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31 – Three Venezuelan-Arubean stories

23 January, 2012

this is the first image pop up when you search google for salute, that in italian means health


In the last days, I did things you humans can’t even imagine. And you, non-Italian speakers can’t even understand, so I don’t bother with translation of “Cantare tutti in Coro, Loaker che bontà”, or “playing cards in Aruba, “Aruba mazzetto”.

For you English readers, let me share at least three simple Venezuelan-Arubean stories.

1) After my arrive in Maracaibo last Sunday and the lavish lunch offered by my host Luis, I began to feel cramps in my stomach, that Wednesday morning become diarrhea, Wednesday afternoon turned in extreme weakness and cold chilling, Thursday and Friday regressed to cramps and finally Saturday were gone, leaving me to enjoy an excellent Argentinian barbecue in Aruba, with great company as well.

On Sunday though, between air-con anywhere and the rain I caught to attend to Carnival Parade, I got a very bad cold, and in the night my nose was so wet I needed two antihistamine before going to bed.

Moral: Health always come first.

1) My last night in Coro, strolling in the Pedestrian streets with two Germans and a Swiss guy met in my Posada, we’ve been approached by a group of girls. After a while, the Germans, who couldn’t speak Spanish, came back to the Guest House, while the girl I was chatting with, invite me to join her and her friends to a “discoteca d’ambiente” the word ambiente usually meaning “chill out”.

So I took the strange embarrass underlying the word “ambiente” as a “not to expect anything flashy”. But when arrived at the disco I realized: it was a gay disco, and the girls with me a group of lesbian, except the pretty nice girl who invited me. With this girl we ended up kissing in the disco for a while, before leaving as we felt everybody was looking at us and we were giving a show.

Moral: Sooner or later, we are the “others”, the “different ones”.

2) While in the line to embark on my flight to Aruba, an army officer, who already had searched my bag with great attention, order me to follow her, while I was looking at my bag removed from the trolley directed to the plane. The scaring idea they were trying to set me up with the excuse of looking for drugs, luckily lasted just the time being interrogated by the chief officer. I understand an Italian who was living in Colombia for almost a year, who enter Venezuela overland and leave it few days later from a small airport to Aruba for them could be a suspect drugs carrier.

All that follow though, from the trip to the Hospital to X-Ray that was useless according to the same doctor who did it on me, to the superficial searches, or the way they were asking questions, it looked to me more expedients of a group of a dozen of bored army guys that has nothing better to do, than a plot of a corrupted gang. At the end of the day the price I paid for this misadventure was just few hours lost and embark at 5pm flight (which, like almost all flights from Venezuelan airports, left half an hour later because of the searches) instead of 12.30 one, without have to pay one cent more. It remains the bitter observation of great inefficiency in this deployment of troops, this apparatus that is completely useless.

Moral: You don’t fight drugs with prohibitionists.

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