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 !

Un autre monde

And back to Canada I went. I arrived in Montreal late on monday evening to surf Ross´s couch. He greeted me at the steps of his apartment building with an ice cold beer which was extremely welcome and even more so cos it was ridiculously hot even at that time. For the first time on my trip I had entered a non-english speaking part of the world and it was so refreshing. I had always wanted to go to that part of Canada. Gotta love the Gallic cultural pride/superiority.

I headed off early the next morning after having breakfast with Ross´s girlfriend Emily and their little kid Avery who was a crazy little 2 year old. A definite engineer in the making. The plan was to visit Quebec City for a few days before returning to Montreal for the weekend. On arrival in Quebec I, having again left my requests to the last minute, found that I was couchless so I checked into a hostel that Martin a kiwi that I met was staying at. Cool little spot but at $30 a night I was pleased to find out that Mathieu had responded to my request for a couch for the next night.

I went out for a few pints with Martin and Hossan from Iran who was also staying at the hostel. He was a crazy genteel little fella - "I´m a leeetle beeet razist, haaa haaaaaaa" - like his president not a fan of the US, the Arabs and Israel. Interesting cat.

The minute I met Mathieu I knew it would be a struggle. A bit of an oaf and not the brightest chap I´d met on my travels. It was definitely bringing up the rear of my couchsuring experiences. Not a bad lad and pretty generous but we were both cut from different cloths. Spends his days getting stoned and playing computer games. That allied to the fact that we had a crap night out I decided to return to Montreal a bit earlier than planned.

Quebec City didnt really grab me either. Although to be fair it was more the fact that every school in the world seemed to be having their school tours there at the same time. Even still the town was a bit of a Hansel and Grettle/museum type joint. Very french but having seen many beautiful old French towns in the flesh I wasn´t especially moved by it. Also, an old historic place is a relative thing in North America. Anyway, any city that charges $7 a pint needs to have a lot going for it.

So back to Montreal I voyaged. Couchsurfed with Nicholas and his multi-national crew - Carlos from Mehico, Danna from Colombia and Adrienne from France. An interesting, diverse group. To me Montreal provided a completely different experience. While I found Quebec pretty dead, Montreal teemed with life and oozed creativity. I had a great time there and definitely my kind of town.

It possesses all the wonderful quirkiness of a french city with the energy of a North America hotspot. Also, it seemed to be populated entirely by people in their 20´s. I spent the next few days gatching around the different places. I really like the Mont Royal/Plateau area. On the saturday myself and Nicholas met up with a few of Una´s friends from college - Kate, Eoin, Stephen and Nicola. It was cool to meet them and also cos I hadnt spent time with Irish people in a while. They had all moved over and picked up architecture/planning jobs pretty easily. They had a really good set-up there and a real creative place to spend a year or two although apparently the winter is ferociously cold !

The next day I met up with them again at the Tam Tam which is a huge collection of the weird and whacky who gather every sunday in the summer for huge drum based jamming session. Very much reminscent of San Fran´s sunday Hippy Hill sessions in Golden Gate Park.

The previous night I had been chatting to them about the apparently very strong Irish influence in Quebec. Stephen was telling me that apparently a rake of them had settled there in the 1800´s, much more so than in the english speaking west of Canada, which is still very British in its make-up. I had stumbled across a little Irish Quarter in Quebec City and also a big statue of a Celtic Cross donated the the people of Quebec as a sign of our gratitude for the great support that they had given us during the Famine. Also, I was amazed, upon going to watch some traditional Quebecois music, how incredibly similar it was to Irish music, athough much of this may be from the migrant Breton population too.

Overall, I reckon I´d place Montreal up there with my favourite cities in North America, a close second to San Fran (which I really had discovered in 2003) and also a place that I´m certain I´ll revisit. I suppose Montreal was essentially the place I was expecting to find on arriving in Vancouver.

A Time for Reflection

I thoroughly enjoyed my 30-day rail pass with Amtrak. In fact, to me, its the only way to travel in the States especially that fuel prices have jumped so much which prices road tripping out of the market. I´ve seen some amazing scenery and done it in such comfort that the thought of the 26 hour Greyhound trip that lay ahead filled me with dread. I just cannot understand how so many backpackers choose it over the train. I enjoyed Amtrak, I endured Greyhound.

Even recounting the time from when I left Chicago to arriving in Montreal makes me shudder. I arrived in Cleveland Bus Station at one in the morning with an hour wait for my connection. An aged Greyhound Cop approached me - a real fuckin doughnut eater - and said that they had selected me for a random security search. Himself and this half retarded spotty redneck fuck quized me in their room. Asked me did I have any weapons (!!) on me . I told them that I didn´t but that i had a camping knife down in the middle of my backpack. The Goons started giving me grief about it, saying that I wasn´t allowed to have a knife on the bus. I pointed out that I didn´t. That it was in my bag beneath the fucking bus not strapped to the inside of my leg. They told me that i wasnt allowed to have one there either and that some fella before had slit the drivers throat with a knife concealed in his bag like mine. Funny that one never made the news. Muppets.

So anyway, they searched my smaller bag, taking all of the contents out. When it finally dawned on them that I wasnt a threat to anyone, they told me to clear off. After I boarded the next bus I went to get my camera out of my bag. No sign of it. Fucking pricks. Either nicked it or forgot to put it back into my bag. I was fucking raging. I rang them from the next station. They claimed to know nothing about it. Thing is that I´d seen them grab a few more backpackers in for ´random inspection´too. Strange they didnt think of searching any of the hundreds of nutjobs walking around the station. I always expect that stuff to happen in developing countries and certainly not in the US.

It was really disappointing to leave the country on such a sour note. I had such a good time in the gaff and met a lot of really good skins and very few bad ones. The thing about the States is that that you know what you get there. The good and the bad. I´ve spent quite a bit of time there and I´ve always liked the place and the people.

The one question I was consistently asked was "what do people in Ireland think of us". I tell them all the same thing - we generally like the people and the place while not agreeing with the politics. My experience with these cops and an experience I had the next day with the border police in Albany - a good five hours from the border - where they approached everyone with slightly dark skin (and me !) asking for their passports made me imagine for a moment that I was living in some Eastern Bloc country during Communism - "Papers please".

This was something that I´d never experienced before in the States and absolutely not something that I enjoyed. It has become increasingly more paranoid as a nation and for many reasons not one that sits comfortably within its own skin. On reflection, this was something that had been echoed to me by most of the people I´d befriended on this trip anyway. Although I´d chosen my locations pretty sharpely ( I know what I like and I know what I dont) so I had pretty much steered clear of any real redneck areas (one summer in South Carolina gave me a lifetimes worth!) From the people I had met they were all pretty unhappy about the direction their country has taken and were predominantly strong supporters of the Boy Obama.

Chicago

I left Ronan in Denver to reboard the California Zephyr for the third and last time. Up til then every train I´d riden had come in bang on time or better still early. Amtrak had, in my eyes, been unfortunately laden with an undeserved reputation for tardiness but all that was to change. This trip completely lived up to its infamous reputation - 11 fucking hours late !! Unreal. The problem is that in the States the train lines are owned by the freight companies so they get right of way on the tracks.

Annoyingly too, the journey was extended into the daytime and while i had been relishing my final trip the bland scenery did little to pass the time. Luckily though, i was sitting next to Matt and Sally who were well sound. The other balls about the delay was that it would shorten even further the time I would have to spend in Chicago. I was well fucked off at the fact that i would only have a day and a half to spend there.

Eventually an extremely disgruntled train pulled into Union Station at two in the morning. Even though i knew that Chicago was a pretty humid city, it was extremely foggy outside so i threw on my jeans and hoodie. Wrong move, even at that time it was fucking boiling outside.

I had lined up a couch to stay on with Jess and Lynn but I seriously flahed from the train journey the day before so we did little in the way of activity. Unfortunately I will have to leave Chicago for another trip really.

Family Ties

After the debauchery of Boulder, the thought of comfort and solace with my cousin Ronan and his clan was deeply appealing. I caught the complementary Greyhound bus, that was included in my Amtrak pass, to Vail also in Colorado where Ronan´s missus Chris collected me. Overall I spent three nice relaxed days with them and I was great to catch up with Ronan who I hadn´t seen in over 10 years. Ronan is my mums first cousin and he moved over to the States on a running scholarship from Dublin in 1982 and never went back. It was great also to meet Chris and my crazy little cousins Brogan and Bailey.

We had a really good time and he took good care of me. We trekked up to the simply named Hanging Lake which was a sight to behold not least because the water was at its fiercest due to the amount of meltwater after a seriously heavy winter snow fall. Colorado is truly a spectacular part of the country with wonderful canyons, rivers and hills. I can only imagine what its like in the winter with the world class skiing that it is reputed to have. That is something that i would definitely like to experience at some stage.

I had a bit of excitement on leaving the Murrays in Avon. Knowing that I was on the last of my 30 day Rail Pass I just had to make the only train of the day in Denver. The fucking Greyhound bus was over 2 hours late and i was begining to get very edgy so I felt obliged to put the call in to Ronan for a lift. I suggested that we give the bus another twenty minutes but he was having none of it. He drove me all of the 100 plus miles to Denver and we even had enough time to sneak in two pints before the train.