I think it’s time to start a tradition of some sort in this blog. Like performing an introductory post on occasion, in benefit of all recent followers who just have stepped and so they won’t feel as if they have arrived to a movie show during the second or third reel.
I guess it will be right if I do every now and then, like every new hundred followers or so at the beginning, and then space them out to every 500 or so in the future (who am I kidding? lol).
I reside in Venezuela, and I live in an abandoned housing development at the outskirts of a small town known as Caucagua.
This housing development lays on the edges of a tropical rainforest and, as such, it carries all the inconveniences of living right in the middle of a jungle: the humidity, the heat, the bugs and constantly shifting weather. Life conditions are pretty harsh down here; there’s a constant influx of people who attempt to attempt to move in, but most cope out in three months or less, completely defeated. The longest uninterrupted time period I’ve seen someone tolerate these harsh conditions is about a year.
Just to give you a clue of how tough I am, I have been living 16 years here.
You may ask why; it’s cool. Early on in life, I’d have gone into a never ending tirade on the reasons why I’m stuck here. These days, I just shrug it off and have a good chuckle. For the most part, you wouldn’t understand. And even worse, I’ve started to not care about what other people might think. I’ve mellowed out.
The town of Caucagua is pretty close; two miles west as the crow flies. I can even see some of its tallest buildings from the place I live in. Sounds neat, but there aren’t any direct roads there. To reach town, I have to walk a mile North to reach a main road, about two miles West to get to the Caucagua-Merecure National Highway (such a big name for a two lane blacktop road full of potholes), and another two miles South to reach the edge of the town. Let’s not mention that I have to walk another mile and a half to get into town proper.
Public transportation is in shambles and there’s a small Mafia of taxi drivers that prevents me to properly getting supplies and groceries without paying through my nose for a ride. There is only a supermarket in this place, and it sells at frontier town prices; three or four times the money sum you’d pay in a capital city like Caracas. The merchants in town are even worse. So, if you ever drop by, you’ll generally find me walking alongside these roads with 30 or 40 pounds of foodstuff strapped to my back, returning from a restocking expedition to Guatire, the nearest city, where prices are affordable even after you add the cost of bus fare.
Sounds bad, doesn’t it? But I want to finish this note in a positive note by mentioning two extra good benefits to all this mess: first, it keeps me fit and trim.
Second… I’m not afraid of Hell anymore.
I’m already living in it.