Quick update for those who like to know where I am.  Just in case I go missing – and you need a starting point for the search party… have let laziness do my thinking for me.  Am staying in Juangriego, Margarita Island – for two more nights.  Original thought was to take up offer from guy I was talking to last night – a 6 or 8 hour taxi tour of island, with english speaking guide.  Really want to see west side of island, but it’s pretty much deserted.  Instead, am now going to go to Parlamar in a couple of days, and hire a scooter.  So – today was sloth.  Went to bus station, changed my mind, came back.  To delight of hotel owner.  Have spent afternoon drinking cerveza with him, and old french guy.  About to watch famous sunset.  So – Juangriego, Margarita Island for two more nights.

Kruse es treinta anos.

 Well – successfully caught the 2am ferry to Isla de Margarita.  Turiste class.  Which meant watching some people race for the best spots to put up hammocks, while others raced for the best floor space.  I settled for half a bench.  Arm rests are rather annoying.  Woke up halfway through the night, well many times actually – but this time, to find my camera out of my pocket.  Not sure if it had fallen out, or was attempted thievery.  Either way, it probably would have become thievery fairly soon.  But – cunning old Kruse had clipped his keyring onto the camera strap, and – whether it had prevented thievery, or stopped the camera from falling completely – this had saved the day.

Anyway – got to Isla de Margarita at around 7am.  Raining.  Chatted to another backpacker on the bus to Porlamar, turned out to be Argentinian.  We walked around Porlamar for quite some time in the rain, trying to find cheap place to stay.  Not much luck, so I caught a bus to Juan Griego, while he stayed to look.  He wanted to find a job, and Porlamar´s the biggest town on the island.

Juan Griego – walk around every hotel I can find.  No hostels in Venezuela that I´ve seen so far.  First place I go to – rather large man, a little creepy, tells me that I´ll be back.  And, he was right.  Should have checked the shower before accepting the room though.  No shower head, and only cold water.  So – was like showering under a hose attached to the wall.  Good water pressure though.  And it turned out to be not bad.  Free internet at hostel, but with a french keyboard.  I´ve pretty much gotten used to the Spanish keyboards – but the french one was really annoying.  As they tend to do, they´ve changed nearly everything – just to spite the rest of the world.

Venezuela is proving to be relatively expensive.  The island has fairly expensive accommodation – but beer is cheap, as it´s a duty-free island.  So – the number of liquor stores has shown me that I misjudged the lunatic in Caracas on one point, at least.  When he kept saying he wanted “something especial”, and I was getting furious – telling him to just tell me exactly what he wanted…. “what do you want?” “something especial” “what is that?” “whiskey” “which whiskey?” “something especial” “aaarrgh!  Just order something yourself.” ….  turns out there is a whiskey called Something Special.

Had a fairly pricey lunch.  Considering the reports of it being even harder to get cash on the island than it is on the mainland – I figure I´ve got enough cash to spend two nights, and will probably have to eat extremely cheaply, or not drink.  After lunch, and figuring out my options, I go and buy a sixpack of beer, and sit on the dock of the bay.  Watching the tide come in.  The time roll away.  And kids.  Kids making kids eat sand.  Kids pashing.  Kids diving, doing bombs.

Also – a funeral procession went past.  Stationwagon covered in flowers/wreaths, with about 200 people walking behind it – including the casket being carried.

Five and a half hours siesta.  Get up just in time to realise that Venezuelan time is different from Argentinian time.  Here – the restaurants aren´t just getting busy at 10:30, they´ve just closed.  I eventually find a small dairy type place, and drink multiple cervezas for dinner.  At 1,000 Bolivars each, I believe.  So, about 80 NZ cents.  Only 250ml bottles though.  I also get tres cans to takeaway – and return to the dock of the bay.  Watching the War of the Beach.  The Dance of the Tide.  Awaiting midnight.  Midnight comes, I turn 30, and don´t even cry.  Old (homeless?) man comes buy.  Collecting cans & bottles, and sits next to me for a little while.  I give him my two empties – and he asks for my full one.  Offers me something for it, a bag of garlic maybe?  No chance.

27 March

Walked up to the local fort.  Very proud description of the history, along the lines of “Here the brave locals of Margarita fought for their independence.”  No mention of when they bravely gave away that independence to become part of Venezuela.  Went down other side of fort hill, to little village/suburb – with nice looking beach.  Walked along the beach, and swam in the Caribbean.  I think the best thing about the swim was the thought “I´m swimming in the Caribbean Sea.”  Returned to hostel, rather sunburnt – despite it being an overcast day.

Rather expensive dinner – mostly due to 35,000Bs bottle of wine.  But, had discovered the secret (I think/hope) to withdrawing cash in Venezuela – and was my birthday, so splashed out.  And… sitting at a table on the beach, with a wine bucket next to you, a beer in hand, and a menu of very fresh seafood, is a fine way to spend an evening.

Went to a small pub after dinner.  Ended up chatting to old french woman.  Chatting?  Mostly her talking, and me guessing what she meant from occasional recognisable words, and her many hand gestures.  And making some kind of response to signify I understand in my little spanish.  She doesn´t like the Europeans who come to the island.  She´s been living here 11 years, and had utter contempt on her face when talking about “la euros”.  She invited a guy over who spoke fairly good English.  Used to be a tour guide.  Much advice on things to see/do on the island.  May have convinced me to stay a few more days – possibly go to a little village, and wait for a local to invite me in to stay.

I eventually admitted to the ex-guide that it was my birthday, and he and the pub owner were mucho happy for me.  We talked for a while about “the youth of today”, and the owner ended up giving me a free beer.  Was probably one cerveza too many.  He also offered me a girl for my birthday night.  Nice guy.

Now have to decide what I am to do.  I think I´ll use my usual technique of letting events decide for me.  I´ll see what buses are available at the station.  Hopefully there´ll only be one appropriate one, and I´ll take that.  Options are 1) La Asuncion – where apparently there is a maze, with a kind of zoo in the middle with monkeys and tarantulas.  Sounds odd, and apparently not even many locals know it exists.  The french woman didn´t.  2) San Francisco – a little village to the west.  No accommodation, but apparently some locals might invite me in to stay, for a small fee.  Close to a couple of the best beaches on the island.  3) Catch ferry back to mainland.

Apparently Easter here is nuts.  As well as Angel Falls.  Anywhere touristy.  So – to avoid crowds, and high prices, have to find somewhere quiet for over Easter period.

In today´s episode: Kruse gets effectively kidnapped by a nutter, experiences the salsa, and goes to the Caribbean!

 I just walked along the Caribbean coast from the bus terminal.  The Caribbean is nice.  Except for litter and broken bottles.

But – let´s explore how Caracas went, with my friendly Venezuelan.  Soon after leaving the internet cafe after yesterday´s update, I decided to not be my usual antisocial self.  And to not be chicken.  Bem´s thoughtwaves must have reached me somehow.  At the bus station, I finally decide to take up local on his offer of a place to stay tonight, and a party.  It wasn´t very long before I regretted this decision.  And it was only a little while after that, I decided it was the worst decision I´ve ever made in my life.

The friendly local quickly turned into The Annoying Local, with much talking, repeating of one´s self, and nonsense conversation.  But – must be expected with somebody practising a 2nd language.  Then – turned into The Dick Local (boasting of Harley Davidson t-shirt, how much it cost, and how he bought it in Holland.  “I was in Holland last year you know?” Holland turns out to be Aruba).  Then – turned into the Nutter Local (much talk of how he´s got ideas for Venezuela.  Projects.  Much talk of projects.  Run-of-the-mill “If I was President, …” stuff.  But a lot of it.  And vehement).  He then progressed quite quickly into Raving Lunatic (started practising his campaign speeches on me.  For maybe a couple of hours.  While I was dying of thirst, and trying to figure out how to escape.  Was at his apartment by now.  Some time of this campaigning was done in only a towel.  Apparently he does this every night, to build his voice.)  The nice Nutter finally got us to the subway, to go to this ´party´.  I am by now, of course, rather apprehensive about this party.  And would love to scarper, but my pack is at his place.  But – when I figure out that he´s a locally known nutter (a lá Ronald The Bearded Weasel) – I´m suspecting that the party can at worst be harmless – but will probably be a bar.  On the subway, however, he starts campaigning.  Entire carriage laughing at him.  One guy starts arguing with him, and my nutter suddenly gets off at the next stop, and is about to leave.  I ask him why this station, I thought you said Altamira.  (I know Altamira is a relatively ´safe´ suburb, and not sure about this particular one.)  He is obviously rather distraught about having his brilliant ´imaginations´and projects challenged.  He finally calms down, and we get back onto subway to Altamira.

Oh – in elevator on way down from his apartment, he asked me “Have you ever known anybody like me?  Anybody with the same kind of stuff in their mind?”  I answered truthfully.  “Yes”, he agreed, “my mind is huge, overflowing with ideas.”

Dinner at an awful hamburger joint.  By this stage, I´m just following, hoping that this will all be over soon.  Without running into anybody who doesn´t take him for an harmless nutter.  He has confided in me several times that he has “Enemies”.  At hamburger joint – he takes the oppurtunity to canvas His People, chatting to a couple at another table.  I exchange glances with a worker there, and she gives a grin, while me – a resigned grimace.

But – the party.  It is a bar.  He seems to know the door people.  But then, he seems to know everybody.  Like I said – local celebrity nutter.  Patted down for weapons before entering the bar.  They have no cerveza.  I have spent, by now, about 5 hours coping with this nutter – the entire time only wanting a drink.  I quickly discover that a margarita is not a good thirst quencher.  I eventually settle on a “I´ll have what they´re having” – pointing at the cool kids.  Turns out to be a rather strong mix of tequila, other assorted spirits, and something to make it green.  Nutter just wants two of something “especial” – turns out to be some expensive whiskey – for the entire night.  Still rather expensive.

And then the dancing started.  Bad house music stopped, salsa music started.  Now, I understand why these people believe in God.  Salsa is awesome.  I sat there and watched, transfixed, for ages.  And, during the daytime – Caracas is full of ugly people.  It is an ugly city – so it figures.  However – go to a trendy overpriced bar – and BANG.  This is why I came to Venezuela.  And then they start dancing like THAT.

After some time, kind of meet two spanish guys at bar.  They point out a petite girl who they have taken a liking to.  Not long after, I´m leaning against the bar, and Petite starts dancing with a guy in front of me.  Her back to me.  Well – her backside.  About an inch away.  For a very very long time.  Spanish guys are standing there with mouths wide open – staring.  I was kinda pleased, but also didn´t know where to look.  These people dance for a long time each stint.  This exact same thing happened twice – same girl.  I thought coincidence.  Then – near the end of the night, she asks me – through the nutter – for a dance.  I don´t really see how I can refuse – although I try to tell her that there´s no way I can dance like everybody else here.  She doesn´t seem to mind.  So – we danced.  By no means did I dance the salsa.  Eventually she´d had enough.  And asked if I had a girlfriend, and for my email address.  Like Pen said, now I have options.

Spanish guys gave me many high fives.  Especially after I chopped back both of their half-full Green Delights.  They thought I was a legend, I just needed a drink after that stupid dancin´, and had run out of money.

Ahhh, the salsa.

Went back to Nutter´s place.  Cat had shat somewhere.  Surprising that, seeing as it had been locked in a 10th storey apartment all day.

Woke the nutter up this morning with trepidation.  I need his keys to get out of the building.  I need to get the bus station by 10am.  I know he´s an unpredicatable nutter.  And I know what his idea of keeping to time is.  About one hour of last night´s campaign speech practice was after calling a taxi for 15 minutes.  He jolted awake – pointing a fist at me with a terrified look on his face.  Then laughed.  A big joke. Maybe.  But – got out remarkably easy.  He unlocked his door for me, I left.  I knew there were two gates at the bottom for which I need a key to get out – but just wanted to get out – and figured that there´s bound to be somebody else leaving.

And now I´m in Puerto La Cruz.  If Chook is right, and I´m on an awful self-finding mission, then I guess here´s the best place.  It´s the port, or the door, to myself.

But, anyway.  Puerto La Cruz.  On the Caribbean.  I can see it now.  Straight across the road.  And tonight, I may catch a ferry to a Caribbean island.  The Pearl of the Caribbean, to be exact.  Isla de Margarita.  Life is good.  My main concern is now whether to experience any more ´locals´or not.  Nutter – bad.  Terribly terribly bad.  Salsa – good.  Wonderfully wonderfully good.

Well – I am in Caracas. And, excuse my language family, but it is the only way to put it… I am fucked. Well and truly.

But – I will get to that later. The remainder of Buenos Aires – went to a museum. Which confirmed my suspicion that the Argentines do not consider anybody important unless they were a general in a war. But, nice museum. Actual jacket worn by some guy who was murdered. Murdered quite well, by the size of the cut in his back. Very big ornate shield type thing. Spectacular, really.

Then – in the evening, went to a soccer game. Futbal. The Argies are mad. Really quite impressively crazy. Home team won.

Yesterday – went to bus station. Spent an hour waiting for the correct no 86 bus to come. Got on. Two hours later, got to airport. Then, another hour in the check-in queue. Luckily I had given myself heaps of time, to allow for food and internet at airport. As it turns out, I just had time to get to the plane.

Arrive in Caracas. Every ATM refuses me. Some of them asking me about the last two digits of my passport or ID card. I tried several things, both debit card and credit card. Nothing worked. Lots of taxi drivers, baggage handlers, everybody really – asking if I want a taxi, or my money changed. Very good rates. Black market – better than the official rate. I end up talking to a guy in a suit, outside what looks like a tourist office. Realise later that I think it is a tourist company. But, I think the guy was actually fairly genuine – and works for a company which sorts out accommodation/transport for business travellers to NZ. So my price range for a hotel was something he had not dealt with before, I suspect. We ended up driving around Caracas for a very long time, over an hour, going to hotel after hotel. Most full, some just too expensive. But considering the places he was taking me to – I wanted to tell him there was no way they would accept what I had to offer.

Ended up at a little place, very basic room. But – hotel, so own bathroom. Time for another clean (was very very stinky on the plane). Then, I started to notice something about the hotel room. There was a large poster of girl in bikini on the wall. Two porn channels on the TV. Could hear loud noises from a nearby hotel room. Large mirror at foot of bed. Switches on the headboard – for lights, music, TV, & aircon. And finally, I noticed the mirrors on the ceiling.

This morning – I left the key in the room, and scarpered. I was still paranoid that my “friends” last night had somehow ripped me off, and if I handed the key to reception – I would be handed a bill. Then, I started to think about the fact that I had the equivalent of $50 cash. And that was all. Old man at roadside kiosk helped me pick a bus to get on, and I think he said that I would see a big sign saying banco. I did not, and got off instead when it seemed to be the end of the line, and there were a few shops around. Soon I discovered that I was in Sabana Grande. Reputedly, the dangerous neighbourhood. Finally found some ATMs. Same problem as last night. Found another one. This one, at least, had a slightly more useful error message. My card has been locked for too many incorrect PIN entries. Both cards.

And then, I realise, it is Saturday. So the banks are closed. No walk-in and use visa to withdraw cash.

So – like I said, I am fucked. Well and truly. In Caracas, reputedly the most dangerous city in the continent, with no money, and no way of getting money.

So – I have been in this internet cafe, which I finally found – after starting to suspect that all internet places were closed on Saturday as well – gathering information and options. Am going to call the National Bank – and see if they can unlock my cards pronto, and give me the 2 digits I am supposed to enter after the main PIN. Otherwise, I guess it is finding an hotel which will take Visa. And is not full. Probably going to be expensive.

Update: checked out the bus station to Puerto La Cruz, and confirmed they´d take Visa.  So – it became a decision of “Do I stay in Caracas screwed without money, or go to Puerto La Cruz, where I´ll be screwed without money.”  Then, a helpful lady at bus station pointed me to a big shopping mall, where the banks are open on Saturdays.  2nd bank I tried – the ATM gave me money on my Visa.  Never been so happy to see cash come out of a machine.  Not even in Palmy on a Wednesday night when you hoped the machine didn´t realise you were overdrawn.

But – have collected a Venezuelan man.  Very chatty, speaks reasonable English.  But is rather hard work.  He wants me to stay in Caracas.  Party tonight he reckons.  But sounds like I´d be paying for a room in an apartment?  And he really is very hard work.  I might have to scarper.

But – am very glad that this is the main problem I have to worry about at the moment. The no money in Caracas thing was a major worry.  Solved, through the age old technique of “try the same thing again and again until it does work”.