Maracaibo to Merida

Maracaibo is Venezuela's second largest city and is the center of the Venezuelan oil industry. Our day to do touristy things in Maracaibo got off to our late start after our extended night out. The first order of business was to acquire a new camera charger for me so Roger and I headed out to a store we walked past on a prior march called "Digital Depot." Turns out the warehouse that is DD only sells shirts (like 7 of them). Obvi.

This necessitated a trip to the Maracaibo Mall. We wondered around much the same as an American mall. The appropriate level of air conditioning was a welcome relief as well. I ended up buying a new camera (a semi-fortuitous decision or maybe a jinx-causing distinction if you're a half empty kinda person) and somehow Roger's pants fell down.

On our way out of the mall, we met Carla, a girl who recently graduated from high school and worked for the Maracaibo tourist agency. Carla graciously helped us acquire an SUV taxi and agreed to be our personal guide for the day. At first we were a little hesitant becuase we knew we couldn't be worthless shits all day if she came with, but she was very insistent so we relented. Turned out to be a great decision. We drove all over the city and Carla convinced the cabbie to drive onto the premises of a condo complex so we could take in some great views of the lake. We then proceeded to the city park, where residents engage in all sorts of exercise. There was a gym set up in the same fashion as the outdoor equipment at venice beach. There was also a separate setup for ellipticals and steppers. Interesting to say the least.

Carla had the driver take us to the plaza Bolivar. - every city in Venzuela has a Plaza Bolivar. Simon Bolivar is a god down here. He led the Venezuelan fight for independence from the Spanish and Gran Colombia. The money is named after him and his effigy can be found in any place of significance. Chavez appears to have bastardized his loyalty and calls his brand of lunacy bolivarism.

We visited the city Cathedral and I'm pretty sure my attire booked a seat in hell for me - flip flops, cargo shorts, and a t-shirt with the slogan "Viva Las Vegas" and featuring a voluptuous naked woman. Oops. On the way out, a young Venezolana curiously approach Luis and I and asked us where we were from. When we responded "Estados Unidos" she curiously pointed to her skin and said "pero, no blanco". We had to explain the immigrant culture of our country. You would think she would know this given the venezuelan love for beisball (more popular than soccer) but that would be asking too much.

We also drove across the nearly 5-mile bridge that spans lake maracaibo. It is the only reinforced concrete bridge in the world. We drove over it merely for the sake of driving over it so we immeadiately drove back.

After winning the war of attrition with the prostitutes last night, we flew to Merida this morning. First time I've ever been on a plane that was not pressurized. Merida is a city in the Andes mountains that is nestled in a valley. It is well known for its eco- and geo-tourism activities.

We were greeted by Joelle from Guamanchi Tours and went straight to our posada (an upscale hostel). We are meeting up here with a total of 7 other gringos to go canyoning and paragliding. We spent our day today riding the world's longest and highest cable car up to an Andean peak that sits over 15,000 above sea level. It was freezing at the peak (there was a little snow). First time I've sweated from the blazing sun and shivvered from the freezing cold in the same day, much less within a 12 hour span. Other tourists also thought we played for the team but did not bother us for autographs.

I am currently writing this from a hammock on the roof of our posada. My view consists of my feet and the cloud-peppered Andes in the offing. Amazing.

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Stardate 30.06.2007

On one of the smaller planes I've ever been on, a Beechcraft series 1900. I think the pilot is hungover from his 8th grade graduation. It is very loud in here and I feel like I have to type fast.

A Merida!
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Losing cameras is for pussies

Yup, it happend. From the comments of my compadres, I gather I look like somebody took my dog, kicked me in the junk, skewered my dog, backhand slapped me and then grilled my dog.

Consolation loser = roger because he no longer gets a sweet camera at a discount. Bollocks.
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Americanos: 1 Prostitutes: 0

One thing you need to know right off the bat is that on weekends I will blog about events in an order that is not necessarily in the order they occured. And by weekends, I mean, any night we decide to take our faces off by drinking cerveza and singing "vamas a matarnos en la raya!".

So, we are back in the hotel room formerly known as the icebox. I say formerly because the room is so hot that is causing me to sweat more than a virgin's (thank you mick and larry anning). We spent the noche at alvarito's where the slogan is "if you don't know alvarito's, you don't know maracaibo"

Another night hitting the town in latin america brought my worst fears (no drama this time) to mind: every chick is either a prostitute or a man with a good, cheap surgeon. Tonight, I successfully managed to get the hottest girl in the bar to dance with me (read, all over me). It was pretty amazing, I managed to not fall over or step on her feet! Trouble is, all the while (45 - 50 minutes) I'm dancing with her, I am en guard against her being a prostitute or a man (the surgeons down here are amazing so piss off). I never got the chance to find out as some croatian men caught my attention after a quick bano break (not really hans).

The whole night, our drinking habit was suported by some prostitutes who thought that equipping us with beer goggles would help them earn our business. Uh, no, but thanks for the beers. Skanks.

After leaving, we stopped at whopper express where luis and turtle (aka roger) acquired some nocturnal, drunken nourishment. One of the cooks clearly smoked too much (insert local drug of choice here - I bet there's more weed in washington sq park than all of maracaibo) because he picked mexico to win and actually believed it. Whata douche.

After leaving the whopper express, we stopped in at Mumba where nobody wanted anything to do with us. I danced like it was Stanley's in chicago on saturday, june 24, 2007. Yes, I did some pushups for the crowd.

Off to Merida this morning. Hopefully we arrive in time to ride the world's longest cable car.
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Put your hands up for Detroit!

So, here is what happend in chicago. At about the 73rd minute mark, a douchebag from Monterrey security (irony should not be lost here- US vs. Mexico, security from Monterrey) entered our section and attempted to displace me with the people who had the tickets for the seats which I was occupying. Now, I'm sure most of my uninitiated readers think that was a perfectly reasonable request. Thing is, in the sam's army section, as a general policy, we ignore seat assignments and operate under a general admission regime. The people who were being moved because the security guard was forced to move them from the seats they were occupying, most likely at the behest of some people who bought scalped tickets from someone else who had tickets for the SA section. For the record, people who sell SA tickets to non-SA members are colossal dochebags and should be kicked in the face by Taylor Twellman (kid's got a rocket).

Anyway, I tried to explain the situation to the Monterrey db, as me moving to my assigned seat would have a catostrophic effect on several people's ability to watch the game. So, I took one for the team and told the db off. He took offense to my words and gestures, but the rest of the section was spared from his dimwitted reign of terror. He cuffed me and escorted me to another security guard. I visited the soldier field penn for all of 90 seconds, gave the stadium security a sweet shot of me sticking out my tounge and flipping them the bird for their records, and then made my way to the front of the stadium. There, I started the celebrations outside the stadium before the police made me stop b/c there were probably 60,000 mexicans in town who would likely stab me upon sight (they really said this).

Was I pissed that I didn't get to see the trophy, yes. But, I have a feeling that me charging up the stairs with the giant db in tow created the perfect air displacement for benny's shot to metamorphosise into a golazo. That coupled with me sparring my compadres from further douchebaggery is enough.

Thanks Amy were you there?
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I am a giant douchebag.

So, being cocky usually bites me in the ass. This time, I was overly confident in my camera's ability to function on a single charge for the duration of my trip. Had this trip solely consisted of the copa america, I think we would have made it (the 100 snaps from chicago were not a huge help). As it stands, on I'm one bar. None of the electronics stores at the Maracaibo mall sell chargers so I was forced to purchase a new camera just for its charger. Roger has graciously agreed to purchase said camera from me for 60% of the cost. I am dumb.
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USA vs. Argentina - match report

We arrived at the stadium in Maracaibo and received a pretty tranquil reception (read: nobody spoke to us and pretty much ignored our reception). We quickly learned that we needed to enter the stadium on the opposite side from where we were so yet another Bataan death march (mick, here is your s-o, now piss off) was in our future. Along said march, our experience transformed into my ususal expereince when soccer-travelling: other fans wanted to take pictures with us and pretty much every news crew wanted to interview us. Here was a problem - we speak limited spanish. Here was a solution - Luis aka C-3PO. Luis became the official translator and consequently should have been on every news channel in the spanish speaking world. My buddy Joe from Nolita House sent me a text saying we were on fox sports espanol.

The paraguay-colombia match was pretty awesome. 5 solid counterattacking goals. That scares me for our match against them. The result was much to the dismay of the then pro-colombian crowd.

By far, the biggest highlight before the Argentines took the pitch was the arrival of Diego Maradona. He was less than 100 feet from us. It was amazing. To be near to arguably the greatest jugador of all time definitely stirred something inside me. Turns out, that feeling was something else. The toilets in the stadium did not come equipped with seats. Or, alternatively, they did and some englishman took them and put them around his head.

Key thing I've forgot to mention up till this point is that it is illegal to sell beer anywhere near the stadium. I blame the loss on sobriety.

Apparently the national anthems are not that important as they cut both the Argentinian and US anthems short. The bombs did not burst in the air (shouldn't they be bursting on the ground anyway?). I went batshit when we scored, much to the amusement of several other spectators in our VIP section. By the time I finished popping up the 1-nil post, we were level.

After the match was decided (re 2-1), the venezolanos broke out with chants of "Libertad! Libertad!" which means "Liberty" and something that meant "the government will fall". A venezuelan who lives in Alabama explained to us that the state of Zulia, the state in which Maracaibo sits, is very much anti-chavez and that the chants were triggered by the prime minister's arrival. It was one of the more amazing experiences I've had - to be in the midst of people openly demanding revolution. The alabaman could not help but to join in passionately, despite his parents trying to silence and protect him.

Ben olsen was the MOTM for the US boys for me.

On the way out, we celebrated with some Argies and did more interviews, one with a Thai tv station that Luis thought was from Korea. The look on the reporter's face when I let out a "Dae Ha Min Gook!" was priceless.
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Pasame la botella!

Back in the icebox aka our hotel room at the Hotel Gran Delicias (fortunately, they have AC, unfortunately, the rooms are connected to the same thermostat that regulates the hotel's restaurant's freezer). I'm not going to blog about the match right now, b/c it is far too meaningful (for a number of reasons) for a 4:30am post.

After returning to the hotel post-match, we decided to lift our spirits at the hotel bar (pun intended beeyatches!). There, I met Carlos. Carlos is a venezolano who lived in nueva york para catorce anos (that's 14 years you silly kazakhs). Carlos was also very insistent on taking us to a club - la termernita - despite the fact that he was in town to visit his novia (girlfriend) for his once per month visit (and the last chick I dated complained about the lack of attention I gave her!).

La Termernita turned out to be much like clubs in the US; they had little interest in admitting 5 dudes accompanied by no chicks. Upon securing entrance through Carlos' efforts (he told the doorman we played for the US team), we walked in to a pretty unique reception. People kept looking at me. I could not figure out if it had to do with my good looks or my good looks. The owner of the club quickly approached us and offered to buy us drinks, well, roger f'd that up by paying for them anyway. We quickly found ourselves occupied with taking pictures with and dancing with several hot chicks

These chicks, confirmed one of my worst fears (lie for dramatic purposes), I am a piss poor dancer. Somehow, I got stuck dancing with a chick whose hair (think jersey circa 97) barely broached my nipples. Although Luis, Roger and Kotas were definitely dancing with bona fide hot chicks, I could not decipher if the chick I was dancing with was even remotely attractive. Worse, I could not even avoid stepping on her feet while attempting to dance becuase her boobs were very large and constantly in my field of vision. She had the audacitiy to tell me to move my hips more and that I could do so by moving my feet (people in venezuela do not believe in toe safety).

Obviously, since I'm blogging right now, things with smurfetta did not work out. Much to the dismay of lily, the non-english speaking chick in a couple that I met, we decided to make the 5 block walk home. Lily, her boyfriend and three other venzuelan girls walked us home to our decent looking from the outside, but crappy from the inside hotel. One of the three insisted that the US was very safe after her experience of studying abroad in Utah.

The night ended with us signing autographs for the three chicks (I kid you not, they still thought we were on the team) before we sent them packing. Afterall, we do have to train today!

.

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Keller, please retire.

Wow, not terrible by our youngun's, but this could have been an amazing match to see if our top squad was here. Oh well. Fuller match experience report to come later.

Flatlander, as soon as I hit send, the score changed.
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1-0!!!!!!!

Holy shit!!!!! Maradona is less than 100 feet from me!
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