A special seat with plenty of leg room

A Few More (Un)pleasant Surprises in Venezuela

Removed as we were from reality, we did have to return to the outside world, and the morning of the long trek back arrived. The bus was to leave Maracay at 4.30 pm, so we had to leave Choroni at around noon. We packed, had a quiet breakfast in town, then set to find another taxi to take us back. After much futile searching, we were finally accosted by a young enterprising gentleman who happened to be going to Maracay to get a new muffler or something for his car. Less expensive than the trip that brought us here, we slid into the back seat, and held on for dear life for the next hour and a half as the speed was nearly twice that of the first trip. It pays to be seated on the side of the car where you can’t see the sheer cliff dropping away into an abyss – then again, that is usually then the side of oncoming traffic, so either you are terrified by dizzying heights, or by constant near-misses with hurtling projectiles from the opposite direction.

The skies that had burst open the previous day just as we arrived back at our posada had continued to drip and threaten throughout the night, and although it had been dry when we left Choroni, half-way along our return route the rain started up once again, a steady, miserable drizzle that was not enough to soak, yet enough to reduce visibility and turn roads greasy. As we descended into Maracay, we searched for the bus station and finally located the terminal. We hustled out of the taxi and filed into the terminal building. We tried to find the bus company representative, but the sales booth was still shut. It was only 2.30, so quite early, considering that the bus was not to leave until 4.30. We found a quiet little restaurant and had some food and drinks as we waited.

The local heavies…Choroni port

Written Contracts are Meaningless

Slightly before 4 pm we returned to the ticket booth and found that the rep had been there but had walked off somewhere else. We had a phone number, however, and started calling him. It took nearly 30 minutes before he appeared, and we were getting quite desperate, after all, the bus was to leave in less than 20 minutes, and I had to exchange my receipt for an official ticket. He looked at us with a blank stare as though he didn’t remember us from the two days previous. He looked at the receipt as though it might have been counterfeit, except that it was his own signature on the receipt. He shrugged and then proceeded to tell us that all the seats on the bus had already been sold… I waited, with baited breath for the explosion I knew was about to come, and I was not disappointed. In rapid-fire Spanish my friend tore into the guy. The gist of it being how could he have oversold? We had already paid for the ticket, so I was supposed to have priority; why would he take the money for a ticket and then not honour the deal? His argument? Well, since we weren’t at the booth at 3.30, he didn’t think we would be coming anymore. This really set off a fire storm, yet no matter how much yelling or screaming went on, the guy just stared dumbly ahead, then reached into his pocket and started counting out the money for the ticket; a full refund on the receipt. The total nonchalance with which this was done simply took the wind out of our sails. There are moments in life when you know that no matter what you do, nothing is going to change for the better at that point in time with that particular person, and instead of wasting any more time or energy, it is best to just turn around and walk away. There is no consumer protection bureau, and as long as there are plenty of people who will buy bus tickets, pissing customers off is just a normal occurrence, and who the hell cares about one more pissed off foreigner when the country is falling apart? Asked what we could do, the answer was a simple “Find another bus.”

Mountain drive from Choroni to Maracay, Venezuela

We stormed out of the terminal and went in search of other buses. There were several parked in the lot, and some were starting to board passengers. After a desperate 15 minutes, my friend finally managed to track down a bus that was going to San Cristobal with an empty seat. We were told to wait while the other passengers boarded, to confirm the seat was really empty. Then we were told the price, which was 1000 Bolivars more than the other tickets we had reserved a few days earlier, but at this point in time, I was just happy to be able to get a seat, so didn’t quibble about the extra dollar. The final passengers had boarded, and the bus conductor waved me over. I paid the cash, watched my bag stowed into the compartment under the bus, and then thanked my friend and boarded the bus. I was taken to the back of the bus, and there, in the last row, an empty seat remained, a window seat, but heck, it was a seat. As I was moving toward the seat, the woman in the seat on the aisle turned to the conductor, and pointed out that no, the seat was not empty, and at that moment, another woman appeared and hopped into the seat. I was left wondering what would happen next when the chap looked around, looked at me, lowered his eyes, and finally pointed to the empty space between the seats of the last row – two seats occupied on the left, two seats occupied on the right, and in between, aisle and floor space with plenty of leg room, but no soft cushions, nor a headrest, but simply a sloped cover that covered the engine compartment below. I stared at him, and he lowered his eyes again, but I believe when he did so, it was to hide a smirk. I was beyond arguing, and simply motioned for him to get out of the way. He scampered back down the aisle, and I took my seat, on the floor, and settled in for the long 14-hour ride back to San Cristobal.

It is when we travel that we experience some of the most heartwarming moments of our lives.

Welcome back to Colombia

An Act of Kindness

I had brought my warmest clothes, and the extra legroom was actually a blessing, and suddenly a thick blanket was presented to me by the couple sitting in the seats to the left – they each had a blanket, but decided that they could share one… As he night wore on, we all dozed off, and on the two occasions when we stopped for a bit to eat, another couple spoke to me. Turns out they were residents of Choroni, but had been living in the USA for the last 15 years. They had come to visit their home town but were now on their way back to America. When we arrived in San Cristobal, it was with the help of this couple that I navigated the melee of the bus station there, and it was with this couple and their extended family that I shared a taxi back to San Antonio. Unfortunately, I lost contact with them in the large crowds trying to cross the border from Venezuela into Colombia. And it seemed that the country had one more surprise in store for me, a lost memento of my visit. As I reached over to hand my passport to the immigration official, there was a short blip, and she looked at the blank screen in front of her. After several minutes of trying to revive the computer it became obvious that I was in for a wait until internet connectivity was restored. An hour later I finally walked across the border bridge, and the closer I got to the centre of the bridge the cleaner and the fresher the air seemed to become, and the atmosphere changed perceptibly. I could hear in the distance the strains of happy music coming from somewhere in the border market. The people were cheerful here, and the smiles were genuine smiles, not just grimaces pasted on faces to hide suffering.

Using a vendor’s mobile phone I called my Colombian host, who had already told me he would meet me at the border. Within moments I could see his car making its way to the parking area, and I must confess, after the long night and wearying morning, it was great to see a familiar face. I cannot complain, as it was my decision to travel into Venezuela against the suggestion of so many. Yet I have many people to thank for their generosity and their spirit of sharing; whether it be the couple who assisted me on my first day and got me to the bus station in San Cristobal; my friends in Barquisimeto and San Felipe who opened their homes to me, showed me their towns and allowed me to share some of their family events and travelled with me; the couple who shared one of their blankets with a freezing gringo seated on the floor of a bus; the couple who helped me back to the border in San Antonio, and especially, my friend and host in Cucuta and his parents who went out of their way to look after me, to allow me to be a part of their family and their lives. It is when we travel that we experience some of the most heartwarming moments of our lives.