Hey everyone! We are alive and well in Venezuala but of course it was a bit of a scene getting here. Read on.

So after the crazy rain storm we decided to run away from Colombia. There was still no power and people to call, banking stuff to deal with, emails to write. The bus ride to the boarder town was fairly uneventful. They screened El Caliente IN ENGLISH WHOOOHOOO!! And it was actually pretty good. Got deposited in a sorta sketch bus terminal and were instantly surrounded by people yelling place names at us. We wanted to go to the boarder but all the transport went to Maracaibo, 3 1/2 hours away. We put our stuff in a cab but backed out when we found out the price was 30000 bolivars...at the time we were unsure of the exchange rate- turns out it wasn?t a bad deal. After shifting our bags around a bit, we settled on a sketch bus that was leaving imminently and quickly changed our pesos to bolivars in a back room. We jumped on the bus and sat there watching a bunch of guys on it (part of the company but doing nothing) eating. After half an hour a cab driver came and offered us a better deal, and wanting to get out of there, we accepted. Now remember that through all of this there was some question as to whether I would be able to get into Venezuala over land or not. I didn?t apply for a visa before leaving Canada (Hil had one) and we were worried that I would have to turn back and figure out a flight in Colombia. SO basically we just wanted to get the show on the road. Anyway we went to get in our cab but one problem- our luggage was locked in the storage compartment of the bus. We (and by we I mean Hil with me trailing her) went to talk to the guy we thought was the bus driver but he just laughed and walked off when we asked him to open it. Then we found some other official guy on the bus but he kept saying the key was in his car (across the lot about 10 meters away) and then just walked away and sat on the bus. We sort of stood at the back of the bus, stairing uselessly at the locked compartment. We just wanted our bags so we could leave. We honestly had no idea what to do. Finally I was just like ?no, I am not letting that guy get away with ignoring us?. Hilary watched me (looking nervous, upset, worried) storm to the front of the bus and, as she claims, put on my angry face. I stood in front of the door and stared down the guy, which he found funny. I kept asking hilary things like ?how do you say I want the key in Spanish? and she?d tell me and I?d ask him and he would laugh at me or point at his car. Finally I snapped and in a sugary, angry voice said ?Oh, you think this is funny don?t you? You are really starting to piss me off. I want to rip your face off....How do you say I WANT TO RIP YOUR FACE OFF in spanish? Yeah you have no idea what I am saying right now do you? I want to kill you...?etc etc. Which made Hilary laugh if nothing else. Actually it also made buddy on the bus laugh but caused enough of a commotion that the bus driver came over and hearded us on the bus and the obnoxious guy got off, thank god (with hilary yelling she didn?t want to go anywhere with him), and we left. The bus drove pathetically slowly and for the last hour our driver (all 600 lbs of him) guzzled beer. We arrived in Maracaibo too late to go further and gathered our bags in preparation for finding a hostel. However, while Hilary was getting her bag, I got tapped on the shoulder by none other than the obnoxious guy from before. He was still laughing and tried to get me to go to his car with him (as if we were getting a ride anywhere with that one). And despite my angry retort still asked a few times. By the time Hilary came over he was gone BUT as we were heading for the cabs he yelled at us from the bus (god only knows what) and we caused a few local guys to crack up when Hilary turned around and double fingered him.

Whatever, we figured the worst was over and we would get a place to sleep, get some internet, and some food. Things didn?t go exactly as planned. We got dropped off in a sketchy, fairly deserted neighbourhood but found our hostel and checked in. Five minutes later we went to ask for directions to an internet place only to discover there were none in the area. Ok. Then we asked where there was a restaurant. Same answer. Supermarket? ?Yeah actually it isn?t safe to leave the hostel?, they told us. So we spent a sad night and left bright and early the next morning for Tucacas...apparently a great jumping off point for a National Park and beaches etc etc. We got to the town and checked into our hostel. It was pretty dingy but we figured whatever. That night Hilary was showing me her various wounds, bites, and unexplained marks and complaining that the distribution of such things was unfair. I told her it wasn?t very nice of her to curse me by wishing bad things on me. After that I was convinced something was gonna go down that night. Right before we went to sleep I found a bug in my bed but she was like ?no it?s nothing?. I didn?t sleep well at all in our sketchy surroundings and woke up with a bite on my neck and blood on my sheet...nothing as romantic as a vampire. It was a bed bug bite. After that we were bitter towards the town and looked to no avail for another place to stay. We made a quick decision and took a cab to Chichiriviche, 35 kms away, and also with beach and park access. Best decision ever. We are now happily unpacked in a nice, clean, friendly hostel, and our filthy clothes have a date with a washing machine tomorrow. We spent the afternoon on the beach, 2 minutes away, playing in the waves. Tomorrow we are gonna catch a boat to one of the islands just off shore and spend the day sunning and swimming.

Oh I should mention on quirk. Ever since crossing the boarder there have been check points everywhere. We have had to show our passports half a dozen times, occasionally getting off the bus and answering questions. Also Chavez?s presence is everywhere.