I believe that every
nation has a soul, and that this ‘soul’ is often expressed
through the culture of its people. Some may argue that the culture of
a nation has nothing to do with its soul, and everything to do with
the artists behind it. This approach may be correct, but it does not
appeal to the romantic in me! Therefore, whenever I travel to new
places, I often turn to the arts in my quest for an understanding of
the elusive spiritual side that a nation may have.
Venezuela was no
different: If I was at a theatre watching a play, in the streets,
listening to original music of local people, or at an evening of
Venezuelan folk music (none of which I truly understood much in the
end), I always paid careful attention to the artistic expression of
the heart/soul of the nation. But it was not in the capital of
Caracas that I finally had a taste of the real soul of the country,
but in the village of Guasdualito.
