VENEZUELA: DECEMBER 3
I have insufficient time to finish the account of my travels through President Chavez' Democracy. I will do so in the US. Sufficient to write of the vote on the Constitutional Referendum. The full Government and Party machine worked for a Yes vote. Streets in every town were pasted and hung with posters and banners all proclaiming SI COM CHAVEZ.
I passed hundreds of buses carrying supporters to Caracas.
Yet, in tens of thousands, these same supporters of reform stayed away from the polls.
They didn't trust Chavez.
They shied away from giving him unlimited power.
He lost the vote.
My congratulations to Venezuelans...
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
CARTAGENA, COLOMBIA, IS HEAVEN
old man, young lady
CARTAGENA: TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11
I have been in Cartagena for five nights. Cartagena is heaven. I enjoy sybaritic comfort in a mansion in the Historic Centre. The mansion belongs to a friend of friends back home. I stroll the beautiful streets by night, free of the dangers ever prevalent in Venezuela. I eat shrimp at the stalls in the Parque Centenaria, Thai food at Restaurant San Pedro. Two evenings I have delighted in the company of a brave and intelligent Peace Corp worker, Elizabeth. She has been living for the past two years in a small town in Peru. My son, Josh, will be travelling through South America next year. Elizabeth has much to tell him.
I have been in Cartagena for five nights. Cartagena is heaven. I enjoy sybaritic comfort in a mansion in the Historic Centre. The mansion belongs to a friend of friends back home. I stroll the beautiful streets by night, free of the dangers ever prevalent in Venezuela. I eat shrimp at the stalls in the Parque Centenaria, Thai food at Restaurant San Pedro. Two evenings I have delighted in the company of a brave and intelligent Peace Corp worker, Elizabeth. She has been living for the past two years in a small town in Peru. My son, Josh, will be travelling through South America next year. Elizabeth has much to tell him.
HIGH SEAS
CARTAGENA, COLOMBIA: TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11
I have tried to get the blog up to date. However more important was to organise passage to Panama for myself and bike as I have a flight out of San Jose, Costa Rica, on December 22. I fly north to New York and my daughter's home to celebrate the arrival of a new grandchild. The bike is on board a 42 foot steel sloop belonging to a French Canadian, Marcos, who is also the owner of Drake's Bar in Porto Belo, Panama (see description in last year's Panama section of BLOG). Then back to continue the ride. Bernadette wants to know where she should send the cake for my 75th!
I have tried to get the blog up to date. However more important was to organise passage to Panama for myself and bike as I have a flight out of San Jose, Costa Rica, on December 22. I fly north to New York and my daughter's home to celebrate the arrival of a new grandchild. The bike is on board a 42 foot steel sloop belonging to a French Canadian, Marcos, who is also the owner of Drake's Bar in Porto Belo, Panama (see description in last year's Panama section of BLOG). Then back to continue the ride. Bernadette wants to know where she should send the cake for my 75th!
Monday, December 10, 2007
I AM A SURVIVOR...
SANTA ELENA: SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 25
We got down the mountain. I found my bed. I rise this morning and swim in the pool before taking breakfast round the corner at the Backpackers Hotel. Santa Elena lives off tourism. I am the only tourist in town. I am joined by a Venezuelan in the hotel business. He has worked in Europe and the Caribbean, including the Cohiba in Havana. He has a novia back in Cuba, a doctor. She has been waiting for an exit permit for the past five years. So much for freedom...
President Chavez of Venezuela is a great supporter of Castro and Cuba.
The Constitutional Referendum is on December 3.
Changes to the Constitution will permit Chavez to stand for President beyond the present two terms. Chavez expects to win the referendum. He stated in a TV interview this week that he expects to be President in 2050.
I don't much care for Chavez.
Determining to be President for life displays an unpleasant arrogance and Chavez is drunk on power.
His power comes from the rise in oil prices.
The rise in oil prices is caused largely by the Iraq War.
We got down the mountain. I found my bed. I rise this morning and swim in the pool before taking breakfast round the corner at the Backpackers Hotel. Santa Elena lives off tourism. I am the only tourist in town. I am joined by a Venezuelan in the hotel business. He has worked in Europe and the Caribbean, including the Cohiba in Havana. He has a novia back in Cuba, a doctor. She has been waiting for an exit permit for the past five years. So much for freedom...
President Chavez of Venezuela is a great supporter of Castro and Cuba.
The Constitutional Referendum is on December 3.
Changes to the Constitution will permit Chavez to stand for President beyond the present two terms. Chavez expects to win the referendum. He stated in a TV interview this week that he expects to be President in 2050.
I don't much care for Chavez.
Determining to be President for life displays an unpleasant arrogance and Chavez is drunk on power.
His power comes from the rise in oil prices.
The rise in oil prices is caused largely by the Iraq War.
DOWN HILL ALL THE WAY
SANTA ELENA FULL MOON PARTY: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 24
3 a.m. and Fidel is drunk and peaceful at the wheel of his jeep. Victoria is in hugging mood. I am in the back with the drums. A wet mountain mist smears the dust and grease on the windscreen. The windscreen wipers don't work. Visibility is near to zero feet. The jeep lurches from rock to rock.
I pray and cling to the drums.
3 a.m. and Fidel is drunk and peaceful at the wheel of his jeep. Victoria is in hugging mood. I am in the back with the drums. A wet mountain mist smears the dust and grease on the windscreen. The windscreen wipers don't work. Visibility is near to zero feet. The jeep lurches from rock to rock.
"We will find you a plot of land up here on the mountain," says Fidel with an expansive gesture at whatever lies behind the mist. "You must return. We will help build you a house."
Victoria gives up on watching the invisible track and attempts to hug me over the back of the front passenger seat.I pray and cling to the drums.
I AM TIRED AND I WANT TO GO HOME
SANTA ELENA FULL MOON PARTY: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 24
1 a.m. and the Chavez glee club leader gears himself up for a further vocal. My male kidnapper, Fidel, is driving his drums on cruise control. Victoria is his partner in my kidnapping. Victoria is total energy, minimum direction. Her dance partners are a booze bottle and a pair of gourd rattles. She wears skin tight pants. Her arse twitches to the beat. I long for bed.
1 a.m. and the Chavez glee club leader gears himself up for a further vocal. My male kidnapper, Fidel, is driving his drums on cruise control. Victoria is his partner in my kidnapping. Victoria is total energy, minimum direction. Her dance partners are a booze bottle and a pair of gourd rattles. She wears skin tight pants. Her arse twitches to the beat. I long for bed.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
FREEDOM AND EQUALITY
SANTA ELENA: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 24
A plump lady in her sixties tells me that the Revolution will give Venezuelans the freedoms and equality enjoyed by Cubans for the past fifty years. Any minor difficulties in Cuba have been caused by the Blockade. I note a similarity between this gathering and the young of the Cuban Revolution's ruling class: none of the guests are black.
A plump lady in her sixties tells me that the Revolution will give Venezuelans the freedoms and equality enjoyed by Cubans for the past fifty years. Any minor difficulties in Cuba have been caused by the Blockade. I note a similarity between this gathering and the young of the Cuban Revolution's ruling class: none of the guests are black.
ALL HAIL THE SOCIALIST PARADISE
SANTA ELENA: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 24
We are in a clearing outside a log and wattle house midway up a mountain. The house belongs to a painter and his wife. We sit in a circle round a log fire. The moon is full. A mediocre guitarist bellows songs in praise of President Chavez. I am reminded of the sixties and Ibiza full-moon parties. Ibiza it was smoke and acid. Here it is booze and the Socialist Revolution.
We are in a clearing outside a log and wattle house midway up a mountain. The house belongs to a painter and his wife. We sit in a circle round a log fire. The moon is full. A mediocre guitarist bellows songs in praise of President Chavez. I am reminded of the sixties and Ibiza full-moon parties. Ibiza it was smoke and acid. Here it is booze and the Socialist Revolution.
KIDNAPPED
SANTA ELENA: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 24
Tonight is full moon.
I am kidnapped and dragged up a mountain in a small Japanese jeep. My kidnappers are Venezuelans employed by a Department of the Venezuelan Government. They teach the indigenous people how to live where the indigenous people have been living for a few thousand years and how to make indigenous artifacts that are saleable to tourists.
Or they teach the indigenous people how to vote for President Chavez in next month's Constitutional referendum. Take your choice.
One of my kidnappers is a fake Government employee.
In reality, he is a musician, a great drummer. We stop off on the way up the mountain to collect his drums.
We also collect two crates of beer and a couple of bottles of rum.
Our destination is a housing community of what I term Marginales. The houses are idiosyncratic self-build with help. The road is suitable for athletic goats.
Tonight is full moon.
I am kidnapped and dragged up a mountain in a small Japanese jeep. My kidnappers are Venezuelans employed by a Department of the Venezuelan Government. They teach the indigenous people how to live where the indigenous people have been living for a few thousand years and how to make indigenous artifacts that are saleable to tourists.
Or they teach the indigenous people how to vote for President Chavez in next month's Constitutional referendum. Take your choice.
One of my kidnappers is a fake Government employee.
In reality, he is a musician, a great drummer. We stop off on the way up the mountain to collect his drums.
We also collect two crates of beer and a couple of bottles of rum.
Our destination is a housing community of what I term Marginales. The houses are idiosyncratic self-build with help. The road is suitable for athletic goats.
RASTAFARIS
SANTA ELENA: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 24
I am eating a vast serving of chili prawns in a Chinese restaurant. A very fat black man chivies a family of twelve to a long table. The man has Rasta hair and wears a wool hat knitted in the Ethiopian national colours. Earlier today I noticed two women with Rasta hair. The women were young and white and carried backpacks. Presumable they were tourists.
I was copy-editing in Uruguay last month. The copy editor queried a paragraph on Rastafaris. She was casting doubt as to whether readers would have sufficient information to understand what I had written.
Perhaps I am stupid in presuming that people seek information. The web is at hand. They don't need books. Rastafaris are a common sight.
Rastafaris believe that Haile Selassie is God Incarnate.
Haile Selassie was the Emperor of Ethiopia from 1930 to 1974.
He was a murderous autocrat.
He was also an Amhara, Ethiopia's ruling tribe.
One of the oddities of the Amharas is their belief that they are the only white race. Amharas refer to those they consider black as either slaves or outcasts.
Jamaica is the birth place of the Rastafari religion.
Haile Selassie is an odd God for black Jamaicans.
I am eating a vast serving of chili prawns in a Chinese restaurant. A very fat black man chivies a family of twelve to a long table. The man has Rasta hair and wears a wool hat knitted in the Ethiopian national colours. Earlier today I noticed two women with Rasta hair. The women were young and white and carried backpacks. Presumable they were tourists.
I was copy-editing in Uruguay last month. The copy editor queried a paragraph on Rastafaris. She was casting doubt as to whether readers would have sufficient information to understand what I had written.
Perhaps I am stupid in presuming that people seek information. The web is at hand. They don't need books. Rastafaris are a common sight.
Rastafaris believe that Haile Selassie is God Incarnate.
Haile Selassie was the Emperor of Ethiopia from 1930 to 1974.
He was a murderous autocrat.
He was also an Amhara, Ethiopia's ruling tribe.
One of the oddities of the Amharas is their belief that they are the only white race. Amharas refer to those they consider black as either slaves or outcasts.
Jamaica is the birth place of the Rastafari religion.
Haile Selassie is an odd God for black Jamaicans.
BECOMING A MILLIONAIRE
SANTA ELENA: THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 23
I sit on a stool on the sidewalk and chat with the diamond and gold dealer. I remark that I have been riding through Brazil and ask the exchange rate for the Brazilian Real.
He gives me the rate in Stirling and in Euros.
The dollar rate?
He is nervous of dollars.
And Bolivars?
Bolivars have no value. They are an illusion created by the Government. "We have a crazy Government. Chavez is crazy."
He fetches a couple of cold beers from inside the office.
I am trying to get a handle on prices. What does a beer cost?
"Nothing," he says - not much help.
We talk more, the economy, inflation.
It takes a while but finally he realises that I wish to change Reals for Bolivars.
How many Reals?
One thousand.
We go indoors and sit each side of a desk in a small office. I put my Reals on the desk. He fingers them, checks a few against the light. "Two million, seven hundred thousand Bolivars."
Two million, seven hundred thousand is too large a number on which to cast doubt. "Correct," I say.
I am a millionaire.
I sit on a stool on the sidewalk and chat with the diamond and gold dealer. I remark that I have been riding through Brazil and ask the exchange rate for the Brazilian Real.
He gives me the rate in Stirling and in Euros.
The dollar rate?
He is nervous of dollars.
And Bolivars?
Bolivars have no value. They are an illusion created by the Government. "We have a crazy Government. Chavez is crazy."
He fetches a couple of cold beers from inside the office.
I am trying to get a handle on prices. What does a beer cost?
"Nothing," he says - not much help.
We talk more, the economy, inflation.
It takes a while but finally he realises that I wish to change Reals for Bolivars.
How many Reals?
One thousand.
We go indoors and sit each side of a desk in a small office. I put my Reals on the desk. He fingers them, checks a few against the light. "Two million, seven hundred thousand Bolivars."
Two million, seven hundred thousand is too large a number on which to cast doubt. "Correct," I say.
I am a millionaire.
TALKING VENEZUELAN
SANTA ELENA: THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 23
I have a thick wad of Brazilian Reals. What is a Real worth in Bolivars? The hotel owner tells me to check the High Street. I am a little nervous changing money anywhere but a bank. Venezuelan banks don't change money.
A dealer in gold and diamonds sits on the sidewalk outside his office. His tiny son, three at most, points to my bike: "Moto..."
The child takes my hand and leads me to the neighbouring garage.
"Moto," he repeats. He is pointing at a big Yamaha trail bike.
Is he suggesting that my Honda isn't a real bike?
I have a thick wad of Brazilian Reals. What is a Real worth in Bolivars? The hotel owner tells me to check the High Street. I am a little nervous changing money anywhere but a bank. Venezuelan banks don't change money.
A dealer in gold and diamonds sits on the sidewalk outside his office. His tiny son, three at most, points to my bike: "Moto..."
The child takes my hand and leads me to the neighbouring garage.
"Moto," he repeats. He is pointing at a big Yamaha trail bike.
Is he suggesting that my Honda isn't a real bike?
LET'S BACK TRACK A LITTLE...
VENEZUELA: NOVEMBER 23 - DECEMBER 5
I felt uncomfortable when writing in Venezuela. It was a feeling familiar from Cuba and the same Cubans are present in Venezuela. I refer not to the happy go lucky, sleep with you for a bar of soap and a good meal Cubans with whom most tourists become familiar. I refer to those from the Ministry of the Interior - the political cops.
"They're everywhere," I am told in Santa Elena by a young woman journalist. "There's a physical education teacher at the primary school and there's a new hospital staffed entirely by Cubans. The hospital has everything. The Venezuelan doctors in the old State hospital have nothing. That's the message. Vote Chavez if you want to keep the new hospital. And the Cuban doctors get twice the pay of our doctors. There's even a Cuban in the office here at the Electricity Company. Why do we need a Cuban in the office? He's reporting on what people say." Cubans are practiced in reporting what people say.
I felt uncomfortable when writing in Venezuela. It was a feeling familiar from Cuba and the same Cubans are present in Venezuela. I refer not to the happy go lucky, sleep with you for a bar of soap and a good meal Cubans with whom most tourists become familiar. I refer to those from the Ministry of the Interior - the political cops.
"They're everywhere," I am told in Santa Elena by a young woman journalist. "There's a physical education teacher at the primary school and there's a new hospital staffed entirely by Cubans. The hospital has everything. The Venezuelan doctors in the old State hospital have nothing. That's the message. Vote Chavez if you want to keep the new hospital. And the Cuban doctors get twice the pay of our doctors. There's even a Cuban in the office here at the Electricity Company. Why do we need a Cuban in the office? He's reporting on what people say." Cubans are practiced in reporting what people say.
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