It began much like any other transaction in South America; with a postponed start time.
Sabrina phoned up for information in her true hospitality queen style. 20:30 was the time we were told. We located the recommended company and were told the bus was actually at 20:00 which was better for us. We were then told that they did not actually have a bus today but he would find one for us. We were then escorted around the bus terminal looking for a bus that was going. We eventually found one and it was leaving at 21:00. It looked all right and we were reassured it was comodo (comfortable) with aire (air con). It turns out these two things are an oxymoron as no one could ever be comfortable in the freezing cold air con on these buses. You actually need to carry around a set of winter clothes and a blanket just for these occasions. This all happened in the afternoon we were due to return 30 minutes before the departure time.
It always pays to be punctual so we arrived at the terminal at 20:20. We thanked and embraced Sabrina for all her work as the hostess with the mostest and entered the terminal.
We were instantly assaulted with questions about our destination (Caracas? Maracai?) and several offers of money exchange. This was really our first experience of the Venezuelan public and our first impression was that they were not quite as friendly as their Colombian neighbours. As always there was a pleasant exception to the rule as one kind gentleman directed us with whistles to the correct stop. In both Ecuador and Venezuela you have to pay a tasa de salida (exit tax) before you can leave a bus station. The extortionate price of 1 Bolivar (12 cents ) was reluctantly handed over.
A quick check of our ticket told us the bus actually left a 21:30 but did not even consider moving until gone 22:00. So 20:30 changed to 20:00 briefly which quickly became 21:00 but was officially 21:30 and did not leave until 22:00.
Many decided that the best way to cope with waiting was to slip into slumber, Chan and Sally included. Sleeping is normally a great way to travel. The oh so pleasant land of nod was not to be enjoyed for long and Chan's soft snoring was somewhat disturbed by the shout of 'Buenas noches todos' (Good evening everyone) from below. This was followed by considerable movement around the bus. I saw several identification cards in hands and deciphered that we had to leave the bus and show our passports. The usual dilemma of taking or leaving bags (always take but still consider leaving due to convenience and effort) was avoided as everything of value was safely stored in Colombia. We showed and got our passports approved and then where assertively told to step aside. The miserable dictator barked instructions about bolsas (bags), mochillas (backpacks) and equipaje (luggage) and Chan correctly interpreted that we had to collect all of our stuff and take it to the x-ray machine. Chan approached the entrance and was instantly reproached by the angry man. Maybe we had misunderstood.
The following dialogue ensued;
Grumpy - Sternly tu entiendes Espanol? (you understand Spanish)
Chan - poco (a little).
Grumpy - “where you from” in broken English
Chan – Inglaterra
Grumpy – NO. From now
Chan – Maracaibo
Grumpy – Not Colombia
Chan – Wisely avoiding the truth – Solo Maracaibo
We were then instructed to enter the bus and get our stuff which is exactly what we were going to do. There seemed to be absolutely no reason for all this aggression, it certainly was not a very welcoming introduction to life on the Venezuelan road. We were then herded like cattle into 2 cues; 1 for women and 1 for men. As I took my place and took a seat on the curb the surroundings flooded my senses. A full moon and the distant silent Catatumbo relampagos (lightning) of lake Maracaibo illuminated the scene;
Too late for chat, people scuffed their bags along the floor, smokers were taking the opportunity to soothe their nicotine addictions and burn some time, a baby slept on his mother who shed some light on the fact that Venezuela have won Miss World more than any other country. The frequent lightning flashes in the moody sky acted as a constant reminder of times slow passage and as a reflection of all our emotions.
Ignoring his colleagues propensity for rudeness and complete lack of manners the other guard manually loaded every women's luggage into the x-ray machine. While waiting for the gents turn I asked the man next to me about what they were searching for and just how regular an occurrence this was when travelling around Venezuela. He confirmed my obvious suspicions about checking for drugas and armas due to Maracaibo's proximity to la fronterra de Colombia (the border). He also assured us that this would be the last one before Maracai after lamenting about the amount of time it wasted.
After loading your bag into the machine you walk around it and lose sight of your belongings. Along with brief passport loss paranoia I was also concerned for the precious glass bottles of Argentinian Malbec I had in my bag. These were all unfounded and we collected our things with surprising quickness and returned to the sanctuary of the bus.
And so after at least 180 minutes after we arrived at the bus terminal we were finally on our way.
Exhausted we fell to sleep almost instantly hoping to wake up in Maracai.
These hopes were savagely shattered at 2:30am when we were suddenly awakened to the freezing cold reality of another passport check. He took our passports and then disappeared. Shivering and slightly scared about the safety of our passports I was forced to drag myself into awareness waiting and hoping for our ability to pass ports to return.
Joseph Davies 24/10/10
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