After a family Christmas back in the UK, Ian told me to pack a bag as we were going away for a surprise weekend, to celebrate three years of dating officially. I thought it was cute but in the back of mind had a suspicion that it might be a bit more to it than that! I think I even confided in Stacy and was stupidly worried about what to say if I didn’t like the ring, knowing of course that all I wanted was to marry this gorgeous man! We left early on Saturday morning and had a smooth but fascinating journey through El Junquito, a barrio town which seemed to do booming trade with car mechanics or fried chicken. I was always thankful that the windows of our little fiat were blacked out when I was taking pictures and staring out at a world that I was far removed from, I sat in the traffic jam taking it all in. Kids and toddlers looking like they hadn’t taken a shower in their lives walking in packs around the street on the their own, guys hanging out drinking polar beer from the bottle, store fronts with bars shutting all out except for a small payment and goods exchange window and houses, that were piled on top of each other with steps winding and weaving throughout. All ages of folk walking up and down the steps, some barefoot, some dressed to the nines and looking like they were ready for a night out or just coming back from one at 10am. Men were sweeping the dust out of their front porches, rats and dogs were raiding the piles of rubbish bags and trash that was causing a stench that would set off even the strongest of gag reflexes. Queues of people were waiting at the bus stops and scooters went zooming through the static traffic, carrying anything from washing machines and sofas to a family of 6 on the same bike. It really was a cultural experience which, combined with the knowledge that we were headed off for a romantic weekend in the mountains, just reinforced the conflict of living here and being exposed almost daily, to two completely opposite worlds.
We arrived in the black and white housed, wonderfully weird German town of Colonial Tovar and checked into the Bergland Hotel, with views that spanned across rolling green mountains and valleys, the only interruption being a few more black and white colonial houses in the distance. We could see down into the main town square from our balcony and we spent the rest of the morning wandering around the little boutiques and cafes and stocked up on strawberries, eggs and fresh fruit and vegetables, much of which we couldn’t buy in Caracas at that time. It was a busy market square by lunchtime and we sat eating French onion soup, sausages and drinking hot chocolates while watching everyone to and fro on the square in front of the church. After lunch we walked around the church and I followed my mums tradition of lighting a candle of hope whenever there are troubled times. I lit a candle, knelt in prayer, and broke down in tears; I guess a delayed reaction to the shootings I had witnessed back in November. Caracas is such a confusing place to live. I was still adjusting to the culture, language and security risks and at the same time loved my job and the school and was so thankful for Ian and for the amazing friends and colleagues I had surrounding me every day.
We went back to the hotel to change for the evening, a steep climb and certainly one that built up an appetite for dinner. I was starving and remember being annoyed when Ian asked me onto the balcony as I just wanted to get to the restaurant and eat! But there he was with a bottle of champagne, two glasses and a beautiful ring in the box he was holding open while down on one knee. He asked me to marry him and I have never looked back. He was amazing, we worked amazingly well together and I knew without question he was the man to spend my life with. We toasted our future ahead and talked about dreams of a beach wedding (at the time I honestly thought they were dreams, but as it turned out the beach wedding was just around the corner!) The food was delicious and I am pretty sure I spent the rest of the night smiling, giggling and admiring my new hand. I have never worn jewelry and so it was an odd feeling carrying a rock around on my finger. Of course, I didn’t wear it for long – not because the feeling changed, I wanted to never have to take it off! But I was living in Caracas. And I didn’t want to become a target.
Our celebration Sparkle party was at the Macanaima pool area and we invited all the staff from school to come. Laura, Katherine and Kerri were the main party planners and it was an amazing night. I remember the silver and blue balloons shining all over the pool, the gigantic sandwiches from Alicantina along with the Cuba Libres which went down a treat and the card which Nigel had made that turned me and Ian into Peter Andres and Katie Price was hysterical! We were being given love, support and best wishes from all around. I was the happiest woman ever, and yet so homesick at the same time. The everlasting conflict of being an ex-pat who loves the rich, unforgettable travel and cultural experiences we were getting. But wondering why I was choosing this life over one of security and home comforts. I think I am a homebody, but I can’t be else I wouldn’t choose to keep living overseas now would I?
Reflections of a 6 year Venezuelan Adventure 