Las Adventuros del El Gordo y El Flaco

After our expedition up the montana yesterday, we stopped off for some nourishment at a pizzeria. We ordered some caeser salads and were presented with a jumble of lettuce, bacon, croutons, and the ubiquitous and ever-present mayonnaise. I will never understand the rest of the world's affinity for the white sludge.

While walking around the city looking for venezuelan jerseys, Kotas noticed a burgundy Pontiac Grand Am with Florida plates that expired in 1998. I'm guessing that car was not purchased legally.

Fortunately, the Vinotintos (the nickname for the Venezuelan national team) defeated Peru which livened up the people of Merida. An activist group put on a rap concert in the center square. They rapped about the things that most activist groups rap about: the environment, peace, the poor and unity. Guess those things are important.

Roger and Kotas decided they'd had enough fun so they left Luis and I to sample the nightlife of Merida. We donned our Venezuela shirts so that we could celebrate the victories with the locals. Luis wore one adorned with "El Flaco" and I sported "El Gordo". Not sure that I'd ever go out with a buddy wearing the exact same shirt at home, but it seemed acceptable in this situation.

We took a cab to La Cucaracha which turned out to have nothing to do with cockroaches, but everything to do with 16 year olds. The cab driver did not have enough small bills for our change so he reached in his glove box and pulled out two condoms and said "you are going to the disco, you'll need these." He had more faith in us than we had in ourselves. (We let him keep the change). The first level of La Cucaracha is a nascar themed chuck e cheese come nightclub. Luis and I made a few laps while sucking down some cuba libres and realized that we were way too old to be there. We were relieved when we saw some people older than us, but then were again dismayed when we realized they were chaperoning their 16 year old daughters. Keep in mind that La Cucaracha is the hottest club in Merida. We decided it was time to leave and on our way out, the bouncer asked in a disbelieving tone why we were leaving so soon. After we informed him of the generation gap, he informed us of the adult section on the lower level.
We re-entered and consumed more cuba libres. Luis asked a chick to take our picture and she dropped his camera. Yup, she was a blonde. Turns out dumb chicks travel in groups - her friend was a chavista, the first I've met in venezuela. She had lived in miami and was married, but divorced the man and happily took him to the cleaners (she bragged about this). Her winnings provided her with a house in miami, a house in merida, the ability to not work, and the custody of her kids (listed in order of importance to her). We couldn't take being around the db chicks so we pulled the ripcord.

Upon arriving back at the posada, we saw an irish kid who is staying at our posada stuck outside and piss drunk. When Luis showed him the doorbell, the irish kid looked as if he witnessed the second coming. Turns out venezuelans call irish gringos as well. That news pretty much shattered my universe I thought we americans had that term by divine right. Bollocks. First report of a mugging as well: one of irish kid's buddies got mugged at gunpoint. Good thing Luis and I took a 30 minute stroll home.

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