Rhetoric or Results to Come?

Chavez Decisively Wins Bid to End Term Limits  - NY Times Article Link

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)