Kate vs The Caribbean

After engaging with the black market and being locked into a literal 'front' for the exchange of american dollars into bolivars it was decided that we should get the hell out of sweaty, concrete Caracas and head to the coast and the mythical Caribbean.

The first bus ride involved being filmed by a lady with a video camera for security reasons and having our passports checked repeatedly. I was also chided for my attempts to open the curtains on the bus. We travel coffin style in Venezuela or not at all!

The second bus ride, on the local bus to the coast, involved a woman collecting money for the enormous goiter on her face and us making up our passport numbers because we couldn't´t be bothered getting them from our bags. It also involved a three hour ride on a little bus up the side of one mountain and then back down the other side. The bus driver leaned on his horn whenever he rocketed up one of the many blind corners to let cars coming the other way know of our approach. When there were vehicles coming towards us, the standoff usually seemed resolved based on relative size and strength of horn. Another bus, for example, would only be allowed to pass if their horn was better than ours (that only happened once).

Our destination, Peurto Columbia, turned out to be a sleepy little fishing town. Being a monday it was mostly deserted and we stayed in a much nicer place than I think we would´ve been able to afford otherwise. The manager was a lovely lady who expressed concern that we were so young (she took three years off the ages we gave her for the check in cards) and that perhaps we did not have enough money. The place itself had a large courtyard in the center with rooms running around the side. It also had television and my first hot shower. Ahhh.

The next day we found the beach, complete with palm trees and umberllas with banana lounges beneath them. We also found a new place to stay, with a strange German named Hubert who responded to most direct questions (what is the beach like? How often do the buses run back to Marakay?) with long stories about 'yeah ok, so I know, I am on a tourist visa at the moment but, you know, it is ok...Yeah ok, there are no real animals around here although, yeah ok, sometimes in the morning you will see the little ones? The zees? They will wash their face in the river. But no apes you know? No real monkeys'

Leaving Hubert, we went back to the beach so I could fulfil my dream of floating in the Caribbean and maybe drinking a cocktail out of a coconut. Instead I found that the Caribbean was a harsh and fickle sea which wanted to steal the pants from my bikini and twist my top inside out. Then it wanted to shove me down and stuff sand up my nose. It did this several times before I admitted temporary defeat and retreated to the shore where I proceeded to become rather significantly burnt.

We decided to try Hubert and his second beach the next day. Hubert had a friend staying with him and on the morning of our trek to the beach I was greeted by the sight of two middle aged german men in sensible walking shoes and t-shirts and backpacks. They could've been about to hike for days, they could've been about to go camping in the forests. I felt momentary unease about my miniskirt and sandals. They expressed greater unease, particularly about my footwear (I thought the sandals made my toes look kind of pretty).

Waving aside their concerns we started walking to the beach. It was only 10am but the heat had already started and the walk seemed to involve walking through a valley of white, reflecting dirt. I thought I might actually turn into a mushy puddle and disappear.

The beach when we finally saw it was tiny and edged by rocks on one side and sheer cliffs on the other. The waves boomed all around and I thought briefly of how enjoyable it would be to watch our german hosts drown (oh you know I only thought that briefly. I was more thankful that, when they removed their clothes they still had bathers on underneath). Venturing out past the surf I experienced a brief moment of actually floating in the Caribbean before I was picked up by two successive waves and beaten into the floor of the beach again.

Gasping, hacking and spitting on the beach again I had to conclude that the score so far was Caribbean 2, Kate 0.