Friday 18 July 2008

Merida

Merida is a nice university town sitting the mountains in the south west of Venezuela. It is also the base for many of the best outdoor activities in the country and thanfully for me, it was nicely cool and away from the sweltering heat of the coast.

I bumped into a lad from the States at the bus station. His name was Quinlan - his first name. Bit strange that but he was dead-on and we ended up knocking around together for the next few days. The fucker had spent the previous year in Rio as part of his masters studies and was about to start a PhD in Berkeley in a few months.




Merida is a attractive enough place and in no way as edgy as Caracas. As Quinlan´s mum is a Dutchie, we both had a strong interest in watchin die Oranje play the Ruskies in the quarters but unfortunately they were well outplayed and went crashing out. We had two great nights out in el Hoyo and Biriosca. Suprisingly, Merida had a pretty lively nightlife, especially during the week due to the large student population. We met a rake of american students and another big gang of eh ´religious converters´.


One of the other inhabitants at our guest house. Comforting.

Quinlan headed back to Caracas after the poor bastard spent two days in bed crippled by the Scutts (!). Started hanging around with this crazy lad from Catalunya - Alfonso. My first impressions of him were rather worrying, that he was truly off his rocker. It must be added that this was during the Spain v Italy game. Man, it was like being at the match itself. Priceless. He practically watched the game from behind his hands and every twenty seconds or so he´d jump up off his seat and roar some obsenity at the top of his voice.


He nearly had a break down during the penalties. As each Italian would make the walk up to take the spotter, Alfonso would start roaring at the TV - insulting their mothers, questioning the legitimacy of their births etc and as a Catalan he left aside his disgust for all things Madrid and Royal for the duration of the game.


Watching the Russian game with him was a more tranquil affair due to the superiority of the Spanish team. In between the two games we headed further into the mountains with Sarah, a Kraut from near Bremen, to a village called Los Nevados. It took a very bumpy four hour jeep ride to get there and a five hour hike early the next morning (although Sarah took a mule much to our amusement) and then we descended on the longest and highest (apparently) cable car in the world.

The day after the game I took the bus and headed for Colombia, the focal point of my trip.

El Caribé

After my second night in Frané´s joint, I had decided to head west to el Parque Nacional de Morrocoy, on the advice of his ole man. On my final morning his mum put on yet another mammoth spread for me so much so that I was half an hour late for my bus out of there. Thankfully, the bus was on Venezuelan time so I was actually half an hour early.

I got the bus to Tucacas via Valencia (where I watched Germany beat Portugal 3-2). Tucacas was a right dump and the locals less than hospitable. It was purely in existence for the tourist dollar. My plan on arrival was to head straight for the islands and camp but I was told that I couldn´t spend the night there cos they were repairing the campground which was a real pain in the nads cos it meant I had to stay in Tucacas instead.

The next morning I headed off to Morrocoy with two sound english lads (Tom and Ali) that I had met earlier. We were joined by an American couple and their three crazy crazy little kids. Morrocoy was amazingly beautiful - an archipelago of unspoilt Carribean islands with the white sands and aquamarine water that you expect in such a place.


Everytime I head off to sunnier climes I am very conscious of getting badly sunburnt. So I lashed on the lotion before heading off. This is where I consistenly fuck up. I somehow seem to concentrate exclusively on covering the middle of my body and end up getting fcking scalded along my ribs, shoulders and the insides of my arms. So afterwards I look like a burns victim or some kid who´s had a pot of boiling water thrown at them. And within 3 or 4 days it has all peeled off. Its all very attractive honestly.

After spending a really enjoyable day on the islands, I had absolutely no reason for staying in Tucacas another night so I headed for Valencia to catch a bus to Merida. The other reason was that at this stage my body could take no more sunshine due to my lobster-like state and so I sought the refuge and cooler climes of the Merida and the surrounding mountains.

Back in Latino-land

When you step out of the Western World everything suddenly changes. And Venezuela more so. Walking out of Caracas Airport, it really hit me that I was back in Latin America - the blast of heat, the palm trees, everyone shouting at you ´amigo amigo´or ´my fren, my fren´, people hissing at you or clicking their fingers at you to get attention. And later on, the fact that using the break is the last option for a driver, regardless of the vehicle, from an articulated truck to a scooter, they just honk their horns at anyone thinking of crossing in front of them, basically saying that if you get in my way i WILL smash you to pieces.

I arrived at the airport at half twelve at night, fucking great, to realise that the price id been told a taxi would cost (buses had stopped running at this stage) was the equivalent of 75 fucking dollars. Screw that. I also met a German guy who had been followed and robbed at knife point losing his wallet and 1200 Euro from his credit card. Also everyone told me that around the airport was well dodge so a night of kipping in the airport awaited me. Got the bus the next morning for $5.

Originally I had only planned to couch surf in North America but after the success I had there I reckoned that I´d give it a lash occasionally in South America too. In Caracas I was forced to out of necessity as there are zero hostels to stay in. So I couch surfed with Frane for two nights. Really sound lad and quite a different experience to my previous ventures as he lived with his family. This turned out to be a great change. His family were dead-on and good fun but it was his mum that really made it! She was like a good ole ´Irish Mammy´in that she insisted on feeding me to the gills from the moment I arrived to when I left. Heaven ! And they say that you should never trust a restaurant with a skinny chef, she was a big plump woman who was a serious operator in the kitchen. Half thinking of only couchsurfing with people who live with their parents from now on !

Frane was bang on and showed me around a fair bit but I reckon he was really stretching himself as Caracas´s charms dont exactly jump up and bite you in the face. To be pretty blunt about it, its a bit of a dump and its very difficult to get about due to atrocious traffic. On the second night, we went to Belles Artes area to meet up with a few of his friends which was a good laugh.

Nothing negative happened to me in my two days there but I had been extensively warned about the place so I was doggy wide the whole time. Many of the stories I´d heard were involving the cops which is pretty unnerving as they are the ones who are meant to be protecting you. Its practically impossible to talk to anyone in Venezuela without the subject of Chavez rearing its head. He´s either adored or detested. I´ll go into more later. Frane, being middle class, absolutely fucking hated him !