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POP! Groggily I stir from a deep sleep. BOOM! I'm awake now.
What is this loud noise shattering the stillness at 4:00 A.M.?
Brushing sleepy cobwebs from my brain, I try to remember if
we had sailed into Iraq recently. POP! POP! POP! No, we're
not in a war zone. We're in Venezuela. Gunfire is not unheard
of in the barrio right outside the marina gates. Could it
be a shoot-out? Perhaps another coup attempt? No sirens accompany
the POPs and BOOMs. It must be fireworks, but who would set
them off at this hour?
The nerve-rattling noise continues day and night for three
weeks. We learn that the fireworks and bottle rockets are
a prelude to the celebration of the Virgin of the Valley,
patron saint of Venezuelan fishermen. Outside the marina walls,
frequent small parades take place on the neighborhood streets.
The fireworks typically start in the wee hours before dawn
and continue well past bedtime. We give up hope of a good
night's sleep until the holiday has passed.
Dakota, being a typical canine, cowers in fear at the loud
popping sounds. He no longer wants to walk down the dock to
perform his doggy duty. Once essential business is complete,
he turns and hurries back to the boat. Inside our protective
fiberglass shell, he sticks close by his human guardians,
a constant foot warmer.
The celebration culminates on the weekend of September 8th,
starting with a boat parade. The Virgin of the Valley statue,
having spent the past year in a local church, enjoys some
fresh sea air during a tour of Pozuelos Bay. On Saturday morning,
a flotilla of local boats accompany the Virgin of the Valley
on her tour of local waters before returning for a big beach
party. After three weeks of poor sleep and the constant presence
of a furry butt on our feet, we decide to see what all the
hoopla has been about. Along with several friends from the
marina, we head out in our dinghies in search of a memorable
cultural experience.
Where the canal enters Pozuelos Bay, we join a gathering
of festively decorated boats loaded with local families. The
vessels range from small inflatable dinghies, to colorful
fishing pirogues, to luxury motor yachts, to the large gray
Guardia Nacional gunboat. Palm fronds and colorful balloons
adorn the vessels. Statues of the Virgin of the Valley are
secured in a place of honor with the best view. We're never
quite sure which boat hosts the official statue.
As we motor around taking pictures, the locals smile and
wave. "Hola! Buenos Dias!" Some of the men flex
their muscles, posing for the camera. On one boat, featuring
a pole in the middle, slippery-hipped women take their turn
gyrating to a sensual Latin beat. The sun is shining and the
mood is happy and festive.
After awhile and without any apparent signal, the flotilla
begins moving eastward toward Puerto La Cruz. There must be
a hundred or so boats all motoring in the same direction.
The bay, normally flat in the morning, is quickly stirred
into a cauldron of choppy waves.
We expect the procession to stop at the beach in Puerto La
Cruz, but instead it continues eastward. We motor past the
PDVSA (Venezuelan oil company) headquarters. Here a tug boat
spins around making wet donuts and sprays a cascade of water
as we pass.
Still the parade does not turn around. Where are we going?
We only started with half a tank of gasoline. Nick unscrews
the cap on the gas tank; we're OK for now. As the parade continues
past the town, we motor up to a dinghy containing several
of our dockmates. "Where are they going?" we ask.
They don't know either. We tell them that our gas is low and
we'll have to turn around soon.
The parade turns into a bay at a small fishing village and
then continues east. That's it for us; we're turning around.
The other cruisers turn back at this point too. As we retrace
our route, we scoop up discarded balloons that might make
a deadly meal for a sea turtle.
We divert into the Puerto La Cruz marina, hoping to get gasoline.
The fuel dock expects gasoline to be available in half an
hour or so. Nick eyeballs the fuel in our tank and decides
we can make it back to Bahia Redonda. Probably.
The motor is sputtering but still running when we slide up
behind our boat. There's a fuel dock around the corner from
our marina, inside the protected water of the canal. I disembark
and Nick heads out alone to refill our tank. "I may be
rowing before I get there," he predicts.
Sure enough, the engine dies just past the marina. Nick attaches
the oars and starts slowly rowing our heavy dinghy toward
the canal intersection. As he rows, the dinghy full of our
friends whizzes past with all heads turned to observe Nick's
labor.
A few minutes later, with the fuel dock in sight, a local
Venezuelan man in a small dinghy with a 2-HP engine comes
over and cheerfully gives Nick a tow. Nick offers the man
money for his trouble. He refuses the cash, happy to help
a stranger on this religious holiday. For many, today was
just an opportunity to party. But for others, it was a celebration
of a faith that teaches us to "do unto others as you
would have them do unto you." We hope the Virgin of the
Valley will have a special blessing for this kind man.
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