After disembarking from the 4×4 that had chugged its way up an impossibly remote and steep mountainside, I felt as if I had stepped into a dream sequence.
Back when the protests were in full force, and I was losing my mind, I decided to take a trip outside of Valencia. A few weeks later, I’d called a posada some co-workers had stayed at and organized for myself and two co-workers to go. We went this past weekend, and am I ever glad that we did.
For one, the posada experience was tranquil. Located twenty minutes outside the mountain town of Bejuma (and about two hours from Valencia), the ladies and I drank wine in the evenings, ate delectable meals of black beans, arepas, cheese, soup, chicken stir fry and the like, and just rested.
I finished reading a young adult series that reminded me of why I fell in love with books in the first place, fell asleep to the sound of deep-throated frogs, awoke to the sound of roosters crowing and birds chirping, and just relished the small, quiet moments of life that come when nature surrounds you more than people do.
Now, the trip was not without its drama. I’d foolishly left the light in our cottage on one night, which meant we were greeted with buzzing junebugs and moths when we returned. That same night the power went out and said junebugs swarmed our heads, attracted to e-reader and computer screens as we tried to watch a movie and/or read. It was a scene to behold to see three twenty-something to thirty-something grown women screaming and swatting at objects in the dark while trying to rid the cabin of the insects (we succeeded).
Then, there was the huge spider carcass which the four year old announced was “small but we [the visitors] thought it was big because we saw it in the dark.”
The next morning there was a large (in my mind), very alive, spider sprawled against the wall. I killed the thing with a shoe and was given the nickname Xena, Warrior Princess for the rest of the weekend (do y’all remember that show???).
With the rainy season returning, the entire weekend was like living in a cloud. The clouds lifted briefly each day, a steamy wall of humidity on the horizon, before descending on the posada’s land and obscuring a view that was once clear. The clouds brought with them a drop in the temperature that required light sweatshirts and/or a jacket.
When it was time to go Sunday morning, I couldn’t help but smile. I was happy the ladies had come with me, and I was happy to see another, quieter, softer side of Venezuela.
To fight off the end of year blues that comes as I chug towards the finish line, I’ve decided to organize more trips. Up next is Curacao for six days. It’ll be Spring Break!