I Love My Passport

I wrote this sitting in the airport in Caracas.  I didn’t want to forget because I thought it was really funny.

I went through the initial stages of getting my boarding pass:

Stage 1 

Stand in line and have the authenticity of your passport verified.

Stage 2 

Have the purpose of your visit questioned, verify the name of the passport holder (moi) and the birthplace of the passport holder (moi).

Stage 3 

Speak to the final agent in the process, hand over luggage, receive boarding pass.

Stage 2 was when it began to get funny because the guy said something about my visit being cheverre, if I’d met anyone special, etc.

Stage 3 was where my sister’s suspicion that Venezuelan men will fall prey to a woman’s smile and her being nice became truth.

The attendant printed out my boarding passes and was stapling something to the back of one.  I interrupted, politely, and asked whether it was possible to receive an exit seat.  At this point, about 50 people had gone before me, and after me there remained 50+.   

What did the man do?  Knowing he had a line-up and it was a busy night?  Did he patiently suggest that I should have made a request earlier and usher me along like a good girl with my non-exit seats? 

NO SEÑOR, HE DID NOT!  He tore up my tickets and printed out new ones.  

As boarding began, we were separated into two lines - 1 for men, 1 for women.  For an instant, the image of a lineup for a concentration camp flashed into my head.  Only for an instant.

We were 100 feet away from the plane and had our carry-on luggage picked through again, this time by guardia nacional.  Then we were patted down - a Latina with pants so tight I could read lips for the ladies, and a Latino for the men.

I passed the pat down with flying colors, made it on the plane in my exit seat, and commenced my voyage home.

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My sister’s experiences have been funnier than mine.  

One day, she came out of a store laden with grocery bags.  To her disappointment, it had begun raining while she’d done the shopping.

She stood under the store’s overhang, exclaiming, “Hay, pues!”

Overhearing her sad exclamation, the Brinks security guard attempted to come to her rescue.  The man was working, holding a shotgun, and standing in front of the Brincks truck waiting for his colleague doing the collection inside, presumably.

He hastened over to her and asked whether he could help.  While he was working.  Holding a shotgun.  Abandoning his post. Oh, Latinos…. :)

A little sun,  a little wind,  a little boat…a little last day out on the water before heading home :)

We went out to one of the islands today.  It had a hidden saltwater pool you had to climb down to - very beautiful.  Before I went down, a really tall gringo was circling the overhang.  He had zinc on his white nose, a fisherman’s hat, and big shoes, shorts and a big t-shirt.  Kinda stuck out among the speedos and board shorts of the surfers.

We spent all day out on the water, luckily a storm skirted around the island and we only got a light dusting of rain.  It’s strange how exhausting it can be to spend the whole day in the sun on the water.  A different kind of tired.

We’ll have a few people over tonight and then a final goodbye lunch tomorrow before I head to Caracas.  It’s 7 pm right now in Venezuela…and I will be landing in Caracas in 24 hours to wait another 6 hours until I leave for the Northern Hemisphere…..And I’ll be getting back on Facebook then too.

I enjoyed my time in Venezuela and am only disappointed I never had the opportunity to make it to Angel Falls.  I’ll save it for next time :)

One problem with going back home: I didn’t bring any warm clothes!!!  So I’m gonna be a little bit of a popsicle when I get to Ottawa…a tanned popsicle, but still a cold one.

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The title of the post comes from a Shakira song.  I haven’t heard the English version yet, but the Spanish one is super popular here.  suuuuuperrrrrrrr popular.

We went to the beach, and I burned my face.  As I walked from the ocean to my towel, I felt faint, dizzy, and sick at the same time.

Sunstroke, you are no friend of mine.

When we got back, I sat on the floor of my shower and let the cold water run over me.  It was a scene out of Casino Royale, after Eva Green helps James Bond murder someone.  Except the only red I saw was on my face.

I lay in bed and Krissy applied aloe from the plant on the terrace and I looked like  a green mummy.  And green is so not my color :P .

It’s healed and I’m turning brown, but I’ve learned a very important lesson.  Sun, you are my friend.  Except when you’re not.

I’ve had some time to recuperate and was thinking about places I’ve been, and places I’d like to go.  Luckily, Martha Stewart’s Twitter account is very inspirational.  She recently went to Maroon Lake, in Colorado.  It’s gorgeous and has been added to a list of places I’d like to go.  And it’s alphabetized because I’m like that.

Places I’ve been:

Austria

Bosnia Herzegovina

Cambodia

Canada

Costa Rica 

Croatia

Cuba

Czech Rebulic

France

Germany

Holland

Italy

Laos

Malaysia 

Panama

Slovenia

South Korea

St.Barth’s

St.Maarten/St.Martin 

Thailand

Venezuela

Vietnam

Places I’d like to go:

Alaska

Australia

Azores

Chile

Colorado (Maroon Lake)

Guam

Maldives

Samoa

Scotland

I’ve eaten manta ray, survived a killer storm, been initiated into a large, complex family, seen tropical beauty, been a giant among Lilliputians…

And just when you meet cool people and are ready for a wet weekend, Chavez, my grrrrreat old pal, makes it Prohibition era dry because of the election.  Chavez doesn’t want alcohol to influence the vote.  But paying people from the barrio to support you is totally legit, eh?

The country is going into lockdown mode. We’ve stockpiled drinking water, coffee, sugar, oil, flour, meat, and other essentials in case things aren’t available right after the election.  I hear Caracas is even worse - there will be military patrols and all.

**These are paid Chavistas, driving around rallying support.  The campaign slogan is : El pueblo pa la asamblea.

We’re leaving in an hour for the far east of Venezuela.  Won’t be going to Trinidad, but we’ll be in the same town as the ferry you could take to get there.

Here are a few of my roadtrip essentials, other than t.p. Seriously, never forget this.

Numero uno: butt shaped neck pillow.

Numero dos: entertainment.