confidence. Short, random interviews elicit everything 
from condemnation (even from users) to uncritical 
approval. 
It is generally agreed that using chimo is “‘a dirty 
habit’’, because of the necessity of spitting dark saliva 
at frequent intervals. Because today it is employed by 
the lower income, largely rural population, it has be- 
come synonymous with the life that these people lead 
—simple and spare—in contrast to the life of privilege 
and sophistication regarded as upper class and urban. 
Older chim6 users defend the habit. An old lady in 
Boconé6 called it a ‘‘healthy vice’’. She said that she had 
used it all her life and felt younger every day (39). A 
man in Bocon6 pointed to another man no longer young, 
leading a laden donkey (burro) up a hilly street. ‘‘Look 
at him, a strong, vital man (palo de hombre). He eats 
chimo. He ought to give some to the poor burro. Look 
at me. I’ve been eating chim6 all my life; my mother 
rubbed it on my gums, before I had a single tooth. And 
I can walk all the way up the mountain, nearly to the 
paramo (very high, cold region) and not be tired!” 
‘Those who take chim6 seem to develop the same kind 
of fond attitude to the habit that pipe smokers feel for 
a certain pipe or mixture of tobacco. Similarly, there 
seems to exist a kind of indulgent admiration of the 
elderly who have the habit. 
Mariano Pic6n-Salas (49) recaptures in a series of es- 
says his youth in Mérida. In one revealing vignette, he 
tells of an old man on his deathbed, a soldier who had 
served with Simon Bolivar. Gathered in the room were 
his nephews. 
One of his nephews asked him if he wanted anything more, 
and the reply could not have been more to the point. “Bring me 
my cajeta de chimé so that I can enjoy a last chew. It’s the only 
pleasure left to an old man of ninety years.’ The Colonel died 
on his rawhide bed, near his fighting cock and his Ayacucho 
[ 27 | 
