Creatures of Change

Creatures of Change

There once was a family of moths seized and transplanted from a dark tree to one that was lighter in shade.  A few generations passed and slowly their colors changed from black to white.  The change was so subtle and natural it took shape from one birth to the next. The change didn’t even require any effort or thought on the part of the moths.  Their new home had placed demands on the creatures to adapt, and because of this change they were no longer in such conflict with their new world.  They were never even the least bit aware of their transformation of self.  Often people see pressure from new situations and they actively work to change themselves, so they can better succeed. But other times I think it is entirely possible that a person’s environment can bring on a personal transformation so subtle that he might not even be the slightest bit aware, like an adaptation that occurs in some creatures from one generation to the next.

Several years back I started to think about the daily grind of my life.  It was filled with a feeling of monotony and boredom to the hundredth degree.  I realized everything was always the same as one day just blended into the next. I needed a change and it had to be drastic.  I wanted to know first hand how others lived and how a different culture felt.  I needed to leave behind the middle class life and typical suburban neighborhoods we all know.  The craving was clear as crystal.  I wanted not merely a trip but an experience.  I needed to leave not just Gresham and not just Oregon. I had to leave the country.

I discovered a program to learn Spanish abroad.  A few months passed and the day of my flight arrived.  I had eagerly waited but I was finally on my way to Venezuela, a South American country on the northern coast that runs along the Gulf of Mexico.  Originally I envisioned traveling to Cuba.  I couldn’t imagine any other country that stood in greater contrast to the United States and my way of life.  However, because of political limitations that ambition was quickly put to rest.  I finally made my decision to visit Venezuela instead.  The country is still heavily influenced by western culture, but under its relatively new president, Hugo Chavez, it shares a common interest with Cuba.  The government was still a democracy in the literal sense, but looked to be rapidly embarking on a socialist path and the political landscape was a kettle rife with political pressures and change. 

I arrived at night in the capital of Caracas and soon saw a man holding a sign with my name.  He was the driver assigned to take me to the hotel.  He helped me with a few of my bags as I followed him outside the terminal.  Immediately upon exiting to the outside streets I was enveloped by a hot and thick heavy air.  I could feel the humidity quickly collect in beads on my skin.  This new climate was alien to me.  The night was dark but I felt as if the sun was high in the midst of a sweltering day.

All around me were different vehicles and taxis tirelessly trying to pick up their fares.  None looked exactly the same.  Each was a different color, model, and year.  Yet, at the same time any differences they may have had were meaningless.  The multitude of cars was like a photo of army soldiers in the middle of a tour of duty.  If you look at the photo you know the individuals are of different race, age, and gender.  These differences are trivial.  Each person shares a common military drab and similar dirty faces.  They blend together to form one single group, which is the real focus, not the individuals. They are simply a group of nameless and faceless people all sharing one purpose – to act as a fighting force.  In a sense all these cars were those soldiers in such a photograph. They all blended together and all you could say about each individual vehicle was that it was in desperate need of service or repair.  Some expelled exhaust in thick clouds, others were rusted, and many had smashed bumpers or doors.  The manufacturer’s original design had little meaning here.  They were not meant to be viewed for their class nor to be shown off to friends.  Like the soldiers, they all had only one purpose – utility.  They were merely tools for work or transportation.  Over time they had all been stripped of any quality that once gave them any sense of character or distinguished them as unique.

My driver’s cab was not exactly any exception to the rule.  I remember hoping he was authentic, and that the school had safe practices for arranging travel.  Was it possible he could have found out an American tourist was coming and somehow got my name?  Maybe the school just didn’t screen their drivers – was that possible?  As we drove towards the hotel I worried a bit, that my trust was not misplaced, especially when the drive took longer than I expected.  As time drug on I felt my blood pressure rise and my heart began to beat with pronounced palpitations.  I was nervous and hesitant of the entire situation.  Naturally, I felt my tension ease when we finally did arrive.  My driver instructed me that he would return in the morning for my connecting flight. This time I would fly a few hundred miles east to Puerto La Cruz, a city right on the coast where I would live for the next couple of months.

I could clearly see the city, as we drove the next morning, this time in the light of the sun.    Most of the buildings were run down and in a way reminded me of the cars.  There were a few buildings that, by a stretch, you might be able to call new, but there were twice as many that appeared to have been halfway constructed and left abandoned.  As we merged onto the highway I could clearly see the hills.  They were sprawling with barrios, a Spanish term for ghettos.  I couldn’t discern any rhyme or reason as to how they were placed.  The landscape was haphazardly littered with tiny houses in every convoluted way.  That is, if you could call them houses.  They reminded me more of cement boxes with makeshift tin roofs jury-rigged in place.  I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.  In fact, from my point of view, they could all have been literally built one on top of another. 

That afternoon my plane landed in Puerto La Cruz.  After leaving the plane and once again collecting my luggage I recall being a bit confused when I didn’t see anyone from my host family to greet me.  I felt a bit disoriented. I had no idea where I was and no idea where I needed to go.  All I had was an address and phone number I found after thumbing through a stack of papers stashed in a binder.

I found myself in a bit of a conundrum because I have always been a bit reserved and socially cautious around people I don’t know.  Often I wait for people to first engage me in conversation before speaking to them.  But, I wasn’t at a party or social event where I could wait for a moment that felt right to speak up and let my voice be heard.  Looking at that paper, scribed with just a street name and number, I knew I had to ask someone for help.  I quickly discovered no one spoke one ounce of English and my only means of communication were some hand gestures and a sparse knowledge of a few broken phrases accompanied by a small Spanish dictionary.

I had to try and communicate even though my ego was engulfed by a sense of complete discomfort.  After several attempts, of what seemed like a clumsy game of charades, one of the local girls showed me how to properly dial the number I needed on one of the phones.  I heard a male voice pick up on the other end of the line.  Hopelessly, I felt I could ask questions but couldn’t understand the response.  I nearly gave up, but then I understood one comment, that all certified taxis had a common color and sign.  I found some of these cars and hoped I heard correctly.  I was surprised with myself, that as we drove, I attempted to converse with the driver.  I spoke with broken Spanish and listened attentively with a clumsy untrained ear.  I proceeded to meet new people in this manner and my social discomfort was quickly replaced with the sense of fun and excitement that comes with experimentation and exploration. 

Scenically, Puerto La Cruz reminded me a bit of Caracas.  The city may have been smaller but the same hills were littered with the same barrios and both cities carried a similar visual oddity.  When I stood in the streets, the colors seemed to lack any strong sense of contrast.  Drab urban colors seemed to blend into the next. I remember how odd it felt that the sun could be so bright but the landscape on a cloudy day in Oregon might offer more contrast among the colors than the view of this rustic urban sprawl.  Perhaps there was a hue in the air made from the dust or the smog of busy streets that created an effect like that of a faded photograph.  But, the lack of scenic appeal was more than made up for by the vibrant personalities of the people I met. 

I even began to wonder if Venezuelans had a word for ‘stranger.’  I remember one girl trying to describe to me a shared sense, among people, that every Venezuelan looked to each other as part of a family.  When I walked down the streets I could smile and much of the time it was candidly returned.  Often it was easy enough to make nearly any conversation with complete strangers, before continuing on my way.  There was something very different about the personalities of people here.  Unlike living in our country, when someone’s gaze met mine I didn’t feel the need to necessarily glance away.  Mostly people embraced it and only looked away when they felt ready.  I find it odd that, as an outsider, such a sense of comfort and community could be gained by only slight differences in how people choose to interact with each other.  I think what put me at ease was, for the most part, the way these people chose to present themselves and their inviting use of body language.  I learned that these subtle traits can often touch you on a personal level and speak more profoundly than words alone.

Of course not everyplace was safe and there was still violence.  As my time passed I quickly learned that the locals could easily be divided into three groups.  First, there were those who when you met them you felt instantly connected, like a member of a family.  Second, were people you strived to avoid, and if you were in the wrong place they would most likely mug you.  Finally, the third group was a derivative of the second in that they might kill you as well.  Happily, most everyone I met fell into the first group, but I cautiously stayed out of the barrios and other places, that generous people informed me were unsafe.  After a while I found I was actually more wary of the police than any of the native citizens.  I had heard too many stories of the police behaving like the second or even third group of people.  I realized it was important to travel with an air of caution - not in discomfort - but simply vigilance.

Towards the end of my trip I found that something interesting had emerged within my psyche.  I’m not even sure when the change occurred.  I found I could effortlessly socialize with anyone around me.  Those moments of comfort, that I used to seek before speaking with someone, seemed to always exist no matter the situation.  Those moments were all connected with every second running into the next.  I found I could turn just a person’s glance towards me into a seamless conversation.  The personable and outgoing aspect of myself had grown ten fold.  I realized that if I had not changed in this way I would never have made it very far.  The new shape of my personality was molded by pressures from situations and encouraged both by my unconscious self and people around me. 

When I left for Venezuela I sought a drastic change in my surroundings - but I never thought it would change me.  After returning home I felt many aspects of myself regress, but the adaptation of my personality in Venezuela allowed me to live in a kind of synergy with that new world.  By this I mean a process developed where people and the environment in general influenced me, yet at the same time I influenced and affected them as well.  Whether it was my newfound sense of vigilance or a bolder more sociable self, my inner core was transformed in a way that was so natural it was like one family of moths that changed from dark to light.