Mérida

I think I can finally understand the etymology of the word ¨shitfaced¨. I woke up today and said ¨shit...my face hurts¨.

If there is a more literal meaning, I sure don´t want to know it.

But more on that later.

Mérida Continued

My first impression of Mérida as bland was unfairly skewed as I´d arrived on a Sunday. And these folk really seem to take their day of rest quite literally.

I´d finished my book (some blowhard idiot convinced me to only take one book. I´d hit him, but I am strictly against self inflicted injury). The only english language book I could find in the city was a Danielle Steele book called Full Circle. Of course, since there was nothing to do, I read that in a day. So I still don´t have a book to read. Boo on hyperactive literacy.

Monday promised to be more interesting as there were actually people on the streets with stores open. I began to figure out why Mérida had been described to me by a student here as ¨More wow!¨ than other places.

I started to finally slow down a bit (before I was on a mission to get as many places...regardless of what I missed on the way). But since I had a few days to wait until my tour to Los Llanos filled up, I spent the days wandering, and getting back to why I like travel so much.

I walked to the furthest northern portion of the city I could get to without risking life (and probably a few limbs), I checked out all the stores looking for an unlined notebook to use as a sketchbook, but apparently Venezuelanos only have lined paper.

I blame Chavez.

I also started to wonder exactly how specialized these little stores can be. I asked for a sketchbook in a store that sells art paint supplies and was given a quizzical look by the fellow in charge as he said ¨we only have paint.¨ I guess I could buy my paint there and get the easel down the street with the pencils on the next corner.

I also saw a store that sells nothing but chicken and eggs (presumably from chickens as well).

I would open a SuperMegaMart and see if it works, but if it did, it would probably currupt an entire culture. I have enough guilt currupting folk piecemeal.

Apparently there is nightlife here every night. Except Sunday of course. Forced repose sucks.

After wondering if I had lost my knack for meeting folk, I got invited by my future Los Llanos tour guide Paul to an illegal bar (sans a name since it isn´t supposed to be a bar) where we had to knock to get in and proceeded to share beers ($1.25 a pop!), jokes and stare at the roaches all in Spanish. I was doing pretty well until the fourth beer kicked in when the Venezuelans started speaking faster and I apparently started listening slower. Paul had brought a delightful young lady by the name of Minella while I chatted (was hit on?) by the two young fellows that came there with us. One of them later told me that if I wasn´t ¨a straight¨ he would have (something unintelligle in spanish).

After beer 6, we decided to move on to a club called Birosca Carioca. I´d asked Mini to show me salsa so after a few swigs of something Paul termed ¨gasoline¨, I found myself on the floor grooving to some salsa. I also found out that salsa down here is WAY easier. I´m not sure if it´s because the women can follow my poor directions better, or the fact that I am not supposed to have to twirl the poor girl like a cheerleader´s baton. Simple dancing was good. And good was great.

Well... it was great until I start dancing with, um...shall we say, a gentle woman of a slightly(!) more mature nature. Still this was fun too until she started really taking it seriously. I swear she was trying to take me home. By the end of the night the poor lady was trying to do the splits and bending over (un)enticingly. I looked for my newfound buddies to come save me, but the bastards just laughed.

In all it was a great Tuesday night. It wasn´t till morning that I felt like I´d rammed my face into a bag of sand repeatedly, but I can still see why some folk might get attached to this place and (like Paul) not leave for years.

Tomorrow I leave for a 4 day trip into Los Llanos to try to find some wild life. I hope this city boy doesn´t get eaten by an anaconda or something.

That would totally put a damper on Venezuela.

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