Venezuela wasn’t all bad.  After the guns were seized a couple of days followed when our cargo was being off-loaded and inspected and the general belief was that as soon as the paperwork was straightened out we would be through this mess.  Shore passes were once again passed out to the crew and we were free to explore the city.

My first priority was food.  Everybody has their favorite activities when we hit foreign ports.  Believe it or not, sailors are not the bad guys a lot of people think we are.  Sure, some like to drink and some like to visit the local ladies.  But there are plenty of loyal family men who make their living on ships.  What I am saying is that guys are guys.  Sailors are no worse or no better than anybody else.  I am not going to sit here and tell you I am an angel, but anybody who knows me will confirm that if there is time for only one thing, for me it is food.

We had a fulltime Venezuelan security guard stationed on our ship.  He didn’t work for any of the 138 different agencies that were currently hasseling us.  As far as I could tell he was employed by the port, but I could be wrong about that.  At any rate, he was a super-cool guy and we became friends.  When I say he was fulltime, I mean he couldn’t leave from the time we arrived in Maracaibo until we left.  It was ridiculous.

When I came out to stand gangway watch at 0400 (4am to you landlubbers) I would bring him a snack and take his clothes down to the laundry room for washing.  A man would drive by and drop off three meals a day for him but he definitely appreciated a little variety.  He had to sleep on a work table that we had out on deck and he bathed in the sink.  I asked him why he couldn’t go home and he explained that he was assigned to the ship until it left.  A couple of other guys came and went but he was always there.  I really felt bad for him.

As I needed some local input on where to get a good meal, I turned to my buddy and man did he come through!  He gave me a list of three restaurants to try out.  He said they were in a safe part of town that was gringo friendly.  Gringo friendly is how I try to live life.

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Blog music for today is The Gumbo Song by Sauce Boss.  I didn’t eat gumbo in Maracaibo, but the Sauce Boss sings some of the best eating music in the world.

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A buddy from the ship tagged along and we managed to make it out the gate and into a cab without being arrested.  This was no small feat as I was later informed from one group of officials that the secret police wanted to arrest us if we went ashore.  I didn’t know that at the time and for once I didn’t have any trouble ashore, so no harm no foul.  I’m cool with you, secret police.  If you ever make it America let’s catch a baseball game.

The taxi man didn’t know the first name on the list, or he wouldn’t take us there, but he did know the second and after a twenty minute drive we were dropped off in front of a little steakhouse.  The restaurant was fairly nice and was located in the Plaza de Republica.  I suggest this area if you find yourself in Maracaibo.  There were several nice local restaurants and some American chains, if you need a Big Mac fix in Venezuela.  I try to stick to local food so I went with El Gaucho.

I am grill man.  I like to cook on a grill and I like to eat food cooked on the grill.  They had a very nice coal grill at El Gaucho and the meats that were sizzling over the fire looked quite yummy.  Since I wanted to taste a little of everything I ordered a large combo plate for my buddy and I to share.

You know the hardest thing about eating in a Venezuelan restaurant?  Not staring at other guys wives/girlfriends/sisters.  Venezuelan women are amazingly beautiful.  I mean, they are sell your soul beautiful.  They are beautiful and they dress well.  They are beautiful and they wear sexy high-heels.  They are beautiful and they smell nice.

They are beautiful and their dates will most likely stab you in the liver if you are caught checking them out.

I am not saying that Venezuelan guys are thugs.  Well, the dudes that beat the poor sailors for their cell phones are thugs.  But I have noticed this in my experience with Latinos.  The men are very generous.  They will share their food, buy you drinks and become instant friends.  Just don’t check out their women.  I apologize if I seem like I am generalizing but that is what I have seen to be true.

So there I am, checking out Venezuelan hotties by using my spoon as a mirror when a platter of meats is brought to the table.  It was good, but not poem worthy.  I write poems about food.  That is how much I love food.  This food was just good, not amazing.  I think what made it just good is that one of the things on the platter was some sort of grilled intestine that I think still had poo-poo in it.  Yuck!!

After a pleasurable hour in the restaurant my buddy and I began wandering the plaza.  Let me give you a couple of travel tips if you find yourself in the Plaza de Republica.  One – Don’t expect to use an ATM.  You can’t find any that work.  You can find plenty that don’t work, but none that do.  Two – Don’t walk down side streets.  It goes from, “This is pretty decent,” to, “I should call momma and say goodbye,” in about a block.  In all fairness to Venezuela, it wasn’t as bad as other places I have been.  I think we were just conditioned by this point to believe that bad things would happen to us.

We did find one little club which was ok but not great.  However, just getting in proved to be the scariest experience of all my world travels.  My pal was in front of me as we walked up to the door of the bar and were stopped by a bouncer.  This bouncer was obviously ex-Venezuelan Special Forces.  I don’t know if Venezuela has special forces.  Maybe he was trained by the Mossad.  He was a scary dude.

He said something to my friend in a snarly voice like Snape from Harry Potter but it sounded even scarier because it was in Spanish and we couldn’t understand it.  But it didn’t sound like normal Spanish.  It was like Spanish would sound if that was the language the devil spoke.  My tough guy companion looked at the ground and kind of took half a step back.  I don’t know what the bouncer wanted but I was convinced that he was about to rip our still beating hearts out of our chests.  My buddy looked back at me and the bouncer said something else but I looked around and pretended like I was lost and didn’t even know my friend.

I just wanted out of there.

Then the bouncer walked right up to me, got in my face and snarled, “Eye Dee!”  Oh…..You want my ID?   Hahahahaha….Of course.  That’s it.  I wasn’t worried that you found amusement in torturing stupid Americans before tossing their bloody corpses in the dumpster out back.  I wasn’t even thinking that.  Here is my ID.  And a couple of Bolivares for your trouble.

Whewww!

That was actually the most exciting part of the bar visit.  I spent my time unsuccessfully trying to connect my phone to their wifi so I could stop paying Sprint $80 per minute for lousy 2G data services.  We hung out for an hour, wandered the streets for another hour and made it back to the ship.

And there you are – 1,300 words of fun that happened in Venezuela.  I told you it wasn’t all bad.

Coming up next – “You want to take me to a Venezuelan jail at midnight?   I think it’s time to make a little noise!”

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Since the food in this blog wasn’t poem worthy, I am ending this blog with a poem I wrote about the first BBQ I ever had on a merchant ship.  When I became a merchant marine I didn’t think we would have nice barbecues.  This was a long time ago when I was still an apprentice.  I hope you enjoy it.

Find somebody from the opposite political party and tell them that even though they are a dumbass, you still love them.  Help make the world a better place.

Russell Yale

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“Piglet Style for Me!”

Today was the best day of my life

Till now it’s been nothing but pain and strife

We had a big ol’ BBQ out at sea.

It’s piglet style for me

 

I could not believe what I saw before my eyes

Ribs & chicken & steak & burgers & pies

There was food as far as I could see

It’s piglet style for me

 

(chorus)

Oh – piglet style for me!

With an oink oink here and an oink oink there

I’ve got BBQ sauce on me everywhere

I wonder why everyone is staring at me.

It’s piglet style for me

 

You try to fit your food on one plate and I shrewdly grab two

One for the hot and one for cold food

I’m a grubbing, eating, drinking dude.

It’s piglet style for me

 

I grab a 3rd plate while there’s still time

A burger for me? Oh you’re too kind

I hope this potato salad doesn’t go to my behind.

It’s piglet style for me

 

(chorus)

Oh – piglet style for me!

You can judge me I just don’t care

So I like to eat ribs in my underwear

Don’t even bother asking ’cause I won’t share.

It’s piglet style for me

 

Got my curly tail stuck down in my pants

As I do my chicken wing hula dance

With my plate full, around the deck I do prance.

It’s piglet style for me

 

I wonder if I’ve got room for a cookie or two

I hoard my food like a BBQ Jew

Hey April I think I’ve got to poo.

It’s piglet style for me

 

(chorus)

Oh – piglet style for me!

I like to BBQ naked out in the yard

The smell of burning coals makes my nipples get hard

This song will be sung by every bard.

It’s piglet style for me

 

(Everybody now!)

Oh – piglet style for me!

The ocean is so pretty, the sky is so blue

The weather is perfect and I’ve got a heck of a crew

I’m gonna stop singing it’s time to chew.

It’s piglet styyyyyyyle – – – for me!