Escape from Venezuela

So i started writing this entry over a week ago but things have become a bit delayed, possibly because i am fitting back into Latinamerican laidbackness or because i am a bit ill. Sympathy e-mails very much appreciated.

Now I would like to cast your minds back to Monday the 16th of July when my nightmareish escape from Venezuela took place. I should have known it would be difficult, any country that asks for your passport number when you buy a pencil sharpner is seriously flawed. It was a hot dusty road from Maracaibo to Maicao (on the Venezuelan/Colombian border) and i wasn´t enjoying the ride much anyway. After 2 hours the police pulled our car over and what began was my worst journey ever (worse even than the four hour bus/train combination between Birmingham and Nottingham that cold night in November).

A long period staring at my passport turned into refusal to let me carry on towards Colombia. My crime, flying into Venezuela and not flying out, which supposedly was prohibited under Venezuelan law. BULLSHIT. I almost said as much and demanded i call my embassy, the smarmy officer responded "Call your embassy, call it!". I did and the line was bloody engaged...possibly a Ferrero Rocher reception...Thanks ambassador. So i was ushered into an "office" (it had a desk and window) by the officer in charge, a large moustachioed man with a gun in his pocket. A very courteous discussion followed over the technicalities of leaving Venezuela (all made up of course) and important subjects such as the British countryside and my 20p pieces which he had taken an interest in. More worrying was the way he fingered my camera with his grubby hands murmurring "I´d like to buy one of these".

Luckily i escaped with all my possessions, minus a small ¨oracion¨(religious donation) apparently so the boys can eat. Even luckier was that the ignorant officer didn´t catch my sarcasm as i parted with $50 saying "how wonderful its going to good christians like yourselves". But there can be no doubting this was not my lucky day. I had to wait for a new taxi (my driver had long gone) in the soulless border town full of market stalls and untaxed goods. As my new vehicle lurched on towards the border we were stopped again and guess what...I couldn´t leave Venezuela overland because i had flown in. I put $25 in the taxi driver´s hands and told him to get my passport back, i didn´t have the energy to do a song and dance again or to even talk to the theiving bastards in uniform.

Then came the piss take to end all piss takes, i had to pay another $15 tax. Fair enough this is actually an official tax that us foreign folks are legally obliged to pay but having to part with even more of my cash was a real sucker punch. Maybe worse was the cheery border official who finally gave me my cherished EXIT stamp out of Venezuela. R-A-L-P he incorrectly repeated my name back to me A-N-A...again a failed attempt to speaky englees. I wasn't in the mood for his jokes and it seemed like an eternity before i got my passport back. The entrance to Colombia was totally different, i was stamped in by a good looking girl dressed in white (maybe an angel) but the nightmare didn't stop there.

Once in Maicao, described in the trusty Lonely Planet as "lawless", i had no more money because the theiving Venezuelans had taken it all. My taxi driver, clearly unaware of the concept of ATMs, looked at me as if i was stupid and said "But how can you travel across South America without money?". I did get to a cashpoint on the back of a motorbike and managed to make the last bus to Santa Marta. However we had only been travelling for 20 minutes when Colombian customs officials pulled us over. It was a long delay and the owlish looking old man next to me kept muttering "Contrabando" and shaking his head. He was right the bus drivers had been trying to smuggle in untaxed goods from Venezuela....at least it wasn't cocaine i suppose! Eventually a couple of blenders appeased the officials who drove off with their newly "earned" prizes. But by now the sun had set and everyone was getting scared. Its not that Colombians are scared of the dark as such but what it brings, on the Carribean Coast it brings Paramilitaries.

Fortunately there was a big military presence that night so although we were pulled over several times it was only by officials, who i think were bribed with another blender or electrical appliance by the bus drivers' buddy. When i finally arrived in my hotel in Santa Marta i collapsed on my bed under the ceiling fan happy to have got out of Venezuela and i honestly don't think i will ever return.

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