It´s 9am in Merida, Venezuela and we have finally had a warm shower and are in bed for a decent sleep. More importantly, after more than a month of peaceful and easy travel in Colombia adventure has found us again in Venezuela.
A backpacker fact is that although one has some discretion over decisions that are good versus decisions that are bad, one mostly hopes for decisions that are lucky. Being armed with "information", "knowledge", or even "caution" rarely gets you to where you think you are going.
We awoke early Saturday morning knowing some "facts":
- We needed some US dollars for our foray into Venezuela. The official bank rate in Venezuela is 2,150 Bolivares to the dollar but the prevalent black market rate is 4,500 Bolivares to the dollar. Given the instability brought on by Chavez´s new Bolivarian socialism the day to day economy in Venezuela is a joke. Prices and exchange rates are arbitrarily set with little relativity. Actually a totally new currency was introduced January 1, 2008.
- We would take a four hour bus to Macao, mentioned in the Lying Planet as a "lawless" border town where travelers are advised not to stray away from the bus terminal.
- After Macao we would then take a two and half hour taxi across the border to Maracaibo.
- Finally a seven hour night bus to Merida.
With total luck we knew we would be in for a long journey.
Our 10:30am bus left right on time and we were happy that our cheapie fare got us a ride on a super comfy air conditioned bus cama (sleeper seats). We were in Macao by 2:30pm as promised. Lucky.
The Macao terminal was a dusty dump in the middle of a desolate trash ridden field on the highway. We met a woman and man who offered to share a taxi with us but after the man left us waiting for 15 minutes to make phone calls "caution" kicked in.
"Is he making phone calls to arrange for a ´robbery´ of our taxi?"
"Is he up to something shady because he knows we are Americans and likely traveling with US dollars?"
We quickly decided to ditch them. We searched for our own taxi but after being quoted varying exorbitant fares and fearing a ride alone with a sleazy driver we ditched that idea too. We instead decided on the "safest" and cheapest option - a beat up collectivo stuffed with more than 30 people (with seats for less than 20). Catherine got a "regular" seat (think small school bus seat) in the back and again I got the lovely seat up front with no legroom usually reserved for the driver´s assistant. (All buses and collectivos have an assistant. When you board the bus you do not hand the driver your ticket. Instead, halfway through the ride the assistant crams his way through the bus/collectivo collecting tickets or selling tickets. He is also in charge of picking up random riders that wait on the side of the road for a ride).
No AC in the scorching afternoon heat, no space for our bodies, no order, and no luck. We were then joined by the two large and loud female owners of the enterprise that we soon found out was more than a border crossing collectivo.
Problems arose immediately. We stalled before leaving the terminal and within 500m of the terminal we stopped twice to get oil for the collectivo.
In her characteristic feistiness Catherine asked our driver, "Quantas mas paradas vamos a tener?"
Her sarcasm and Spanish skills riled up the locals with laughter and concurring sentiments. Our 2:30pm departure became more like a 3:15pm departure and our supposed two and a half hour trip was reclassified as a four hour trip. By the time we reached the border crossing at Paraguachon just 5km away from the terminal we had stopped several times and were keen to our collectivo´s terrible oil leak.
The border crossing from Colombia to Venezuela was like wandering from the shops on Walnut Street to the shops at Chestnut Street. Strangely only four of us got off the collectivo for the slowly straightforward document formalities. We walked on the dusty dirt patch of a highway from one country to the other sharing the road with rusted banana boat Lincolns from the 70s and tons of trash. The dust was so thick that we could hardly see or breathe.
Back on the collectivo after leaving the border we were stopped every 500m for immigration checks. Venezuelan officers would board the bus, ask for identification, get a wad of cash and slick words from our two large and loud owners, and we would be off again. We were obviously smuggling people across the border and possibly contraband or drugs. Even more obvious was the overt petty corruption found in Venezuela.
After two hours on the collectivo we had traveled what would normally take thirty minutes. We grabbed our gear and ditched our friendly fellow riders and sleazy owners. We hopped in a cab and were in Maracaibo within an hour.
Another backpacker truth is that no matter how tight our budget is and no matter how much we want to "live like common people" we can always call on the privilege of Uncle Sam.
January 24, 2008
Beach Culture IS Culture
Finally we found our beach paradise.
The bus dropped us off at the Parque Nacional Tayrona and as soon as we started our hike towards the beach we knew we were in for a treat. The dense jungle formed a warm canopy that filled our path with a choir of birds and the rustling of reptiles and critters. No longer were we overwhelmed with the odious smells and prolific trash of Santa Marta and Taganga (two major beach disappointments).
We rented a tent and set up camp in a lush field of tropical trees just feet from the beach. We enjoyed the peaceful tranquility of a coastline free of commerce and people. Instead huge sea boulders dotted the various bays of the park backdropped by jungle. We walked from black sandy beaches to white sandy beaches to colorful grainy beaches. We had breakfast on the beach followed by late morning naps, early afternoon reading, and frequent dips in the water.
Our four days there were certainly not enough. We plan on spending more time at the park when we return to the Colombian coast before our sail to Panama. Anyone want to join us?
See pics of our visit to Parque Nacional Tayrona at: http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4220948#246843804
The bus dropped us off at the Parque Nacional Tayrona and as soon as we started our hike towards the beach we knew we were in for a treat. The dense jungle formed a warm canopy that filled our path with a choir of birds and the rustling of reptiles and critters. No longer were we overwhelmed with the odious smells and prolific trash of Santa Marta and Taganga (two major beach disappointments).
We rented a tent and set up camp in a lush field of tropical trees just feet from the beach. We enjoyed the peaceful tranquility of a coastline free of commerce and people. Instead huge sea boulders dotted the various bays of the park backdropped by jungle. We walked from black sandy beaches to white sandy beaches to colorful grainy beaches. We had breakfast on the beach followed by late morning naps, early afternoon reading, and frequent dips in the water.
Our four days there were certainly not enough. We plan on spending more time at the park when we return to the Colombian coast before our sail to Panama. Anyone want to join us?
See pics of our visit to Parque Nacional Tayrona at: http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4220948#246843804
January 11, 2008
We´d like to thank Jesus, my Mama, J.Lo, and...
the Guidis.
Dear Liz, Matt, and Nathan,
Thanks for the wonderful welcome we received in Bogota and your tremendous hospitality in hosting us and everyone else as they arrived. We had everything we wanted and needed - massages, homecooked meals, immaculate room, spacious bathroom, comfy queen bed, perfect holidays, and tons of love from all of you. For months as we dealt with challenging moments while backpacking we simply told ourselves that we had Bogota to look forward to. It certainly exceeded our expectations. We only wish that in the near future (well, once we get ourselves established again) we can offer the same kindness to you.
Dear Victoria,
We love you! Thanks for getting us off our lazy butts and getting us active and exploring. We can´t wait to see you in El Salvador and take you with us for a little backpacking adventures of your own. We´ll be there soon enough.
Dear Maribel,
The only non-Guidi on our list. Seeing you was perfect! Thanks for bringing all of our favorite stuff from the states, especially one of our favorite friends. We had a great time boozing it up Bogota style.
Dear Mom and Henry,
Rock climbing, rafting, dancing, shopping - your energy is totally inspirational and contagious! We were so happy to share the holidays and Joc´s 30th birthday with you. Thanks for treating us to our favorite things from home, dinners, Villa de Leyva, and your presence. Can´t wait to do it again.
Dear Laura, Craig, and Birdie,
We´re psyched you completed the picture. It just wouldn´t have been the same without you. Get geared up and lets plan a sweet summer vacation in Central America.
The Guidi clan holiday reunion in Colombia was perfect. Nothing like luxuries and loved ones to excite two very lucky backpackers.
Dear Liz, Matt, and Nathan,
Thanks for the wonderful welcome we received in Bogota and your tremendous hospitality in hosting us and everyone else as they arrived. We had everything we wanted and needed - massages, homecooked meals, immaculate room, spacious bathroom, comfy queen bed, perfect holidays, and tons of love from all of you. For months as we dealt with challenging moments while backpacking we simply told ourselves that we had Bogota to look forward to. It certainly exceeded our expectations. We only wish that in the near future (well, once we get ourselves established again) we can offer the same kindness to you.
Dear Victoria,
We love you! Thanks for getting us off our lazy butts and getting us active and exploring. We can´t wait to see you in El Salvador and take you with us for a little backpacking adventures of your own. We´ll be there soon enough.
Dear Maribel,
The only non-Guidi on our list. Seeing you was perfect! Thanks for bringing all of our favorite stuff from the states, especially one of our favorite friends. We had a great time boozing it up Bogota style.
Dear Mom and Henry,
Rock climbing, rafting, dancing, shopping - your energy is totally inspirational and contagious! We were so happy to share the holidays and Joc´s 30th birthday with you. Thanks for treating us to our favorite things from home, dinners, Villa de Leyva, and your presence. Can´t wait to do it again.
Dear Laura, Craig, and Birdie,
We´re psyched you completed the picture. It just wouldn´t have been the same without you. Get geared up and lets plan a sweet summer vacation in Central America.
The Guidi clan holiday reunion in Colombia was perfect. Nothing like luxuries and loved ones to excite two very lucky backpackers.
For a recap of all our holiday adventures check out Liz´s blog at: http://reesfamilybogota.blogspot.com/2008/01/christmas-and-new-years-recap.html
Check out our Colombia pics:
Ciclovia and Cloud Forest - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4205711#245844162
Christmas Eve Dinner - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4212585#246280751
Joc´s 30th Birthday - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4205678#246290785
Rock Climbing in Suesca - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4205726#245835259
Simon Bolivar Park - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4205768#245839331
Villa de Leyva - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4212746#246291941
Paragliding in San Gil - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4212608#246284137
3 Countries, 3 Days, and Too Many Buses
We left Mancora, Peru bummed to leave our one week beach bum vacation. We were especially unhappy about our upcoming days of bus travel. The only solace was our final destination - Bogota, Colombia. After months of anticipation we would finally see Liz, Matt, and Nathan and enjoy the comforts of a real home and loved ones.
Unfortunately, we had to experience our worst bus ride to get there. Unscathed, we crossed the reputed "most dangerous" border crossing in South America from Peru to Ecuador. We got bus tickets on the recommended Panamericana Bus Company from the southern border city of Machala to the northern border city of Tulcan. After a long day of bus rides and waiting we finally boarded in early evening for our 16 hour bus ride across Ecuador.
Although the fare was equivalent to luxury service buses we were accustomed to, the bus was certainly not the spacious bus-cama we had expected. No comfy sleeper reclining seats, no foot rests, no bathroom, no space, and no AC. We did have a screeching TV sound system that could have made a dog crazy. Even worse were the roaches that joined us on our trip. Stealth by daylight the creepy critters made their ugly debut as we reboarded following our evening dinner stop - they were everywhere. Catherine´s previous unhappiness with the heat, ridiculous volume, and erratic driving was nothing compared to her livid reaction upon seeing the roaches.
I wiped my seat down, told her I loved her, blasted my iPod, and assiduously worked to meditate to a happy place. Catherine covered every part of her body and did her own painstaking mental work.
By the time we got off the gross and uncomfortable bus and walked across the border to Ipiales, Colombia we were totally spent with the situation and each other.
A cab driver tried to overcharge us, angrily locked my pack in his trunk, and Catherine fumed. A herd of kids harassed us as we inquired about a hostel and Catherine fumed. Within minutes she was ready to leave me to my own devices.
A night in Ipiales (together) and a 22 hour journey found us exhausted, disheveled, and excited when Liz and Nathan finally opened their front door in Bogota and welcomed us.
Point Broken
The sun and heat and peaceful beach life were more enticing than any fear of mugging. We stayed in Mancora for our planned week of chill time. Even though the Panamerican Highway runs right through the few block strip called a city, Mancora had good food and fun to offer. Being there was certainly better than any bus ride out of there.
For a week we awoke early and lounged at the beach for hours enjoying long reads and even longer naps. Surfer watching took up huge chunks of our afternoons. The breaks were full of experienced locals sharing their playground with abled kids and awkward beginners.
Catherine watched diligently determined to sidestep a necessary first lesson (and $15). She took mental notes of the constant visuals provided by instructors to the legion of first time foreigners hoping to catch waves. One morning in bed she startled me as she lept in one quick motion from her belly to her feet.
"That´s how you stand on a board," she claimed.
"So today you´ll finally take a lesson?"
A dismissive grin was her response.
After days of prodding, Catherine finally rented a huge red board and set off with a savings of $10 and sans official lesson. Fear cadenced her slow trot to the water.
Once in the water, her long board overwhelmed her approach to the waves as kids and locals quickly paddled their boards past her. She underestimated the arm strength necessary for the approach and within minutes she was no longer attempting to reach the waves breaking towards the south end but instead she helplessly drifted towards the north end where bathers frolicked in calm waters.
In the distance the only identifier that remained was the huge red board. Close to reaching the shore one final wave bid her farewell. Bikini bottoms flew off and the board jerked her like a big dog walking an old lady. A few gulps of water later she safely emerged with local kids surrounding her asking for a "ride" on her board. Indecent and frustrated she struggled to fend the kids off while pulling up her bottoms.
Twenty minutes after her initial foray into the water my sexy surfer returned without a board or any desire to surf while in Mancora.
For a week we awoke early and lounged at the beach for hours enjoying long reads and even longer naps. Surfer watching took up huge chunks of our afternoons. The breaks were full of experienced locals sharing their playground with abled kids and awkward beginners.
Catherine watched diligently determined to sidestep a necessary first lesson (and $15). She took mental notes of the constant visuals provided by instructors to the legion of first time foreigners hoping to catch waves. One morning in bed she startled me as she lept in one quick motion from her belly to her feet.
"That´s how you stand on a board," she claimed.
"So today you´ll finally take a lesson?"
A dismissive grin was her response.
After days of prodding, Catherine finally rented a huge red board and set off with a savings of $10 and sans official lesson. Fear cadenced her slow trot to the water.
Once in the water, her long board overwhelmed her approach to the waves as kids and locals quickly paddled their boards past her. She underestimated the arm strength necessary for the approach and within minutes she was no longer attempting to reach the waves breaking towards the south end but instead she helplessly drifted towards the north end where bathers frolicked in calm waters.
In the distance the only identifier that remained was the huge red board. Close to reaching the shore one final wave bid her farewell. Bikini bottoms flew off and the board jerked her like a big dog walking an old lady. A few gulps of water later she safely emerged with local kids surrounding her asking for a "ride" on her board. Indecent and frustrated she struggled to fend the kids off while pulling up her bottoms.
Twenty minutes after her initial foray into the water my sexy surfer returned without a board or any desire to surf while in Mancora.
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