Venezuela

next time you’re in the market for a vacation, might i suggest venezuela?  it’s a one of a kind country!  i mean, where else can you look out your car window (rolled all the way up and locked, of course) and see a car driving by with both the front hood open and a flat tire, graffiti everywhere trouncing the good name of the president (a former bus driver), an ex-con dressed as a clown harassing cars stopped at a red light, an iguana sitting cross legged on a brick wall, and a building that has been on fire for the past twenty minutes? … oh, and you look over at your driver and he’s nonchalantly drinking a beer.  because that’s not just okay in this country–it’s encouraged.

welcome to venezuela.  the rules of your world do not apply here.

venezuela is probably the best example i’ve ever seen of how not to run a country.  it becomes very clear from the get go that something here is amiss.  very.  VERY amiss.  that’s not to say it doesn’t have any redeeming qualities.  some things about this place are legit as fuck.  i guess i should probably start with those before i run the country into the ground.

the weather here is something out of a fairy tale.  it’s tropical, idyllic, and the landscape is scattered with palm trees.  birds chirp merrily in the trees overhead, and if you’re lucky, you might get a bird look down at you and go “fuck you!” because yes, there are parrots–the talking kind– flying around uninhibited.  turtles, iguanas, and lizards join their avian friends in roaming the lands, and there’s a good chance one will even leap over your body while you’re out sunbathing.  i mean, i got chased by a fucking iguana!  amazing!  the beauty of the climate is somewhat offset by the ubiquitous filth and pollution, but that’s not so much a venezuelan thing as it is a south american thing.  i… may have just made that up.

food here is straight ridiculous.  while nothing exists that is both “venezuelan” and “healthy”, your mouth will be left gleaming, even if your body isn’t.  the best of the bunch is a little breadstick looking thing stuffed with the succulent, salty venezuelan white cheese, which is so good you can substitute it for bread in a sandwich.   and then put cheese on that sandwich.  and i know what you’re thinking: “that’s just three pieces of cheese!”  you goddamn right it is.  also noteworthy among venezuelan foods are cachapas, a pancake with drowning in a sea of liquid cheese, and mandocas which… well, looks like a vagina made of bread.  if you feel guilty about eating nothing but deep fried bread items every day, you can at least take solace in the fact that it’s all cheap as shit!  in fact…

EVERYTHING IS RETARDEDLY CHEAP.  maybe not everything… the clothes are kinda pricey, and the hookers are about eight bucks per sex-sion (rip off!),  but pretty much all consumables are cheap as chips.  a beer goes for 10 bolivars at the liquor store.  that’s like 40 cents.  chronic alcoholism, here i come!

and lest i mention what i’m know most of you hornballs are wondering about: las chicas.  the girls.  yes, it’s true what they say.  venezuelan girls are truly some of the most beautiful creatures i’ve ever laid my frisky little eyes on.  looks are one thing, but they come packed with personality as well.  friendly, flirty, confident; they really make you feel welcomed in their little disheveled paradise.  here’s me trying to resist getting a boner…

and now, let us explore the dark side of the moon venezuela.

at no point in your stay here can you ever feel truly “safe.”  even if you’ve lived here fifteen years, as my brazilian host had, you are never free from the guns, the thieves, the pterodactyls.  that’s right.  luckily they got rid of all the t-rexes last year.  because those guys, were fucking annoying.

my host went on to tell me about how he had two cars stolen from him, and one of those times was while he was parking right in front of a dance club.  four guys walked up, pulled out giant guns, hit him with said guns, and made off with the car.  nowadays, when he goes to pick his brother up and his brother isn’t downstairs yet, he circles the block until his brother is there standing out front, ready to hop in and take off swiftly.  NO sitting in car for whatever reason.

and don’t think the guns are just a prop either.  last week, the former miss universe (from like ten years ago), a venezuelan lady, and her husband were both held up by thieves wanting their car.  they locked themselves in the car, and when the thieves couldn’t get in, they fired a hailstorm of bullets at the vehicle, killing both the former beauty queen and her husband.  it doesn’t matter who you are; nobody is safe.  that includes the friendly and harmless old man who ran a local cheese shop for twenty years; another one of the several causalities claimed in my two weeks in the country.

the roads are (*recalls traffic, has seizure*) absolute mayhem.  it’s like if noah’s ark was inhabited not by animals, but other noah’s ark’s, and that noah’s ark was floating in a public pool with a hundred other noah’s arks… that’s how i’d describe it.  once, we were driving on a long stretch of road when the traffic came to a screeching halt.  apparently an accident happened somewhere up ahead, but for some reason nobody could figure out how to drive around it, and opted for honking their horns non-stop instead.  it was like a hundred people simultaneously got driving amnesia.  it was like everyone’s foot became gangrene and prevented them from performing the complex action of STEPPING ON A PEDAL.  eventually we made it through the swarm and up to the scene of the accident, and then–bafflingly—while we were pulling around it, another accident happened just ten feet in front of us.  typical traffic scenario here.  as is having a group of guys standing in the middle of the road, collecting money for helping directing traffic, while COMPLETELY IGNORING IT.

public transport is a joke.  there are no buses.  instead, there are people driving normal four-door cars, like a taxi, except… it’s not a taxi.  it’s “public transportation.”  these things have set routes, and you have to share them with one driver and four other random smelly assholes.  WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE

now there are these people, curious figures, called… i’m not sure how to spell it, so i’m just going to write how it sounds:  wa-hee-ros.  the outcasts of society.  the indigenous race of people, with a mandatory dress code of tan skin, big gaudy skirts, floppy breasts, and pregnant teenagers.  i never had any run in’s with any of them, apart from accidentally making eye contact with a young waheero hooker with a big scar on her face.  aside from prostitution, waheeros don’t typically work, and if they do, they sell embroidery and useless shit that they buy cheap, and sell at mega inflated prices.  also, since they feel entitled to their piece of land, they go to big dirt lots in the center of the cities and set up tents and shit, which the police can do nothing about.

despite everything i’ve just told you, venezuela would not be in the state it is today without the “help” of one very large entity: el gobernacion.  the government.

never before have i seen a government so evil and so open about it at the same time.  they don’t even try to maintain the facade of being for the people.  they sap the life and resources out of the people and leave them fend for themselves… which is exactly where there is as much crime as there is.  they aren’t just hated by their own people, they are by people in other countries as well.  their neighbor colombia does everything they can to keep venezuelans out of their borders.  i’m sure you’ve heard of their ex-president, hugo chavez?  pictures of the dead tyrant pop up all over the metropolitan areas, attached with some little propaganda slogan like: “the commander lives forever,”
or “he’s going to rape your mom if you don’t give him 80% of your salary.”  the government seizes power of any building or organization once it gets too powerful or starts making money.  hallowed out malls and casinos serve as a empty shell of a reminder that nobody is allowed to be anything more than an ordinary citizen here.

the thing i found most terrifying was when i went to buy a carton of cheecha, a type of sweet milk resembling baby formula, and the woman at the counter asked me for my cedula (identification) number.  i gave her a look like, “lady, give me my carton of baby milk and let me out of here.”  but no, she needed to know my number because, the government needs to know my number, because they need to know each and everything i buy, because that’s who they are.  a big evil eye in the sky, watching your every move, your every purchase… your everything.  ummmmmmmm, can i get a “FUCK THAT.”  amen.

to conclude, let me epitomize everything about this wonderful, wild, and deadly country in a single photograph…