Myth Buster?

January 11th, 2010: Gulp...The bus rolls to a stop. Feeling as if I am back in the Army and somehow the bus became a C130 aircraft and I am preparing to exit the door at 1200 feet. When standing up the lump in my throat disappeared as my brain shut off as I shuffled out the door for the one foot jump into the frontier of Colombia. Quickly I cleared the Colombian immigration as I followed my 70 year old hunch-backed Colombian bodyguard who sat next to me on the bus helping me through the hoops. Walking across the boarder I was afraid that her frail body would not make it to the other side but somehow she got there without my assistance.

Reaching the window after a two hour wait, I was quickly processed Immigration without having to say anything through the tiny hole in the mirrored glass that separated us. Grabbing my passport I was cleared to begin my Venezuelan adventure. As soon as I entered my bus one of the passengers were collecting the bribe so that we would not have our baggage inspected at all of the check points. Not having anything but dirty underwear and all the time in the world, it wasnt a problem for me so I didnt pay...until the chatter on the bus began safefully assuming it was about me - not wanting to attempt to translate it, I think they were tellng the guy I was with the other woman trying to get me out of paying. Since the chatter continued as I passed the guy and sat down...I paid the $1.50 (blackmarket rate) due to everyone else doing it and then jumped off the cliff with the rest of them. We were stopped 5 times and only had ID checks thanks to our extra funding to the public servents.

The bus dropped me and some others off at Manicaibo. Sharing a cab to the bus station after a minor sqawble with the shady driver I began my search for some sort of transport to Coro which is 3 or so hour trip. Asking 10 different people throughout the bus station I had 10 clearly different answers. Not liking any of them...ranging from the taxis leaving at 4am to tomorrow evening - as would a child I continued to ask around until I found an answer I did like, which was there is one leaving now.

The taxi were not some typical obnoxious cab color...it was more like several colors, depending on how many different car parts that the car was made of. It seemed that anyone can be a cab driver - I dont know...it is just that the cabs seemed to be hoopties (Sir Mix Alot) that where basically junk on wheels. These cabs sit along the side of the bus station are used when buses and other forms of transportation do not exist or are readily available. With 6 people in total filling the Impala we made our way to Coro being stopped by the military and the police for about 10 times. Some of the stops we were able to stretch our legs for great lengths of time too short little ID checks. The stories I heard about these in Colombia were horror stories and I found them to be fine even after they saw that I was from the US. Was I just lucky? I dont think so...if you look at it statistically, out of 15 or so stops in total, everyone of them were fine - that hints to me that I might have been hearing words with not much meaning.

Getting to my hostel at 12:15am which I had a reservation for the 12th when techniqually it was. Knocking on the door then reverting to the doorbell. The man behind the iron cage and massive wooden doors - who seemed to me as if they might be holding Hannible Lector - would not let me in telling me they were full. Standing out in the dark street next to a sketchy park with the taxi cab driver that rapped me within the first minute meeting him - charging me a ridiculous price ($3.00 black market). I choose not to leave until he let me in. At first I asked for a bed, then a hammock and finally the floor. Being a good salesman or begger (you choose) he went away for a few minutes and then the doors opened - there was an unfilled bed he wasnt aware of. Day number 1.1 done and I am going to bed with a smile thinking that I just might be a myth buster about Venezuela.