Vacation time | MEMOIR MONDAY (WEEK 52)

From the times before I was ten years old I only have a handful of fuzzy images. I do remember that at that age my father already had a car and we could go out on school vacations.

Our vacations began the first days of August, by that time my mother had already taken care of the itinerary and had prepared everything that was needed, some kitchen utensils, daily and bed linen, the first aid kit with essential medicines, and the inevitable gifts for loved ones.

Most of the time we made a trip to the west of the country, to the places where my parents were born and where a good part of the family was.

We always left the house in the early hours of the morning, my father said that the trip was more profitable because we could take advantage of the road without so much heat.

I do not know if at that time, by 1964 when I was ten years old, there were already cars with air conditioning. I don't remember any, neither of any cab where I had ridden, nor any of the ones my father had.

The most common thing at that time was to ride with the windows down, which was very tasty because you could feel the air in your face. But that had a problem on rainy days; since the windows had to be rolled up to keep the water out, the windows would fog up because of the difference in temperature between the inside and outside of the vehicle, so the passenger or the driver had to wipe the windshield with a cloth to have visibility.

My brother and I sat each of us next to a window and it was impressive to see how the landscape changed as we drove away from Caracas, the houses were disappearing little by little and there came a time when the only thing that could be seen everywhere was the greenery of nature.

We always knew that we were close to my mother's land, in Carora, in the state of Lara, in western Venezuela, because the greenery was disappearing and in its place appeared a landscape of yellowish lands, with very little vegetation and a large number of goats scattered everywhere. My brother and I would make a bet to see who would be the first to see a goat trying to climb a cuji tree to eat the leaves. There were exceptional cases where the goats managed to climb to the top of those small trees.

In Carora we would arrive at our maternal grandfather's house, it was a very humble house, with few comforts, there were only one or two beds and we had to choose who would sleep in the hammocks. Most of the time our parents preferred to sleep in the hammocks and leave the beds to my brother and me.

We spent a few days in those arid lands and then we went further west, towards the state of Táchira, where my father was born.

Again the landscape was noticeable, soon after leaving my grandfather's house the yellows began to disappear and the greens were imposed again, and the size of the mountains became much larger. I always liked that green landscape of Táchira's lands the most.

Some of my uncles from Táchira were dedicated to the cultivation of coffee, they had large plots of land with lots of coffee plants. I was impressed by the size of those plantations that seemed to have no end. Sometimes we could see in the baskets of the people who collected the coffee seeds, seeds of all colors, green, red and yellowish.

After a few days with these relatives we would make the return trip, with the same itinerary, with a short stop at grandfather's house and then continue to Caracas.

After a few days of rest in our house in Caracas we would go to our paternal grandmother's house in La Guaira, very close to the sea. At grandma's house we always had a room for us because we visited her quite often, there was a time when we would go every weekend, arriving on Friday afternoon and returning on Sunday at noon. When my father could not go because he was working, my mother would take several buses and we would go to grandma's house.

Going to grandma's was my favorite thing to do. As soon as we arrived, we would leave our things in the room and go to the beach. Even when we were ten years old we were not allowed to go alone, we had to be accompanied by an uncle or a friend of the family, but when we were twelve we could go on our own, the only thing my mother asked us was to be punctual with the time of return. If she said come back at three in the afternoon and we arrived at four in the afternoon, she would not let us go the next day. So my brother and I would keep an eye out for people with watches on their wrists to ask her the time and come back on time to avoid punishment.

I always remember those years of my childhood with great affection, I was very lucky to have parents who were able to give me a lot of attention and leave me with great moments in my memory.

I am publishing this post motivated by the initiative proposed by my friend @ericvancewalton, Memoir Monday, in the fifty two week. For more information click on the link.

Thank you for your time.