Austin, Texas

I am home, I am safe, and as sound as I possibly can be with the 2nd semester of law school beginning tomorrow. 

In my 30 days of traveling I entered a place where my world ceases to exist. A law degree does not matter in the dusty bordertown streets of Macao.  English is subordinate to Spanish.  Even, admittedly, a college football game pales in comparison to white sands and clear waters.

With sun darkened skin, salsa beats still resonating through my legs, a rested mind, and a full heart I bring this blog to another brief retirement. Thanks to all readers for traveling with me.

(roelgarcialaw.blogspot.com will be back in the summer - Possibly England, South of Spain, Morocco)

Closing Arguments

Before this blog arrives at another temporary pause I offer just a few evaluations...

1. In the US we have a skewed perspective of the current state of Colombia.  It is a country full of friendly, passionate, and incredibly attractive people.  It is home to one of the most beautiful beaches in the world in Tayrona.  I felt more safe in the capital of Bogota than in any other Latin American capital that I have visited.  With the help of the US, by funding Plan Colombia, and the Uribe administration, it is my own opinion that Colombia has become an overlooked jewel.  Only those who have visited can truly know the beauty that permeates every region.  It is the favorite South American country of many, and I understand why.

2. Colombia is home to the most beautiful women I have ever seen. period.

3.  Hugo Chavez needs to deliver results to the people of Venezuela.  In the little time I spent in the country I encountered little that would make me want to return.  Perhaps I am a bit blinded by the outward hatred explicitly expressed against my own country.  Regardless, by speaking with the citizens of the country, and having witnessed a Chavez speech in person, I can only conclude that progress in important areas is necessary. The upcoming referendum to amend the presidential term limits set in the Venezuelan constitution will have a great impact on the world.  Even more, relations with our new US administration will be critical to the everyday lives of those people with whom I had the privilege to speak. Which leads to my final point.

4. My one scary experience is not reflective of Latin America. Don't attach a judgment to my one crazy day in the wild west of Venezuela.

5. The world awaits Barack Obama.  Individuals from across the globe are intrigued by what will take place tomorrow in Washington DC.  It will effect them just as it effects us.  I was told that at what point in history America was a country that was respected and admired abroad.  At this point we are not.  This is not an observation from a pulpit, but rather a relay of the sentiment expressed in every hostel, in every taxi cab, and every bar.  I genuinely believe people want to embrace America again.

In conclusion, be aware of what is occurring in Venezuela and just go visit all the beauty that is Colombia.

Final Day

I had another encounter with the Bogota police today...

But before that I had a productive day of shopping and eating. It would be burdensome to lug around as much stuff as I always end up buying. Therefore, I shop at the end. After bargaining, comparing prices, and taking two trips to the ATM I have provided a substantial contribution to the Colombian economy. No, I didnt buy the gold accessories pictured here.

This being my last day I succumbed to entering the famous Museo de Oro here. I had refrained until today, but broke down assuming that this could be a place about which someone might inquire. Gold must be the longest running joke in the history of man. This is what so many cultures held precious? I look at the boring metal and cant help but laugh at how humans value it. Are we serious? I am now the record holder for the quickest tour through the museum.


I ate a quesadilla at a restaurant arbitrarily named Chicanos. I guess you could say that it was named so because it serves Mexican food. It is certainly not because the owner is Chicano. I know this, I asked. There isnt even a discount for Chicanos who dine-in, again I asked. On a similar point, more people in Colombia have been introduced to the term Chicano than those who actually constitute the group. It is how I have self-identified while here, after proudly claiming Los Estados Unidos.

In keeping with the food theme, I would like to introduce my readers to Arepas. This is the typical food of Colombia and Venezuela. They are made of maiz and filled with different kinds of ingredients including: ham, cheese, chorizo, chicken, mushrooms, etc. When not splurging on food this was the staple.

Now to the police. I must preface by writing that I am touting a really bad beard right now. It was an aesthetic effort to keep safe in Venezuela. Evidently I succceeded in looking haggard. In the nicest area of Bogota two policeman stopped to frisk me on a random check. These police do this from time to time at their discretion - I have stopped to watch on many an occasion. The situation became a satisfying culmination to my trip.


I tried to give the impression I was Colombian for as long as possible to get the full experience. They were firm and really thought I was a local. Only when they asked me to empy my pockets and out came my navy blue American passport did they realize I was foreign. We immediately became friends after that. One by one a new officer would come over to join the conversation and ask me questions. Eventually we had an entire group meeting in the middle of the bar area of the Zona Rosa. I am sure the affluent spectators must have been completely confused. Had these guys not been on duty we would have taken a few shots of Aguardiente together. We finished with handshakes and a picture (frankly, the worst I have taken on the trip).

And thats it. I walked away smiling, proud of my street spanish and of the people of this country. I will likely end the evening back at one of those bars and then waking up for my flight. I promise two more posts, one of a few observations and one of my arrival home.

Back in Bogota

This is how I got back:

Wednesday 9:30 PM - Depart Maracaibo, Ven. - I couldn´t have been more anxious to get out of Venezuela. I appreciate it for the learning experience, but the lady from whom I bought my tickets put the cherry on the sarcastic/figurative sundae by charging me an extra few dollars for ¨seguridad.¨ ¨security for what,¨ I asked, ¨for life¨ she responded. I bit my tongue, barely, and took my seat in the waiting area as if I had just got benched from the 4th quarter. At that point I came to a calming realization - I couldn´t win this stretch of the trip. I was starving myself trying not to eat because I didn´t want to give the country my money, much less pay the outrageous prices for food that is primarily ham and cheese. I tried my best to get across the border without doing anything. Yet finally, I decided to say the hell with it. I would eat and drink and be merry with my situation because Venezuela had completely succeeded in destroying my budget, showing me an awful time, and stressing me out. In that waiting area, I read ¨Love in the Time of Cholera¨and temporarily surrendered.

Thursday 6:00 AM - Arrive and Depart San Cristobal, Ven. - In this last stop before getting out of the ¨Patria, Socialismo, o Muerte¨themed country, I would meet a great taxi driver to get me across the border. We enjoyed a coffee and empanada at a small restaurant atop one of the many hills before getting started. We talked of Venezuela´s challenges and of In-4-More-Days-President Barack Obama. This was about the 24th time I had spoken of our incoming Columbia alumnus president. The crossing was easy, and I have started a new page in mypassport.

Thursday 8:30 AM - Arrive and Depart Cucuta, Col. - In a rush to get back to Bogota I took the ¨directo¨ bus onward. A 3 hour delay atop the rolling and curve intensive roads only made the trip 3 hours longer. Whats another 3 hours?

Friday 2:30 AM - Arrival in Bogota - Finally, I´m back in this tremendous city. I spent the day shopping for gifts and using the subway system pictured here. I plan to lounge the last two days away before reentering the American atmosphere.

The last few posts are ahead and promise to pour some soul into them to make up for these last two fillers.

Maracaibo, Venezuela

This trip is slowly creeping to a close. From Caracas I took a two-tiered overnight bus to Maracaibo. Yes, I am still in Venezuela, but not for much longer. Tonight I will be taking another overnight bus to the bordertown of San Cristobal. I will spend the next few days solely on buses until getting back to Bogota.

Why did I come back to Maracaibo? I´ll offer this: When you meet a beautiful person on the bus and she places her bracelet around your wrist, then tells you to bring it back to her, you think twice about making the efficient decision.

This picture is taken against the outside walls of a beautiful church here.

Caracas, Venezuela

I want to explain how baseball saved Caracas.


The capital city of Venezuela almost did it to me. I have never visited a place and, with a clear conscience, have been able to opinionate that I didn´t like it. But, after a gun shot riddled first night´s stay, I was on my way toward making that claim. Why?

The United States continues to play the atagonist role in the socialist story put forth by the reigning regime. Therfore, this is not the most welcoming place for an American traveller.

In an effort to cancel out the sounds of the city over the first night I turned up the volume on the small tv I had been provided. The news reports are openly biased. On numerous occasions the US is explicitly indicted. Solidarity lies with the Palestinian struggle and from what I hear Chavez has already ousted the ambassador from Israel. Also, sounds like Chavez is trying to free Puerto Rico now as well. These indoctrinations effected my experience by making me feel like I was constantly wearing a disguise. When I walked the streets I felt as if I was an enemy, as if I was wearing a cloak preventing me from being easily discovered.

I am not sure exactly who is behind it, but Venezuela sets an offical exchange rate for foreigners that does not truly reflect the value of the currency. Hence, my American dollars are not as strong in Venezuela as they are in the rest of the world. Venezuela has burst open my already leaking budget restraints.

I took things personally and responded to these actions by making a political stance: I ate McDonalds for four straight meals. The American powerhouse is located on just about every street corner here. Pepsi, Levi´s Jeans, and McDonalds (to name a few) have continued operations successfully here despite any kind of rhetoric that persists.


There are some commendable aspects to the city. The subway system is very clean and efficient (similar to BART in San Francisco). New York´s MTA could learn a thing or two from Caracas. The Centro Sambil mall here is also a good stop. I learned from cousin Max in Central America that I can´t be a hippie for the trip´s entirety. It is just as important to know the rich part of a country as the poor. The mall is 4 stories and spread out over a huge area. American music pouring out of the mall´s speakers provided the day´s soundtrack. Lastly, on Sunday, I ran the hiking path within Carcas´central park. I had to stop once to see the sloth that was crossing the road - It is the most fascinating animal I have ever seen. Above all else, the people engaged in all kinds of sports.

Across the Carribean, I have rediscovered my appreciation for baseball. It is a sport for which I once had a strong passion and then for which I had a strong distaste. Steroids, Red Sox fans, and Fantasy Baseball (WHIP anyone?) had collectively, over time, destroyed the appeal of the game. While watching the boys and girls playing America´s past-time in between trees in the park and on makeshift fields I remembered why baseball is such a beautiful sport: It is a child´s game. Through the bent chain-linked fence I peered into a pure aspect of Venezuela and of my own past. It took a few days, but I finally found something that bonded me to the people of this country.

Venezuela and Fear

It has been a gut-checking last 48 hours.

I arrived at the bus station in Macao, Colombia at mid-day on Friday. This was the last stop before entering Venezuela. After exploring my options for transportation, I found, to my dismay, that my best choice was to use the car service that most people were using. Four other passengers entered the grey oldsmobile that would carry us across the border until the town of Maracaibo, Ven. I was reluctant from the outset and here is how the day unfolded.

The border crossing was hectic, it was filled with exhaust from the queued up cars and Mack trucks. This area of the world looks like something out of the Road Warriors movies. If you are wondering what happened to your early 90´s car, then I have your answer. To speed up the trip our driver, ¨panchito¨, veered offroad, behind a row of small shops where a teller dropped a metal chain which then allowed us to cut off the front of the line. Panchito told another passenger and me to get out and get our passport stamps and that he would wait on the Venezuelan end. I rarely leave any bags for any amount of time, but I did as told.

Upon receiving my stamps, I returned, and then realized I needed to change money into Venezuelan Bolivars. Panchito, a bit perturbed but oddly friendly, walked back with me after taking the cash from my hand in order to exchange. We did so, and again I found myself in the back-middle seat of the car, squeezed between two others. However, my cover was blown.

I no longer was just another passenger. I was now the American object of curiousity. The questions began and did never ceased to a point of comfort. Where was I from? Who do I know in Venezuela? How do I get money while travelling? Is your family rich? and then the four of them would discuss things in Spanish and laugh - a Spanish that was difficult for me to completely understand. Yet, the gist of the stories and conversation was about the murders in Venezuela and the kidnappings of tourists. Panchito especially found it humorous to imply they might do the same to me. As the heat of the afternoon and of the situation began to rise we again veered off road.

Luckily it seems this was just an attempt to save time. Yet, I could not help but find the worst case scenarios playing out in my head. My senses were peaked and I could only mentally ready myself for anything that might occur. Then, we stopped the car.

We stopped at an isolated bar which was more of a garage with concrete blocks for walls. Alcohol and billiards were on the menu. Decisions make all the difference in these situations. Do I leave my bags in the car or take part in a usual process? Do I let Panchito exchange the money and risk getting a bad rate or exchange it myself and risk getting duped as a tourist? Do I take the risk of drinking or create the risk of singling myself out? Everything is calculated.

On an empty stomach I downed drink after drink with these men. I felt more at ease thanks to the good conversation I could now carry on in Spanish as a result of the cervezas. After a quick 5 we were off. And again we were at another bar. Feeling the situation at hand, I poured out beers when the others werent looking. The effects of the drinks were starting to kick in and I could not continue on their pace of consumption. Was the alcohol deliberate for a grand scheme or simply for a good time?

Eventually we dropped off the other passengers one by one. As they exited the car I was relieved in that their good nature was genuine, but at the same time each departure left me more alone. Somewhere in the midst of the talk Panchito had decided I was to stay with him and his family. Still trying to feel things out I did not resist. After a quick meal and picking up Panchito´s girlfriend, we dropped off the last passenger - it was now just us three. It was now dark and I told him to take me to a hotel. It seemed we were headed there, until I realized we were heading back to the outskirts of town from which we came.

I pleaded with him to tell me exactly where we were going. He reassured me we were going to the hotel. The awkward glances and lack of smile coming from his girlfriend didn´t help me to feel better about the situation. And then we turned the corner toward an alley...

My heart dropped a bit and this was in my mind the turning point. It took all my will to stay calm, and I prepared myself to act. At the end of the dirt road we turned a corner into an enclosed parking lot. It turned out to actually be a hotel - one that seemed more of the by-the-hour nature, but none-the-less a hotel. Panchito told me to get a room and that he would be back at 7am to take me wherever I needed. I shut the door and locked it for the night. Should I stay put? Should I leave? Where was I? I decided It would be better to stay put then to wander around dark streets in an attempt to escape to someplace else. I left my shoes and the tv on while I slept. At the break of dawn I grabbed the first city bus that passed and only felt relief upon departing the city all-together for Caracas.

The preceding is skeletal and not an attempt at the overlydramatic. There are more details and certainly alot more emotion involved. It was by far the scariest day of my life. My first night in Caracas even involved 12 gun shots fired on my same block.

I now write from a mall in the city. Everything is safe and settled and I will depart back toward the direction of Colombia tomorrow night. As the internet cafe is about to close I must end here. There is more to Venezuela than that to which I have alluded, but I will describe it in the next post. (I have a few pictures to use with this post, but will put them up tomorrow - so check back)

Santa Marta, Colombia

Victory tastes so good. I had to wait three days to find out the outcome of the Fiesta Bowl game. Today the Texas Football website let me know that we won on the final drive. Congratulations to my team and school. In recognition, I am eating a burnt orange, Zapote flavored, ice cream to celebrate. If Oklahoma wins tonight then that would make us national champions, right? All the way from Colombia I am proud to be from Texas.

Parque Tayrona

I have reemerged from the hidden treasure in Colombia´s national park Tayrona. I am tempted to let the pictures boast for themselves but that just wouldn´t be a blog post.

Before entering the internet-less zone (and Fiesta-bowl-less) that Tayrona is, I had to figure out a way to get there from Taganga. We heard rumors through the backpacking grapevine that tourists were being turned away due to capacity. This being the high season, lines were supposedly long and even longer was the two hour walk from the park entrance to the beaches. So, a few of us cut a boat deal and chartered a small fishing boat with twin motors to take us via the carribean directly onto the beaches. Fortunately, one of the motors decided to stop working.

The motor cutting out was great because it allowed me to feel what it would be like to be caught in a storm in the middle of the sea (without actually being caught in the middle of the sea). I mean I´m talking huge waves splashing against the boat and all ten of us soaked and yelling in excitement/fear. Eventually the motor kicked in, and we sped across the choppy waters, freezing.

We landed on the beaches like the Spanish hundreds of years ago - gracious to be on dry ground and curious as to the treasure that might lay ahead. The treasure was the most relaxing days of my life on the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. And here is the part where I really will let the pictures do the talking.

For three days I slept in a hammock, read on the beach, ate shrimp, and hiked jungles. That is all. My apprehensions about relaxing, evident in my Taganga post, were swept away by the clear greenish blue waters. Nights were spent sitting on the huge beached boulders, with only the moonlight to help us find our cervezas. There are certain images you will never forget in your life. Like the ruins of Tikal peaking out of the jungle canopies of Guatemala, the sun drenched waves crashing onto the white sands in Colombia while be etched into my memory forever.

As with any pleasure of life there is also the presence of the opposite. An army helicoptor had to swoop into our small tourist village to airlift a foreign tourist to the hospital. The night before she had succumbed to the powerful waves and evidently hurt her spine. Just today we were informed by the local newspaper and by word-of-mouth that 4 tourists died in the past week as a result of the wave/rocks combination. It is disconcerting to know that people lost their lives so close in proximity.

Even more, I saved a man´s life today as we trekked out of the park. The most dangerous thing I have witnessed while in Colombia is falling coconuts. Seriously. I witnessed one fall from a 50 ft+ coconut tree and was on my guard for the projectiles for the duration of the stay. My instinct would serve a local Colombian well. Some people passed by us entering the park as some of us passed by exiting. In one area, all tourists peered up into the branches of the trees to view the swinging monkeys. I learned from the Jungle Book to never trust monkeys. The man about to pass by me took his eyes off the one directly above him but I did not. My instinct told me it would happen, and it did. The monkey grabbed a coconut and tossed it directly down. I screamed out, the man stopped, and it whizzed 6 inches from his head. I don´t even know what to make of this.

The ways of the Carribean continue to be carry a magic quality. Clear waters, white sands, deadly waves, and monkeys just as deadly. I am always amazed.

I am in now in Santa Marta to wash clothes, shave, blog, and regroup beforing heading into Venezuela for a 9 day marathon.

Hook´em

Tomorrow I leave for Tayrona National Park. It is a place that is rumored to be the most beautiful in Colombia. I probably will not have much internet so I wanted to add this one more post. Even among paradise I will be in hades for at least 4 hours. It is the 4 hours I will not be able to watch the Longhorns in the Fiesta Bowl. It will be the darkest day of the trip. I will have my horns held high all the way from the beach tomorrow. Hook´em.

Taganga, Colombia

Since the new year began I have been living at a slow pace on the beaches of Taganga. The village is a small one located on the Carribean coast just north of Santa Marta. The days are simple. I wake up at an arbitrary time giving no respect to the numbers on my watch. Ginger cookies are consumed and accompanied by hot coffee for breakfast. When the sun is high my companions and I are on the beach. When the sun is down we sip the local rum and play cards. Details would be of no consequence. Nothing is elaborate, only simple and entirely sufficient.

It is indeed the peak tourist season. Yet, one can pick their desired level of crowdedness by beach shopping. a 5 minute coastal trek brings one to the most bustling beach - a 20 minute hike brings one to a more isolated one. I visited both, and enjoyed watching the fishermen bring in their daily catches from the clear green water. Because of the blazing sun we had to cut today´s swim short

Seafood is hit-or-miss for me, but the fish I ate for lunch in consecutive days were a delight. Fish infinitely better when at its freshest and I am pretty sure my platters could have been caught just after I ordered it (there certainly was enough time to do so between when my order was placed and when I receieved it). The fish was cooked over open flame in bowls of oils, complemented by plaintains and rice.

Such are the ways of the beach: no timeframe, simplicity, clear waters, hot sun, delicious food, etc. etc. One would assume this would be the most apt environment in which to relax. However, I find it to be a light struggle to completely set myself at ease. I constantly feel a pressure to act. It as if inaction has become an internalized wrong. It is only by conscious effort that I can enjoy moments that do not involve writing, producing, thinking, or moving. Case in point: It took a great amount of will for me not to get upset with the 1hr and 15 min wait for the cooked fish. Even among the dreadlocks, palm trees, and bikinis I am learning lessons that will help me to live better upon returning to the concrete jungles. Which is good, because I head to the national park Tayrona tomorrow and will have more white sands and clear waters into the next few days.

2009

Last night and this morning I said goodbye to 2008 in a way that I will remember forever. For me, the change of the year presents an opportunity to begin anew. It is like being absolved of sin by confession without having to say penance of 10 Our Fathers and 5 Hail Marys.

Most holidays are superficial to me. Most of them stem from something of which I can not feel and have over the years been altered to an unappealing state. However, New Years eve remains as special today as it likely was at the creation of the modern calendar. It is truly a day to celebrate.

And celebrate we did in Cartagena. Within the walls of the old city, among the Spanish architecture, to the beat of salsa music, I rang in the new year with hostel friends from different corners of the world. Underneath the fireworks display we exchanged hugs and kisses, sharing the common bond of being foreigners to each other, in a foreign land, recognizing the completion of the year we all had just lived.

There is no ¨last call¨ in Colombia. At 7am we emerged from the nightclub directly into the beach sunlight. Of all the thoughts and emotions felt over the course of the festivities one thought continued to resonate in my head as we exited: That I will never enter a new year in any fashion less celebratory than the way I entered 2009.