While strolling through the park one day (ok…it was a shitty area of Maracaibo, Venezuela)

In the merry month of May (errrrrr……August)

I was taken by surprise (to say the least)

By a pair of roguish eyes (Actually a battalion of Venezuelan Gestapo types)

I was scared but didn’t run away (Well, I tried but they had guns)

 

Ok, so that isn’t exactly how it happened.  How what happened, you ask?  You have to read to find out.

Flash back to my mid-twenties, a lifetime ago and a different Russell.  I am ashamed to say that had my parents received a phone call that said I was suspected of smuggling drugs in South America it would have taken something quite a bit more substantial than a feather to knock them over.  Nowadays?  I like to think they wouldn’t believe it.  Or at least be somewhat shocked.  But arms trafficking?  I am pretty sure that would have floored them at any point in my life.

Being suspected of both was definitely a red-letter day in my diary.

Venezuela didn’t start out all bad.  Our first port of call in Senor Chavez’s fiefdom was a little place by the name of Guaranao.  You won’t it find it on most maps.  And don’t waste your effort by trying to prove me wrong because if you do find it, you don’t want to go there.  Still, as far as shitty ports go it was pretty nice.  From where we tied up the ship I could see a stretch of beach with what looked to be a Tiki bar.

Venezuelan women on the beach, fresh seafood and cold beverages?  Sweet.

As is usually the case when we dock in the daytime, I was the first one off the ship.  My watch being the 4 to 8, I was basically the only person that could skip out during the day.  A few American dollars were sufficient to pay a stevedore to drive me to an ATM and over to the beach bar.

You know the strangest thing that I experienced in all of my time in Venezuela?  The exchange rate.  I always use the ATM because that is where you get the best rate.  Bolivares to dollars is basically 4 to 1. However, my buddies exchanged it at some glass and crystal store in Maracaibo at 8 to 1.  Everywhere else in the world you get a worse rate on the black market.  Just another screwed up thing about this country.

The point here is – when in Venezuela exchange your money at glassware retailers.

Back to Guaranao where the story is about to end before it began.  The bar sucked.  There was nobody there.  There were a few families on the beach but none of the many Venezuelan Miss Universe winners.  The beach itself was rocky and the sand was gritty.  Look, I live in Florida.  I don’t tell people from Philly how good our cheese steaks are down here.  Don’t tell me how nice blah blah beach is.  You want a nice beach?  Come to Florida.

I did get to pig out.  They were only offering four items so I picked out the one which had “pollo” in the description.  That is one of the ten Spanish words I understand.  The other nine are all flavors of beer.  The bartender took my order and carried it to another building which had a picture of a pizza above the door.  In fact, it said “Pizza.”  I thought I would get a chicken pizza.

*******************************************************

Shoot!!  I forgot the blog music.  We always have blog music!  Let’s start off with Drug Train by one of PiratePooh’s very favorite bands, Social Distortion.  The best way to enjoy these blogs is to legally download the song of the day and play it while you read.  Sometimes it is also nice to enjoy an ice cream cone.

********************************************************

I did not get chicken pizza.  What I got was a giant, and I mean giant, platter of fried chicken.  When I ordered it I was puzzled that it cost so much – the equivalent of twenty American dollars.  Looking around I would have thought that I could buy the bar for twenty bucks and realistically expect to receive some change in return. The amount of food they brought me would have fed a small Venezuelan village, or three people in my house, with leftovers for the dog (I don’ have a dog, but my friend does, and he really would have liked this chicken!)

The bottom of my platter was covered with these little fried corn cakes.  When in Venezuela, use some of the money you exchanged at the glass store to buy as many of these as possible.  Yummy!!  Every restaurant I went to served these in some fashion.  Then there was a huge layer of fried chicken and that was all topped with piles of fries.

My kind of meal.

And it was healthy, too!!  There was a slice of tomato and slice of onion served on the side.

Since my momma raised me properly, I cleaned my plate.  Even the onion and tomato.  It was pretty good.  Everything was fried crispy and seasoned well.  Good enough so that I would travel back to Venezuela to get it?  Nope.

Guaranao was a quick stop so I soon found myself back on the ship getting ready to cast of for our next port – Maracaibo.  It didn’t faze me much at the time, but something out of the ordinary happened while we were in port.  Divers came and inspected the hull of our ship – twice – to insure that there were no containers full of drugs welded to our ship.  I was previously unaware that this was a method of drug smuggling and I had never been on a ship that was inspected in this manner.  I didn’t give it too much thought, especially since nothing was found, and my thoughts turned to my upcoming adventures in Maracaibo as I stood at the helm and steered the ship out of port.

Had I known what was coming, I would have stayed at my little beach bar in Guaranao.

Coming up next – “I went to shore in Maracaibo and when I came back to the ship there was a doggie in my room!”

Thanks for reading.  Give somebody a hug today.  One of those really good hugs.  Maybe even squeeze their ass a little.

Adios

(Long term readers will notice that the blogs is shorter than normal.  I am trying to make them readable for the average person.  This way you have something to look forward to every day.  Well, something other than Friends re-runs.)