El Mochilero

My transformation to scraggly, bearded travelling hippy is almost complete. I am currently in Maracaibo laying low and taking some downtime before a big push into Colombia. Some of the cities I'll probably end up visiting are Santa Marta, Barrenquilla, and Cartagena. Sadly, my beard is nowhere near the strength of one Juan Riedinger nor Geoffer Duck in his former glory days. It sits somewhere between that of the Walrus and my brother in Spain. Yes, these are the bearded men in my life.

Below is a snapshot of me with my new favourite soccer jersey! My team, El Deportivo Tachira, is one that I watched while in Venezuela in 2ooo, the last time they also won the national championship. Coincidence? I think not. It also took me a real long time to get it. I got the last size S in the whole store, which means this jersey was meant for me. Here's to hoping that it doesn't get stolen, ever.

In a seperate, non-related incident, I had my first real run-in with Venezuelan corruption. I had to pay off some police officers in the state of Portuguesa at 2 in the morning travelling from San Cristobal to Caracas. They insisted that I did not have a visa for travel in the country, which I know is not required. At any rate, they threatened to take me off the bus and throw me in jail or worse - leave me out on the street for everyone else to get me. I gave them all the money I had in my wallet, about 13 dollars Canadian, and then had to show them my empty wallet so they would leave me alone. It's something that I thought might happen being an extranjero, but it was still a little iffy to say the least. Let me say though! Overall, Venezuela is great country with great people, but unfortunately these things do happen.