The Maverick Tribe

Well, I haven`t entered anything in my blog for awhile.  I`m finally in a position where I can give an update, since I haven`t had ready access to an internet connection in awhile.

Travelling in foreign countries can be frustrating.  Especially 3rd world countries.  Especially 3rd world countries that are experiencing a upsurge in socialist nationalism and the requisite anti-Americanism.  And especially if you`re under the power of the Chris Austin Brazilian Candomblè hex. 

We arrived in Manaus on Monday.  Everything was honky-dory.  We experienced the jungle, saw an alligator, rode on little water taxis through the Amazon canals, ate piranha, all that and a bag of chips.  The trouble began when we began making our journey to Venezuela.  First they wouldn´t sell Chris a bus ticket to Venezuela because he didn`t have exactly the right kind of yellow fever vaccination certificate.  So we finagled a bit and managed to get on the bus, but we were worried about what would happen at the border.  Turns out at the Venezuelan border there was just a sweet old lady stamping passports, so we breathed a sigh of relief.  Our relief was in fact premature, as there happened to be a number of military checkpoints inside Venezuela checking documents.  At one of the stops, the Venezuelan officials racially profiled Chris, thinking he was a Brazilian drug runner.  After some hassles with searching bags and showing passports we were let go, only to discover that Chris' passport was missing and nowhere to be found.

So now after the iPod, 3 cell phones, a wallet, and emptying a bank account, the Brazilian hex had struck again, claiming Chris' passport.  Nevertheless, after some wheeling and dealing in Spanish at 3 am in the Puerto la Cruz bus terminal, we were finally on our way to Caracas.  The troubles wouldn`t stop there, as we encountered most everything being closed during the Holy week before Easter.  With no passport and a holiday weekend, the American Embassy closed, we were unable to head to the Los Roques islands for a beach weekend, unable to rent a car, and unable to get almost any kind of information that we needed.  There were plenty of people selling crucifixes and Virgen Mary refigerator magnets though.

Venezuela is a country squarely focused on national pride, religious observances, political demonstrations... not terribly focused on serving American tourists.  As such, the two of us through in our backpacks and checking into the Caracas Hilton.  Pool, tennis courts, air conditioning, internet cafe and English speakers baby!  I've never been so happy to be associated with good ol' American Paris Hilton in my life.