The Astounding Travel Adventures of a Miraculous Fellow


Venezuela’s Final Revenge
August 2, 2008, 8:45 am
Filed under: Venezuela
So I guess the peak of my apprehension occurred when Pat and I were locked in the back of a military jeep being driven down a dark road into the jungle.  But, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself…
 
So we were finishing up our week in the mountains in Mérida, and were getting onto our overnight bus to head back to Caracas for our final weekend in Venezuela.  We had booked early into the snazzy, first-class bus so the 14 hour journey wouldn’t be quite as painful as the nightmare bus trip a week earlier.  On board, we were highly satisfied with what we got, and finally begun to think maybe things were going our way in Venezuela.  The seats were comfortable, the movies were Steven Segalarrific, and we quickly fell asleep on this luxurious behemoth. 
 
Sadly, it did not last.  What happened next was Venezuela’s final revenge. 
 
At about 1 A.M., in the middle of a wondrous, dream-filled sleep, a big fat military guy woke us up to check our passports.  Willy had his, and it checked out, so he moved on to Pat.  This was a problem, because (thanks a lot you moron George Bush) Americans now have to get a visa to travel to Brazil, which takes a week to process, during which time the Brazilian embassy holds your passport.  So, instead of pressing our luck by returning to terifiying Caracas after somehow managing to survive our first five days there, we just kept our passport copies and travelled the country.  This posed no problem…until now.
 
So this big fat guy asked Pat for his copy, was terribly confused why there was only a copy, and asked me for mine.  After telling him I have the same “lack of passport” problem, he said “alright, no problem, get off the bus.”  So we headed over to his superior officer to explain what was going on, the conversation went a little like this (and, in a perfect world, would have gone a little something like this):
 
MG = Military Guy
Us = Pat and I
WWSHS = What We Should Have Said (not to be confused with “What Would Saddam Hussein Say”)
 
MG: Give me your passport.
Us: All we have are copies, because the real one is in the Brazilian embassy.
 
MG: But you’re in Venezuela, not Brazil.
Us: But, it’s in the Brazilian embassy, which is in Caracas, which is in Venezuela.
WWSHS: Trust us, we know this.  You could probably tell from the lack of smiling, and the murderous rage in our hearts, that we truly know we are in Venezuela, and not in Brazil.
 
MG: How did you get into Venezuela without a passport?
Us: No, we had passports, which we used when we flew in to Venezuela, but now they are in Caracas, at the Brazilian embassy, because we needed visas.  This is a very normal process.
WWSHS: We got in without our passports, by bribing an idiot like you with our illegal drug money.
 
MG: But you are in Venezuela now, and you don’t have passports.  Where are they?
Us: Fuck.
WWSHS: Fuck.
 
MG: You are illegal, we can deport you tomorrow, and put you in jail.  You are not in Brazil, you are in Venezuela.  Where are your passports?
Us: Sigh…they’re in the Brazilian embassy in Caracas, Venezuela.  Your country allows this.
WWSHS: Can we speak to someone without a short term memory problem?  The passports are in the Brazilian fucking embassy, you stupid bastard.
 
MG: You are illegal, you cannot leave.  Get your bags off the bus.
Us: No, this is perfectly normal, we aren’t leaving the country so we don’t need passports.
WWSHS: Release me at once, or we will have you and your family dragged by your genitals through the sands of the deserts of Kirkuk, you swine!  Oh shit, sorry, that was “What Would Saddam Hussein Say” not “What We Should Have Said.”  We should have said, “Oh shit.”
 
MG: Get in the jeep, we have to talk to my superior officer.
Us: Oh shit.
WWSHS: Oh shit.
 
So we were driven down a dark jungle road with another man and his young son, who both apparently had their passports in the Brazilian embassy, or were just innocently running heroin from Colombia.  We drove about 5 minutes down into the pitch black wilderness, to what we thought was either our impending doom, or an incredbily elaborate surprise party.  When we finally pulled up to the station, I crossed my fingers and said “Please let it be a surprise party, please let it be a surprise party.” 
 
Alas, the only surprise was another military guy.  They quietly whispered something to each other, and walked into an office.  Pat and I discussed our options:
 
1. Run.  But, we’d probably be shot, or eaten by the huge pitbull that was staring at us.
2. Surprise Party.  Maybe this still was a surprise party…but it was neither of our birthdays. Shit.
3. Bribe.  I was all for just “paying a tax” to this retard and leaving.  Pat held strong, and said we would when they tried to get our bags off the bus.
 
Upon returning, the military retard said “Surprise!” and Hugo Chavez popped out and punched us in the face.  Actually, he told us to get back in the car, and we drove back to the bus.  We got out, and Willy was there with a couple Venezuelans who spoke English and were trying to explain to him that we were probably still alive.  They all walked up when we arrived, and the military dude kind of panicked, and we told them to leave, we think we might be out of the clear.
 
Finally, the military guy, who was obviously stalling to try to get a bribe, said
MG: “You guys are playing with me.” 
Us: “Nope, our passports are in the Brazilian embassy, and your boss probably told you the same thing, so were out.” 
WWSHS: “You’re right, you’re on MTV’s Punk’d, and I’m Ashton Kutchner.” 
 
MG: “You are bad people.  Get on your bus, and get out of here.”
Us: “Will do.”
WWSHS: “You got served bitch, no tip for you!”
 
So that was our final terrifying experience with Venezuelan authorities.  But, we survived it without paying a “tax” to this dumbass, and only had to pay the small fee of 15 mintues of terror, and some poop in our pants.
 
When we got to Caracas, we were picked up by Adriana again, and back in safe hands.  That afternoon we went to Lulu’s (our friend in California) family’s house, and had a big crazy drunken barbecue with her family and friends. 
 
So Venezuela was able to give us one final miserable experience, and one really good one.
 
Now, we leave.  And onto Brazil we go…
 
P.S.  Brazil, you should write a thank you note to Venezuela.  Because all the shit we had to deal with will most likely make your country seem like the greatest place on Earth, regardless of whether it is or not.
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4 Comments so far
Leave a comment

All of the shit you got yourself into would never have happened if you remembered to pack your Red Rider bb gun. You idiot, you’re lucky to be alive without it.

Comment by Jeff

i like you

Comment by marc wrinkle

I pooped my pants just reading that…

Comment by Alba

Pat is in a foreign, politically unstable country with his life in jeopardy and he is STILL a cheap bastard. Way to hold your ground Pat!

Comment by Danny




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