passenger in transit

December 1999 was a tragic month for Venezuela. The disaster that happened at El Litoral affected almost everybody and impacted everyone. Landslides and flooding destroyed or damaged more than 8000 houses and 700 apartment buildings; 30,000 is now generally cited as the approximate number of fatalities. Closer or further we all knew somebody that was directly affected by this tragedy. And even closer we were all indirectly affected. My personal tragedy those days was how to do to get to my house for Christmas.

At that moment I was living in Caracas and my family in Merida, that means 10-12 by car or more than an hour by plane. Of course, the airport was (is) at El Litoral and the access to it was completely closed… as well as the airport. So, while thousands of people were looking for the names of their relatives in the list of disappeared persons, their belongings in the mud and some food in the help centers, I was just looking for a way to get to Mérida on time. Could anybody be more selfish? but I was not alone! Oh no! Joining my dilemma were three coworkers, also from Mérida and as or more selfish than me. We felt really bad, we wanted to help but more than anything we wanted to be home.

Out of the four of us, the only one that had a car was not willing to drive the 10-12 hours. The car was too old and without a professional mechanic and a huge tool box it could only be driven work-home-work-home. Another option was taking a bus, but thousands have had the same idea and it was almost impossible to get a ticket. We searched for all the possible car/bus/plane combinations from different cities, we got organized and each one explored a possible option, a possible contact, a possible craziness. We talked to travel agencies, rental car agencies, people on the street, anything. Our families were already dealing with the fact that most likely their babies were not going to be home for the holidays and, considering what was going on, they were happy because we were at least safe and sound.

When we were also about to give up, Leo came back with the news that he had decided to buy a new car, right there, right now, ipso facto! And that we were going to make it to Mérida. All of us. Driving. Period. We all helped with part of the down payment, basically what we would have paid for the craziest of the ideas (rent a car and drive to Valencia, take a plane to Aruba from there, another plane from Aruba to Maracaibo and from there we thought we could figured it out somehow). Hurrah Leo! We were saved.

Five days later, December 22nd, was The Day. The plan was to leave all straight from work to Mérida, drive all night and arrive early morning. Worst case scenario we could spend the night somewhere along the way, but the important thing was to get on the road. We had music, food, drinks, maps and a perfect plan. All happy, singing ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’!

Surprises started with Laura, who didn’t bring her suitcase to the office and didn’t give a clear explanation of the why. We thought (knew) she was just a bit blond… dumb. So we had to stop at her house on the way out. Ok, no problem, 10 minutes of delay is nothing. The second surprise was the fact that Leo had offered another friend a ride to Barquisimeto, a city half way to Mérida. That meant five in the car, plus the ‘stuff’. Well, what mattered was to get there, ‘if there’s love walls are elastic’, we had to help our fellow travelers, besides Leo had said he was going to get a more or less big car, we might be a bit uncomfortable, but that was it. And that was the next surprise… in the parking lot was waiting for us a very small sport car, two doors, no room, no space, money was not enough for something else. Surprise, surprise. Still, our Christmas spirit remained intact; everything was an adventure. We were on our way to go home and be with the family.



And Laura’s family was huge, really huge. We realized that when she got out of her house with her luggage, full of Christmas presents… three suitcases, plus some bags, plus something else wrapped in such a weird shape we still don’t know what it was. Laura’s luggage, the rest of the luggage, the five of us, everything in a small car. We looked like sardines in a tin, happy sardines, but then some nice and not so nice discussions started about which music to hear and at what volume and what route to take and I want to stop to go to the restroom and I don’t want to and I want to eat something and I can’t move with this suitcase on top of me and your elbow on my side and I’ll move my elbow if Laura gets off my lap and I want the window after the next stop and who the hell ate all the cookies I brought!? Love is fragile and the walls of that car were made of many things but rubber.

At 11pm we arrived to Barquisimeto, we left the 5th passenger at his place and Leo, always surprising, announced that there was a girl he knew that lived in Barquisimeto and, as we were there, he wanted to stop by. Just a friend, just 10 minutes, then we could eat something and continue with the trip. How could we say no? So we waited in the car. 10 minutes, 15, half an hour, an hour. It’s midnight and we don’t know at which apartment is Leo, we have the car keys, but none of us knew Barquisimeto, nevertheless at midnight. These sardines were stinking already. 12:30am, Leo came back with the address of a cheap hotel for us, because he was spending the night with the 10-minutes-girl.

That night, that hotel, those cockroaches, that cheap wine and the horror stories we told deserved another chapter… and 3 minutes of silence.

Next morning we were back on the road. Not at all rested, very much annoyed and one of us with a particularly bad mood and an upset stomach. We took the Páramo route, as we thought it was a good idea. The scenery between the mountains is full of curves, but beautiful. Kharla’s stomach didn’t think it was such a good idea and Leo’s new car didn’t smell anymore like a new car when she left the wine, the breakfast, the hotel and the horror stories between the carpet and the seat on the back. I could swear there was one of the cockroaches too.

Long hours later and we were barely getting closer to Mérida. Laura was not speaking to Leo anymore, Leo was upset with me, Kharla was about to get off the car (while moving) when Laura played for the Nth time ‘that dreadful Madonna’s CD’. I only wanted to go home. No more talking, not even arguing, no more ‘adventure spirit’, no more singing ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’. Who does believe in Santa Claus anyway? When Cormetur’s “Welcome to Mérida” sign appeared, from the back seat came a very spontaneous and genuine ‘at least the car didn’t break down, this is a Christmas miracle’ and we all couldn’t do anything else but laugh at how stupid we were. We arrived to the first of our houses still laughing.

Although each of us promised to itself (and some loud enough for the others to hear) that we would-never-ever-in-our-lifes-do-something-like-this-never-ever-ever-ever-again-really-ever at some point of the trip and even though the airport was open again, we drove back to Caracas together in Leo’s small car with no rubber walls, still smelling at whatever Kharla had left on the back and listening to ‘that dreadful Madonna’s CD’ for at least half the way.

6 years later Kharla is still living in Caracas, Leo is living in Costa Rica, Laura in Mexico and I’m in the US. We have all became responsible car owners, some are even married and we have spent some Christmas not at home for various reasons. And every December 22nd we remember that trip and think that we will never-ever-in-our-lifes-do-something-like-that-never-ever-ever-ever-again-really-ever… and we think about it without any anger, but with a deep sorrow.