills and experience living in a third world

Peace Corps Training-Pichataro, Michoacan, Mexico 1966

country. It was hoped that this trip would replicate that which awaited us in Venezuela and we, and the Peace Corps management, could determine whether it was appropriate for individuals to move forward. I was assigned the remote small mountain village of Pichataro in Michoacán. In order to arrive there, I had to take a train, bus and finally hire a horse and young guide for the last, overnight segment of my journey. However, I have always suspected that, had I spoken the local lingo better, I might have found an easier way there. The people were lovely and very hard working. I struggled with communication and the isolation, but look back upon it with fondness. Interestingly, many of the villagers did not speak Spanish well, as Tarascan was the native language.

Many long-term friendships were formed during these three months of training and for me it was one of the best parts of my entire Peace Corps experience. At the end about 10 of us decided not to continue and another 10 were “deselected” by the administration. Several of these “deselections” were very unpopular with the remainder of the group.

So, now there were 40 of us off for the big adventure.

We gathered in Miami with another training group of volunteers for a late night flight south to Venezuela’s capital, Caracas. The pilot initially welcomed us aboard and wished us luck in our new adventure. Later he had to come on the speaker several times with dire threats if we didn’t put away the liquor bottles we had smuggled on the airplane.

Once in Caracas, we spent a number of days sightseeing while the administration got us organized and gave us our site assignments. I was asked to

Some of the regulars at Fe y Alegria playing fields

work in a Catholic run elementary school called Fe y Alegria in Puerto Ordaz, Estado Bolívar. The school had a large fenced-in recreation area that included a couple of basketball courts and a soccer field, ideal for teaching physical education, running after school programs and organizing sports competitions. There had been a couple of volunteers there before I arrived who were well thought of.

Girls’ volleyball team 1968

At that time Puerto Ordaz had about 100,000 inhabitants, but was growing fast due to the many new jobs on offer. The Venezuelan government was investing a lot of their oil revenue into developing the infrastructure of the area, including massive Guri dam, to exploit the large quantities of mineral deposits found in the vicinity, as well as to support the development of heavy industry. Orinoco Mining Company, a subsidiary of U.S. Steel, was already there, along with a number of American technicians and a country club for management level employees.

Los Bloques-Puerto Ordaz 1966 where I lived the first year

Puerto Ordaz is located about 400 miles to the southwest of Caracas in the middle of their great plains, the Llanos. The city is set at the confluence of the Orinoco and Caroni rivers. As it is only 7 degrees north of the equator, the climate is often hot and humid, especially during the rainy season. The new metropolis of Ciudad Guyana was eventually formed by joining Puerto Ordaz with another city across the Rió Caroni, San Feliz. Combined they now have a population approaching one million.

So, for two years I would open the Fe y Alegria playing fields after school for the children and young adults of the

Mi Choza-Puerto Ordaz- my home the second year 1967-68

surrounding barrio to play ball games or just hang out. Occasionally we would have basketball, volleyball and soccer tournaments. We even had a track event. During the day I would teach physically education classes at the primary school and/or walk a mile over to the Escuela Secondaria Catolica and teach a period in third year English. I remember that I would arrive in a sweat for this 8:00 am class, due to the torrid climate.

Evenings would often find me up the hill, towards the center of town, where there were some lighted basketball courts and games usually in progress. Walking home in the evening I would marvel at the stars. With little ambient light to compete, they were brighter and more numerous than I have been able to see in most of my city-based life. At that low latitude, Scorpio and the Southern Cross dominated the constellations in the heavens.

One year I ended up in charge of taking the State of Bolívar’s men’s basketball team up to the national tournament in Caracas. We were hopelessly out-manned and lost all our matches. It didn’t help that I knew little about coaching a real team.

El Barrio-Puerto Ordaz 1967

After I had been in Puerto Ordaz for about 6 months another Volunteer was assigned there with me. Although I was looking forward to the companionship, he and I never bonded. He was very enthusiastic and committed to integrating himself into the community. He was also very Catholic and much of his work was centered around and through the church. I certainly respected the effort he put into being a volunteer, but he and I sort of only co-existed without any significant personal relationship. After the Peace Corps I heard he chose to stay in Venezuela and, according to one source, renounced his United States citizenship.

I suppose the most typical plate of food there was carrajotas negras, arroz con pollo y platinos (black beans, chicken and rice with fried plantains). I had this combination countless meals and enjoyed it every time. The brand of beer I drank was Polar. One custom I always found curious was that working-class men there would stop drinking a bottle of beer once it became less than very cold. So, in a bar you would see a group sitting around a table filled with half drunk bottles, this in a country where every Bolívar was hard to come by?

When I joined the Peace Corps I weighed about 180 lbs. When I returned I tipped the scale at 158. And, I wasn’t the only one, as all the men had a similar experience. I suppose it was a combination of work, more basic foods and, in my case, loss of appetite due to the climate. Interestingly, my son Timothy, who spent two years in Bolivia as a volunteer, had a similar experience.

During my time in Venezuela I was able to do a bit of traveling. Fellow volunteer Bob Buffin and I hitchhiked across the Northwest corner of the country that

Bob Buffin and me in Barquisimeto, Venezuela

Doug Stufflebeam, Delta Amacuro, Venezuela 1968-He saved lives

included the northern most extent of the Andes. I was always a little jealous of the volunteers in these higher-altitude, cooler-temperature cities of Caracas, Maracay, Valencia and Merida. I also was able to travel by motorized launch out into the Orinoco Delta to visit another friend, Doug Stufflebeam, who was saving lives among the Warao Indians with his navy corpsman experience.

I enjoyed a couple of visits north to Playa Colorada on the Caribbean coast where I body surfed and ate oysters for the first time.

Joe Bette was an American working for the Orinoco Mining company in Puerto Ordaz at that time, who had been a Peace Corps Volunteer in India a few years before. He and I flew to Trinidad for Carnival one year. It was one of the great adventures of my life. 40+ years later and I can still hear the steel drum music and taste the dark rum.

I left Venezuela disappointed that I had not put more effort into creating additional activities, programs and events at Fe y Alegria. No excuses, but over time, after an initial burst of enthusiasm, I lost motivation and interest. After the first year, with some exceptions when I would have a spurt of activity, I just went with the flow and did only what was required of me.  Towards the end I was counting the days until the completion of my assignment, as it was important to me to finish my two year commitment. As it was, I got a lot more out of my experience than I believe did the Venezuelans. Of our group of 40, that had arrived “in country” 24 months earlier, about 20 stuck it out to the end. I am proud to have done so.

Additionally, I felt I could have put more effort into learning Spanish. I was “OK” at the end of two years, but it was not until long after that, with some serious study back home, that I ever reached a proficiency with which I was content.

In June of 1968 I completed my service and returned to the U. S. via Bogota, Colombia. My first stop back home was New York City where I visited another returning volunteer from our group, Bart Briefstein, who lived there. We ended up going to an off-Broadway production of a new play everyone was talking about named “Hair.” This was the 60’s, and for the last two years we in Venezuela had been hearing continuous reports about anti-Viet Nam war protesters rioting in the streets of American along with the assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King. I was not sure what to expect when I got home again. I went through quite a return culture shock that evening, watching this new type, counter-culture play with actors appearing nude on stage. Maybe my country had changed in my absence?

It had, and so had I.