DIA NUEVO - NEW YEARS EVE

We get back to Caracas by 9:30 the next morning. It's December 31st. That river fish is now most disagreeable with my stomach, so I spend most of the day sleeping at Anabella's house. John keeps mysteriously appearing and disappearing randomly during my brief trips downstairs. I cannot figure out what his deal is. He is an enigma.

New Year's Eve is soon upon us. The entire city is going nuts with fireworks. We stay at Anabella's house to ring in the new year. Cheo's parents and sister are in attendance. Anabella's sister, niece, nephew, grandmother, great aunt, and uncle represent for the Zubillagas and Zuloagas. And Emiliana, the skydiving supermodel is also here. Not that I noticed.

John has graciously arranged a series of Chilean wines to be opened sequentially throughout the evening. We hang out on the back veranda and entertain the family with tales from our trip to the wild reaches of Venezuela. Many in the family have never been to either place. Anabella and Cheo proudly describe the newly discovered beauty of their country. Some of the grimier details are left out for the sake of the guests.

It seems everyone has heard about my upset stomach during the day, because each and every guest insists on rubbing my stomach whilst inquiring about my well-being the moment they come through the front door. This is awkward, but very sweet of all of them. Lots of photos are taken, and much fuss is made about Mariana's dog, who is half-heartedly wearing a santa hat.




We eat a casual, late dinner of roast pork with rice and lentils. The lentils are apparently for good luck, though several people point out they are meant to be eaten on the 1st of the year, not the 31st. At midnight, each person is given a ziploc bag containing twelve red grapes. As the radio broadcast blares the twelve bells of midnight, we eat a grape with each stroke. These grapes have giant seeds, which make it a bit difficult to eat them so fast, but whatever. A champagne toast is made, and kisses exchanged between each and every person in the room. Following this is the suitcase ritual, which entails every member of the family grabbing an empty suitcase and running down the street. This is for good luck with travel in the new year. Half the neighborhood is out on the block as well. This is the one and only time I can see any of the other neighbors, as the gates to all of the stately manors were now open, if only for a moment.



When we settle back inside, I give an incredibly brief speech in Spanish, thanking the families for so graciously welcoming us in to their homes, and relaying our excitement at getting such an intimate Venezuelan experience. It is indeed brief. Three sentences to be exact. I am intensely nervous. Cheo had provided me with a translation earlier in the afternoon, which I rehearsed in front of the bathroom mirror about fifty times.
"Anne y Yo quisiéramos agredecer a todos ustedes por ser tan cálidos, generosos, y dejarnos entrar a sus casas. Estamos muy excitados de estar aqui, viviendo la experiencia de estar en venezuela desde una perspectiva tan intima. Gracias por todo, y feliz año!"
This is a smashing success, if I do say so myself. My pronunciation is impeccable, or so everyone is kind enough to fib. I am most relieved that this part is over.



Immediately after my speech, we have a brief birthday celebration for yours truly. A chocolate cake is produced and happy birthday is sung in both Spanish & English. They also sing the Spanish happy Birthday song, which is far more complex than the English one. It has several verses and little ad-libs, and it picks up speed to a frenzied pace by the end. I have no clue what the hell everyone is singing about, but it is hilarious nonetheless. Anne gives me a cool sweater and an even cooler book. Cheo and Annabella give me the Wax Poetics anthology. Everyone is incredibly sweet, and I feel like the luckiest man alive. Life is good.

The party breaks up around 2:30am. We bid the guests farewell and quickly hop in the car with Emiliana to see what trouble we can find in Caracas.

We didn't need to go far.

About a mile away we come upon the central plaza of the Chacao district, where a massive block party is underway. We park a few blocks away and make our way through the crowd. There must be five thousand people out here. Maybe more. A salsa band is on stage, playing their asses off. The street is one big party. Everyone is drinking. Small crowds gather around random dancing couples putting on impromptu, competition-level salsa performances. I fight through the crowd to snap a few pictures. Cheo starts getting recognized by drunken fans left and right. Everybody wants to get a photo with him. Funny thing is, they can't quite figure out if I am famous too. After awhile, I just started acting like his bodyguard, grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him away before the hungry photo-happy hordes eat him alive.




"We should go backstage" Cheo says.
Sounds good to all of us.
We make our way around to the back of the stage. Cheo steps up to the velvet rope to negotiate our entrance. The security guard politely snubs him and we are denied.
"Can you just call the mayor please?" he asks the security guard.
"The mayor?" the security guard asks.
"Yes, the mayor."
As we wait for homeboy to get the mayor on the phone, every single guest leaving the party does a stop-n-chat with Cheo and Anabella. These two seem to know just about everyone who is anyone. One particularly stunning blonde number catches my eye. Her name is Carolina. Anabella introduces her, telling Anne that she does similar non-profit architecture and design work here in Caracas. She looks more like a magical wood fairy who just flew in from smoking-hot-istan, but nothing surprises me with their friends anymore. They are all cool and interesting and they just so happen to be rather good looking. Carolina is escorted by Anabella's close friend, Gustavo, whom we also meet. He looks kind of like Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles meets Lance Rocke, the studly porn star from Beyond The Valley of the Dolls. Oh to be fabulous and living in Caracas. In another life, perhaps.

After about six minutes, lo and behold, the mayor calls. BOOM! velvet ropes part! Hanging with a rock star sure does have its privileges.

Once inside the party, the first person we meet is, I'll be damned, the mayor himself! To be specific, he is the mayor of the Chacoa district. Each boro has its own mayor. This mayor is no Ed Koch. No Giuliani. Oh no. He looks like a young Eric Estrada meets Enrique Iglesias meets Ricky Martin, without the gayness. I swear to god. Can't be more than thirty-five years old. The dude is a PIMP. And he's got the hottest chica in Chacao on his arm. And wouldn't you know it, she is a supermodel or something (but of course) and the winner of the Latin American "Survivor". They are quite the dazzling couple.

Annabella and Cheo are quite chummy with the both of them (but of course). They have some history together: On the day Anabella and Cheo were supposed to be married, there was some kind of government crisis. This mayor, as I am told, is not very popular with Chavez. I believe this has something to do with Chacao being the wealthiest district in the city. So there was some kind of power play going on, attempting to force the mayor out of office. This meant that the office that performs weddings was shut down, and there was chaos at city hall. Anabella and Cheo were caught up in the middle of this, distraught that their big day was apparently ruined by crumb-bum politicians. In the middle of all this, the mayor happened to walk by and notice their predicament. Being the cool mother fucker that he is, he paused for a moment, during what might have been the final moments of his career, and insisted on marrying them personally, right there on the spot. The funniest part of this is, such a fairy tale story now comes as no surprise whatsoever.




We hang around backstage and drink tons of free scotch. That is all the bar was serving. I take some photos of random dancing couples and watch the salsa band from behind the stage. The next act goes on around 4:30: Tres Dueños, the biggest rap act in the country. They are being joined on stage by their producer, DJ Trece, a rapper himself. Trece is some kind of whiz kid who went to Harvard and single handedly brought Hip Hop back to Venezuela, starting his own record label and signing his own artists. He is Jay Z, Dr Dre, and Funkmaster Flex all rolled in to one. Cheo is, of course, down with these guys too. We are invited up on stage to hang with a gaggle of hot chicks and VIPs while the group performs and the crowd goes absolutely nuts.

This is surreal, to say the least. It's 5am. It's New Year's Eve. It's my birthday. And I'm on stage getting a pound from the Jay-Z of Venezuela, in front of half the city. This has to be worth at least 24 hours of computer time. Maybe more. And this wasn't even planned, mind you. This is just a random party we happened across. Fucking crazy.