Francisco Miranda (Miranda detail in The Ratchet , Arturo Michelena)
I do not know what time I learned of the homeland. Maybe it was when the school teacher taught us and made to sing the national anthem to all students in a hall of the College or when I heard my uncle, the poet Castellanos, reciting his poem on the child Bolivar had and should have, "not in Maria Teresa, his wife of God, or Manuela Sáenz, her female pride, but a black American Indian, that had always rebellion." I do not remember how old I was when I looked for first time "the flag that brought Miranda," as the song my mother sang in the house and whose lyrics I've forgotten. I can not precise. Even less if included in the imaginary prime years when childhood is just a memory or a speech made oblique by parents. It is likely that the map of Venezuela, I have wondered before what we now remember, but I have only clear the awkward moment when I drew in a notebook.
Parting symbols and the unavoidable presence Bolivar, the encounter with the country could have been even when vi landscapes different from my city for an unforgettable trip to Caracas, where, among other things, discovered the mandarins of San Felipe, Lake Valencia and television (it must be said) in the house of Ephraim De Lima . In truth, I was forming country step by step and not all at once. The more clearly felt one morning when our neighbor dapper Alfonso Martin played in a window of the house to tell us that Pérez Jiménez had fallen. That day showed me numerous flashes country. Soon came the Venezuelan Readings Iragorry Mario Briceño, a book that we would gift to Elsie and me, the Holy Book Luzar, owned the aforementioned uncle. I can still relive the smell of their pages and remember with pleasure some of his most beautiful. Then came other country experiences and the continued arming me more directly. Sites that met our family had stellar and legendary status as the Andes. So I showed Trujillo state highways and from there a site that never ends: Baetica. Later I learned that my father's estate that I indicated was a major "estates", shortly after word that would associate the term "land reform" and all which meant that stage of the country I lived in my high school years.
By visiting the towns of Trujillo began to discover the diversity of the country and its emblems. I knew that not only represented Barquisimeto Ayacucho Park history. But above all, I learned of the existence of other Venezuelans who lived in the same country. Larenses addition, Caracas and Andean countries, had Zulia. Still ringing in my ears the voice of a police Cabimas, whose phonetic and intonation to the hilarious hit me on the first trip I made to the state of Zulia, accompanying their work to the traveling salesman who was my father. More would later be other landscapes and other dreams that the country would be revealing and arousing me. Reading Comprehension Venezuela , Mariano Picon Salas, became for me a kind of intellectual blog to approach the bowels of the country. Turn to its pages often insightful and always learn something new from them. Could add other indispensable books in my personal relationship with the country, including several novels by Rómulo Gallegos, Díaz Sánchez, de Meneses, de Otero Silva, Uslar Pietri and Enrique Bernardo Núñez, but the list is I would be very extensive and not I'm doing readings count. leave another proof of how much I learned from reading Orlando Araujo Venezuela as well as poems and essays by Juan Liscano.
P an I say that the nation heard it, I saw it, smelled it, touched it but also to me I was eating. "It puts you in the eye," said Briceño Iragorry. And it's true. But in some cases, we mainly enters through the mouth. And you know arepa, to meatloaf, to newsprint, to handle. The country is more a story. It is a catalog of emotions. The poet José Emilio Pacheco, talking about his (Mexican) said he did not love it, but confessed he would give his life for ten of their places, certain people, ports, forests, a shattered city, several figures in its history, mountains and three or four rivers. Speaking from my own, I could say the same, but would add to the list four or five dishes, hallaca including, of course. Tell the reader his own, because I know that is not the choice easy.
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