5th Pick in the NFL Draft

"When you see a real person you gotta tip your hat, and since I'm a real person I do just that" - Lil Wayne (edited).  This blog is getting more inclusive by the week, but I want to recognize the Chicano 5th pick of the NFL Draft.  Read the ESPN article here - Viva Sanchez !

Worlds Collide

Incredible moment for U.S. foreign relations - NYTimes article link here

End of an Era

If President Obama getting elected makes the blog, then so too does the retirement of Oscar De La Hoya. His career has been an inspiration. "I've had the opportunity to face world champions. Alot of them I won. Some I lost.  But my satisfaction is because at least I tried. I tried to accomplish the impossible, and not too many people do that." - Link to ESPN article

France, Italy, and...

This blog is currently under reconstruction. Honestly, I wasn't happy with the posts from Holland - I hope I didn't lose any of my 10 readers. Inspired by Kanye's blog and on the advent of the end of my first year of law school I pledge to increase the overall quality. What better way to do so then to blog about 30 days in Europe.  Tex, Max, and I are flipping out of here to live life as it should be lived. We fly roundtrip in and out of Paris; the above picture is borrowed from the NYTimes.  Our photos on the upcoming trip will be taken with a new Nikon 300D and the posts will be written from a fresh perspective. Be ready to bookmark this page May 20.

Go Visit Mexico to Understand

"While we bear responsibility for our problems, the caricature of Mexico being propagated in the United States only increases the despair on both sides of the Rio Grande. It is also profoundly hypocritical. America is the world’s largest market for illegal narcotics. The United States is the source for the majority of the guns used in Mexico’s drug cartel war, according to law enforcement officials on both sides of the border...." Read the NY Times Article - The Mexican Evolution

First Bite

That stupid coffeeshop post was up for long enough.  I finally conclude this segment with this picture of Tex and I in front of a Van Gogh print.  The Netherlands is a beautiful country and Amsterdam is an international beehive to which I will return.  It was a full, restful, and refreshing Spring Break 09.

Coffee Shops

I didn't spend much time in these establishments - contrary to what everyone probably assumed when I said I would be visiting Amsterdam. The legal-illegal drugs were not a part of my decision to visit (Truthfully, the factors were the $450 US roundtrip flight and the dates of our Spring Break).  Regardless, I came, I saw, I experienced Amsterdam.  The insides of these places are extremely fascinating initially.  I relate it to how its fascinating to see topless sunbathers on foreign beaches. But, as with the sunbathers, the awe wears off.  The availability of the drugs becomes commonplace and even after just a few days the shock value is gone.  The business is regulated and contained.  Amsterdam is not crumbling, burning, and turning to salt because people can smoke as they please.  I guess that is the lasting impression I have.  It is part of a culture, it is part of the uniqueness of Amsterdam, and it is not destructive. Maybe, as the Mexican border wars rage, it would do lawmakers well to take a field trip to Amsterdam.  

Red Light District

For my final posts I wanted to say a few words about the more widely known attractions in Amsterdam.  First - the Red Light District.  On the first night we found ourselves walking the dimly lit streets that make up the few blocks of carnal pleasure.  I don't think I had very many expectations, but I did assume we would need to be extra cautious in a place where western morals are compromised. I was flat wrong.  The body shopping is done under complete regulation.  It felt like an art museum with each unique masterpiece framed and illuminated in an intoxicating red glow.  The red lights attract you like a bug to a fluorescent bulb. There are row after row of large windowed doors enclosing body commodities from all around the world.  Big and small, light and dark, old and young - your fantasy is as attainable as the 50 euros in your jeans.  For a person who holds the opposite sex as the cornerstone of life and happiness this would seem to be the promised land. Yet, there is something unsettling about putting a price on something which you enjoy. It may be analogous to paying for your straight A's, or fixing a sporting event to be victorious, or paying your best friend for their company.  It simply isn't the same and what is loved is tarnished.  Due to these instinctive conclusions, I simply walked the Red Light District (A few times of course...) and enjoyed it as a spectacle deserving of world infamy.

The Girl With A Pearl Earring

While eating that amazing lunch in Delft our company mentioned that there was a famous painting worth seeing - the "Girl With A Pearl Earring." I haven't read the book or seen the movie but I knew I couldn't leave The Netherlands without critiquing the work for myself.  

The Vermeer House is where the famous Dutch painter used to live.  We began the tour in the downstairs gallery which is filled with prints of most of Vermeer's works.  Each painting had a tag with analytical points of which to be aware.  I find viewing paintings is much more fun when I can first gather my own interpretation and then immediately get another perspective.  It kind of lets me gauge how contrived/farfetched my ideas might be.

Eager to get out of the museum we moved to the 2nd floor - still no girl with a pearl.  The 3rd and final floor was full of lame landscape photography. Where was the painting? We inquired at the front desk and were pissed when informed that the painting is actually in Den Haag - back where we had partied the night before.  Hungry, with a slightly annoying headache, I left that museum feeling tricked.  

Upon returning to Amsterdam we ate another feast in the Leidisplein.  Our drinks at the bar were jameson and jack on the rocks - Appetizers included snails in sauce and carpaccio - the main course was Dutch beefsteak and fried clams. - and The Stoop and Stoop restaurant was candlelit and had smooth hip-hop for a soundtrack.  The eats are wonderful here.

This morning I made the decision to get to that painting.  It felt like a quest after reading all the interesting notes about the artist at his old home.  It was such a tease to be built up to see something the painting and then not actually view it. So, I hopped an early train, went back out to Den Haag, and fumbled my way to the Mauritshuis. The museum was well worth it.  There were Rembrandts, many still-life works, and thankfully "The Girl With a Pearl Earring." I hate falling in love with a work that everyone else adores.  It irks me like I am sharing a girlfriend. It implies about as much contemplation as that of someone who claims Michael Jordan as their favorite basketball player.  Dare I say it can be as annoying as someone who cheers for the Red Sox. But, I admit, I might be in love with the girl in the painting.  Not in love in the Red Light District sense of the word but more enamored with the beauty of its simplicity.  The earring is cool and the lighting, for which Vermeer is praised, is obviously the stylistic accomplishment, but I think it is the black background that sets the painting apart.  Beauty contrasted against a black backdrop places all the focus on, well, the beauty.  Vermeer leaves the viewer with no other choice then to look in the eye of the mysterious girl.  Guess I will have to read the book to find out who she is fictionally.

A stroll through Den Haag, a final afternoon stroll through crazy Amsterdam on Sunday, and I now find myself doing law homework.  Tomorrow is the flight back.  I will write about the Red Light District, the coffeeshops, and my impressions of the Netherlands after I submit this brief.

I don't want to leave.

Delft and 2nd Chances

On our trip through Panama last summer, my cousin Max (Tex’s brother) and I became friends with two Dutch girls in Bocas Del Toro.  The four of us were the only tourists on a beach tour.  We reconnected later on in the night and I ruined the entire situation by drinking Abuelo rum out of the bottle (see very bottom of post).  I was certain that we would never see Marielle and Jenny ever again. Also, Max has never let me forget the incident.  He has used it against me at least bi-monthly.

Thanks to facebook, and probably some pity, we remained in contact.  The two girls offered to take us out in Holland and so we maneuvered ourselves from a tram, to a 9:30 pm train out to the town of Den Haag, and then on to another tram to the Grote Markt. 

Dressed in jeans and cowboy boots (brown ostrich and dark brown alligator) we were ready for a full night.  The square was packed with students and people recently unchained to the weekend.  Bars line the sides of the plaza with lounge chairs and tables filling the middle area.  We met the girls at bar Zeta and proceeded to dance the night away.

It felt like drinking among New Yorkers in a New Orleans bar.  Long overcoats, students and young professionals, perfectly cropped hair, and beautiful looking people.  The buildings and architecture were old and the setting set by lamp lights. The cold of the night was less bothersome the more we danced and drank.  We finished the evening by moving to a small trance nightclub and then we succumbed to exhaustion. (The pic is of Grote Markt during the day).

The Mercedez Taxi took us all back to the girls’ town of Delft. You know those cameras in America on the stoplights that catch you running the red lights??? They have those here too, but on the freeway - to get you if you go over the speed limit!

The next morning I awoke to the sun pouring in through the large square window in the living room.  I looked out to the canal that cut through the street and I watched rowers push by and the town come to life.  Everyone was still asleep, so I took the opportunity to do some legal research on one of the macbooks in the living room.  My limited internet has been killing me, so I found some much needed sources for my assignment and emailed them to myself. Someone reading has to appreciate the insanity of this.

The town of Delft is gorgeous.  We walked through the cobbled stone streets, ate the famous local candy and krokkets, shopped, and spent the late morning eating lunch under the sun in the center of town.  Although the trip is not finished for another day, I feel as if this was the climax to our trip.  We were in a foreign land, with perfect weather, eating delicious foods, with the best of company, and had great conversation.

(Note: We have no pictures of the beauty of Delft because I left the Nikon 300D at home. I didn’t want to risk the life of the camera at the club. However, I am probably headed back there today to capture some shots.)

We hugged and kissed three times goodbye.  It is incredible to have met such genuine people a year ago and then reunite across the world.  Although it just dawned on me, I got a second chance today. It feels good to have left a better impression than the one I left on the last occasion in Panama.  Unfortunately, we had to split ways, and Tex and I found ourselves at the Vermeer Museum.  This is a good place to stop for now. I will write of how the Vermeer Museum inspired the next day’s events.

Anne Frank House

Mentally braving the 35 degree morning weather, I began another day with a morning run.  It is noteworthy in that the run took place in Vondel Park. Although the trees are currently barren, even in their naked state their height and age provided a beautiful running environment.  Morning commuters whizzed by on bikes and it was nice to find myself jogging alongside local runners.  Being able to see my breath in the morning cold is still indicative of a good workout.

I had bagels (from local Bagels & Beans), coffee, and brief writing for breakfast. Of course, not being used to the European portions, I was hungry again in a few hours.  Fresh raw Hering satisfied my hunger.  Between bread, onion, and pickles the cold fish was delicious.  Tex didn’t care for it, but I made sure I didn’t leave any to the seagulls prowling overhead.

I forgot to mention that on Thursday we intended to go to the Anne Frank House.  Yeah, that didn’t happen.  Therefore we made it our goal of the day to complete that absolutely necessary attraction. Truthfully, I have always had a vendetta of sorts against the Diary of Anne Frank.  In school we were assigned to read the book at, in my opinion, an inappropriately young age.  I disliked it upon first read and have only slowly come to realize that the power is in its context. Standing in the room where the Frank family went into hiding I was filled with emotion for many reasons: The way the diary was written, the circumstances, and the power that a simple act has had on generations of people.   The flash of the past was sobering and the visit fulfilled the moment of silence for the trip.   We absorbed the lessons and then stepped back into our own circumstances. (The house is pictured above)

We spent the afternoon taking pictures and going in and out of stores. I made contact with some Dutch friends of mine earlier in the day and our plan was to meet them later on.  Because Friday night is more closely tied to our Saturday experience I will write about my reunion with Marielle and Jenny in the next post.

Simple Thursday

After a full Wednesday, Tex and I had what I would call a half-full Thursday. Basically, we let the variables dictate. I got up early to both write and eat a fried egg breakfast at a local cafe. I struck up a conversation with a fellow Dutch studier and she mentioned that she had looked into attending the University of Texas at Austin to study in their Linguistics program. I was proud the school name has reached across the ocean. I am always surprised at how foreigners know the names of many of the states that make up the United States of America. I think I could name very few of the states of any other country.

We switched hotels and are now staying at the NH Amsterdam Centre - nicer, and one I would recommend to any visitor for the price, service, and location. Back in the heart of the Leidisplein, we were eager to follow up our previous productive day with another. It was productive, just not as I had hoped.
Tex wanted to say goodbye to his friend from our old hostel before she left back home to Beijing. I waited in a local diner and used the ample time to brief and people watch. One large mug Heinekin led to another and then the laptop went closed for the day.

I have no idea where the rest of the afternoon went. The Texas gentleman that we sometimes are, we helped Tex's new friends get to the Central Station to catch their train. Somehow I ended up toting a heavy bag full of newly purchased clothes across Amsterdam. Following that ruckus we entered a coffeeshop. I will write about the Amsterdam coffee shops and the red light district in my final two posts. For now, it is enough to say we took a great nap and finished the strange Thursday with the 2nd most incredible meal of my life.

We dined on Greek food at a restaurant called Mykonos. The Leidesplein - a busy tourist plaza full with bars and restaurants - is beautiful at nighttime. Adding to the beauty is the fact that there is a wide selection of foods from which to choose. We settled on Greek and were not dissapointed. Fried Feta cheese and a seafood sampler kicked us off in the right direction. The lamb was tender and crumbled in your mouth. Tex washed it down with style with a glassy of sharry and I sat back in exhaustion. It is now established: The food in Amsterdam is awesome.

We did a quick stroll around the city, over the canals and under the lamps that illuminate the still nights. And again, we made it a point to walk through the red lights that cast their finishing glow over the available women.

That was how it went, with everything new in between. Last night (Friday) was a great time. I am writing from the city of The Hague as everyone is still asleep. I will write of the experience sometime later today.

Starry Day

It has been rather unfortunate that the wireless internet access here is either scarce, slow, or expensive. It has interrupted my ability to blog and brief write. As it is already(!) Friday, I write to redeem myself.

Contrary to the reputation, my experience in Amsterdam thus far has been an incredibly relaxing one. Going forward in this post I offer details on particular events/spectacles, but emphasize that it has been the non-events that have been my favorite aspects: The cafes, the cuisine, the architecture, the morning runs, the languages, the diverse faces, the cleanliness, the style, the bikes, the crisp air, and the peeking sun. Intermittently, we saw those things we were supposed to see as well. Like…

The Van Gogh Museum. Now saavy with the tram lines that criss-cross, what seems to be, just about every street, Tex and I jumped on one toward the museum district. Even with labor intensive educational foundation I knew nothing about the life of Van Gogh – and my cousin knew everything. Hell, I didn’t even know the story about him cutting his own ear. An artist in his own rite, Tex thoroughly enjoyed the museum, as did I. Van Gogh’s 2^nd Starry Night was naturally a satisfying sight but I was just as impressed with his other night set paintings. Unbeknownst to me before, he was enamored with the concept of night. It felt good to get an injection of information devoid of any connection to law (although I’m sure an argument could be made somehow).

Keeping with the “Starry” theme we walked over to the old Heineken Brewery for a tour of the grounds (Heineken’s logo involves a red star). We learned the rather simple process for brewing beer. We walked the once bustling brick brewery up-and-down until getting to the best part – the one free beer. I say this because the tour is lacking in many respects, but c’mon it’s about beer. The final part, the bar inside, was incredible. While sipping an Extra Cold Heineken you are surrounded by flat-screen tvs that create one unified wrap around image (HD) depicting different cities around the world. It felt like we were drinking in Rio De Janeiro, St. Petersburg, and New York. Finally, we got lost.

I pursue being lost. I have written about this on past trips. I find such a satisfaction in not knowing exactly where I am, knowing I need to figure out how to get back to comfort. We stumbled right into a street market. I ate some delicious chicken and Tex ate two bags of a variety of grapes. Cheeses, flowers, clothes, pickles, chocolate, fish, and music were all being vended. And just in case the red light district is not enough, one can purchase chocolate in the form of male and female reproductive parts.

Such was our Wednesday. I finished it off with an incredible Indonesian meal and some more brief writing.

Running Around

At 6:30am this morning I introduced myself to the streets and canals of Amsterdam central.  In exchange, I introduced the few early rising Dutch to American running tights.  The admitted jet leg from the day before was weighing on my conscience and on my leg muscles.  I was disappointed I didn't get to start the trip with the bang of efficiency that would be characteristic of an experienced traveller.  However, I got my European escape underway by running out of the hostel door and around town.  The canals weave in a web-like fashion, with all roads leading to the city center.  In the fresh morning 40 degree weather I was successful in my reconnaissance mission.  I found the shopping, the museums, and the cafes with wireless internet. On the return route I was amid the stares of the perplexed Dutch; I am sure I have started a new running apparel trend.

The Hostel provided breakfast consisted of a a hard-boiled egg, bread, two slices of cheese, and some jam.  My Texan stomach threw a tantrum at the food - or lack thereof.  As is usually the case when I complain, it turned out to be an excellent experience.  I was satisfied and felt noticeably healthier than when I devour two ham, egg and cheese breakfast tacos before my first morning class.  The breakfast was topped off by making new friends with the group of friends from China at the next table.

Following breakfast, we moved to the new sleeping accommodations - a modern hotel sponsored by my uncle-at-law. We hailed a Mercedez-Benz taxi and zoomed about 10 minutes away to another canal enclosed section.

Tex slept. I walked and studied.  I give myself a few hours to walk and sight-see and then snap myself back into student mode, sit at a cafe, and read case law print-outs.  Sanity and pleasure is maintained through this dueling process. Because its boring, I only offer that I plan to finish the bulk of the work tomorrow.

I am certain most of the highlights of the day are anything but riveting to the reader.  I adorned my long coat and entered and exited shops.  I basked in the sun as I squinted down the light reflecting canals.  I consumed fresh sandwiches and indulged in a Rice Table sampler order at a local Indonesian Restaurant.  I had cappuccino, admired the fashion sense, looked both ways to cross the street (maybe they are called flying dutchman because of the speed at which they ride bikes??), and coveted the multiplicity of languages I overheard. My favorite castle that serves coffee so far is pictured above.

Now, I sit in the hotel lobby writing away on my brief.  The trip is now on the upswing.  My decisions will gravitate from responsibly constrained toward self-indulgent and the resulting blog posts will move from simple to complex. 

Netherlands Arrival

Tex and I have arrived in Amsterdam.  The flight was an easy 9 hours; a long distance trip on a plane is peanuts compared to the overland travel of Latin America.  The cross Atlantic planes are more spacious and include minor additional amenities, the best of which is a screen displaying your current position and time remaining until landing. A note to my law school friends - I read all about posthumous conception on the flight. Yes, I am working on my brief while here. 

We hit ground at 6am Amsterdam time (12am U.S.).  Tired yet adrenaline filled we caught a train from the airport into Amsterdam Central.  We dodged the near silent fast-moving trains and bike riding dutch, barely making it across the street in our first attempt.  The city was just waking up and coming to life - it was almost as if everyone was coming out to welcome us to Europe.

Unfortunately, we did not have much luck initially.  My (useless) world blackberry does not get service here, I hadn't received an email regarding our sleeping accommodations, and we had trouble working the ATMS to even get Euros.  After some lugging of our luggage up and down the cobbled streets I decided we should just enter the first available hostel.

After some quick touring of the area I caught up on some much needed sleep.  With the cool dutch air flowing through my open window on the fourth floor I had a restful respite.

We kept it simple the first night (or at least I did).  We walked the streets acquainting ourselves with the infamous end of Amsterdam.  We walked by coffee shops, the red light district, and up and down the length of the canals.  As I become more familiar with these spots I will write more.

Why Not? Amsterdam

That Austin morning wasn't any different than any other.  The sun shone, Tex strummed the electric guitar with an acoustic flair, and I was still damp from the sweat of a recent run around Town Lake.  Relaxing. Vibing. Procrastinating casebook reading. Eventually the Macbooks emerged as is typical. After my systematic Gmail - Facebook - Nytimes procedure I checked Continental.com to further prolong the inevitable schoolwork.  I stumbled upon a cheap flight, on the perfect dates, and the details are to be worked out later.  Sometimes you have to just ask yourself "why not?"  Although one side of me attempts to answer that question, the other side prevents it from taking complete form.  As a a result, Tex and I will be flying to AMSTERDAM over Spring Break for 7 days of any and all the city has to offer.  Posts are forthcoming.

Rhetoric or Results to Come?

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

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)