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September 1999- I had been to Cuyagua before in June to surf but did not return for nearly three months. This was not because I did not enjoy Cuyagua; I was simply too busy visiting new places in other parts of the country. Along with my friends Rob and Tom I left Saturday morning in Tom's new (to him) Jeep Wrangler. This was the first time that I had not driven the three of us to the beach and I was relieved (at least initially). Getting to the beach proved to be the most adventurous part of the weekend. Tom doesn't have much experience driving and a Jeep is not exactly the easiest vehicle to learn in. The Wranglers offered in Venezuela differ from those in the States in that they have two small jump seats in the back instead of one bench seat. Other differences included a fixed metal hardtop with no rollbar and no rear seatbelts. Combine this with all of our normal beach crap and sitting in the back was quite an experience. I know that Rob and Tom both think that I am a crazy driver, but at least I am confident. Tom is a very nervous driver. I suppose that I lived to tell this story though so I should not complain too much. As before we drove to Maracay and then headed over the mountains to the coast from there. Rob lead us on a search through the city for an Arturos so Tomi and I could try their tasty fried chicken but our quest was in vain. All we managed to do was get lost and waste time. After giving up on the chicken idea we proceeded up the twisting road to the coast past a National Guard checkpoint. Typically you just drive past and these thugs sit there and glare at you. My understanding was that the reason for the station was to reduce drug trafficking from the coast but it didn't look like they were doing much of anything to me. I always feel nervous driving past these stations (even though I have done nothing wrong) because there are juveniles with machine guns scowling at me. On this particular occasion they blew the whistle and motioned us to stop. Tom parked the Jeep and the young soldier asked to see all of our passports and asked where we were going. Tom replied that we were going to the beach, but after taking a look at Rob and Tom's passports he asked us to step out of the vehicle. Tom told him "Sí. ¿Como no?" (Sure, why not?). I'm quite certain that "why not" is the not best thing to say to the National Guard. |
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This is where the story starts to get interesting. When I was packing up my stuff (I had way too much as usual) I looked at my keys and the copy of my passport and thought "I've never had to show this to anyone, I'll just leave it behind". I had my Texas license but no copy of my passport or cedula (Venezuelan ID card). When questioned I told the private that I was looking for it in my bags but could not find it. They weren't happy that Rob and Tom had copies of their passports so I was in a really perilous situation. From there they ordered us to take our bags out of the Jeep and proceeded to search my backpack. The young GI went through everything, from my clothes to my shaving kit, and was asking what each item was. He even went so far as to make me unstuff my sleeping bag. In the meantime other soldiers were feeling along under the sides of the Jeep and looking around inside it. When the officer searching my bag got to the Mini Mag-Lite and Leatherman, I thought that they were gone. I was fully prepared for him to put them in his pocket at that point and realized that there was little that I could do or say. He took the batteries out of the flashlight and unfolded the Leatherman, but that was it. They did not proceed on to the other bags; they just asked questions such as where we were from, what we were doing in Venezuela, and where we lived. That part was a little sketchy because Rob has an Irish passport and only a tourist visa (even though he is from South Africa and had worked in Venezuela for a year). They examined my driver's license and the documents that I had with me and told us all to carry our original passports at all times in the future. After that the sergeant just told us to enjoy our trip to the beach and I rounded up all of my now unpacked crap and we were on our way. |
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This experience definitely gave us something to talk about for the rest of the drive other than the usual "which-is-better, Coke or Pepsi" discussion. I switched seats with Rob so I would not get carsick on the twisty road while we analyzed what had happened to us. The one thing we agreed on was that we all felt pretty powerless. Rob was pissed off; he has a definite problem with authority figures. We determined that it stems from his childhood in boarding school in South Africa. Tom thought nothing was wrong and argued that we still had our rights. I more or less agreed with Rob but thought that it could have been a lot worse considering that all we lost was a little time. Tom managed to deliver us to Cuyagua without incident and once we got there we were ecstatic. The surf was huge! Well, huge at least by Venezuelan standards. The waves were probably breaking at six to eight feet. As good as the surf was the water was really crowded and we took a pounding from the big waves. I still enjoyed it though and saw some improvement in my surfing. I had purchased a surfboard when I was in California the month before and this was my third or fourth time out on it. |
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The evening went much as it had on our previous trip to Cuyagua. We walked into town for dinner while providing supper for the local mosquitoes along the way. After eating the three of us walked back to the beach and slept under the stars. I had brought my hammock this time but the boys did their usual routine and slept on the surfboard bags. Sunday morning we did a little more surfing and ate empanadas (stuffed cornmeal pockets) at the beachside stand before heading back to Caracas. While we were eating the guy next to us struck up a conversation with us and during the course of the discussion he commented that Rob had a Mexican accent. Since Rob has never been to Mexico Tom found this very amusing and interpreted it as an insult. Rob as always just took it in stride and disagreed with Tom. In the late afternoon we managed to get back to Caracas safely, without any encounters with the law enforcement I might add. Tom was apparently not satisfied with a camping trip to the beach for the weekend and proceeded to drag Rob and I out to dinner and a Belgian movie that was playing. It was hard to stay awake through the French monologue and traditional Spanish subtitles but I labored through it as a favor to Tom. The best thing that I can say for the movie was that it helped me drift off to sleep for the evening with great ease. |
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