Dispatch Number 64 -Travelers Epilogue

This is a series of a one month journey in the northeastern region of Colombia on the Atlantic coast near Venezuela. Travel was a mixture of group and solo.

After returning to the comfortable city environs of Cartagena to study Spanish after a month of travel throughout the remote northeast region of Colombia it was by chance I bumped into Sandra who I traveled part of this region with. Over a cup of strong coffee in the lobby of her hostel she went on to relate a most unsettling story. It happened the day we parted ways in Nazareth near the Venezuelan border.

Andreas had been talking excitedly about Venezuela for weeks and was finally setting on his way, Sandra was joining him as a flexible traveler without an agenda. We had all known each other for over a month having met on the sailboat we took from Panama to Colombia. They were told by locals if they had passports that they could get on the daily truck bound for Maracaibo, a city deep in the interior of Venezuela. They would be travelling into another country bypassing normal immigration controls.

We parted ways in Nazareth, an oasis town in the middle of the Guijira desert after a couple weeks traveling together; they jumped on a flatbed cargo truck bound for Venezuela laden with twenty goats, a dozen pigs and twenty-five people under blazing sun. It was the kind of truck the intrepid backpacker loves to take to reach a destination. Deep bush travel. A colorful passage, one to be remarked upon.

The truck out of Nazareth normally arrives in Maracaibo by mid afternoon; it ran late this time arriving as darkness settled on Venezuela's second largest city. Venezuela has an electricity shortage and uses rolling blackouts; Maracaibo, a city of two million without electricity felt menacing upon arrival.

Exhausted from a thirteen hour journey with goats, pigs and an x-ray sun, they were dreaming of a shower and a soft bed when things turned brutal from the moment the truck arrived. They were yanked off the truck like livestock by two Venezuelan policemen demanding passports.
You have no passport stamp, the officer triumphantly exclaimed after examining them.
Peaceful calm Sandra tried to explain the route they took to the uninterested officer, while Andreas who spoke no Spanish stood mute.
You can be put in prison for entering Venezuela without a stamp. Why are you here? the officer pressed on.
OK open your bag and show us all your money, they demanded

Sandra's bag was thoroughly searched as she placed her last $50 on the table with Andreas' $300. Andreas' bag was not searched and he was taken to an adjacent room. The door was shut.

Are you transporting drugs? they asked Sandra
No. came her reply.
We will search you.

He looked down her top and panties for contraband. Andreas was not as fortunate to receive such light treatment, he was cavity searched up his anus. When he came out Sandra could see something had shocked him as he told her in Swiss-German what had just happened. The fear level increased as threats of imprisonment were repeated. Nauseous from his experience Andreas sat down as Sandra related the seriousness of the situation to him.

The police handed back a small portion of $350, so they could get by for the night. The rest was stolen, along with a camera and guitar tuner. Sandra's collection of photos from the journey into the desert and the Children of Camarones were gone.

There was no buildup. The police did not need time to gather their nerve or feel out their prey where one could sense what was coming, instead they moved with great speed and had all this done inside of thirty minutes. It left Sandra and Andreas in a state of shock while they looked for a place to sleep in the dark city. Currently, Venezuela is undergoing political and social change short of upheaval and it is in times like these that police have extraordinary powers with little oversight.

Two nights in Maracaibo was enough as they searched for a safe way out of Venezuela for the relative safety of Colombia. Still without Venezuelan tourist stamps. The journey back to Colombia was difficult and dodgy using a taxi to go part of the way benefiting from the driver's good relations with police at certain check points. When they got to a bridge known for police abuse they switched to a boat to cross the river, then back to a car for the border.

At the immigration station they explained to the Venezuelan border agent why they had no Venezuelan entry stamps doing their best to project calm in a country they were desperate to leave. He held them up a while, but seemed to sense something bad had happened and let them pass without the necessary stamps.

Sandra and Andreas would have a new perspective on travel, it would all be different now. I have met several travelers that related good experiences about Venezuela and returned for second visits.

As for me I was looking into driving the dirt roads of La Guijira along the border of Venezuela and decided against it. The road crossed back and forth between Venezuela and Colombia without any border controls and would require a guide to spot bad people and show the way. As explained to me by the truck drivers in Nazareth I would have to avoid Venezuelan police on the drive since I would have no papers authorizing me or my truck to be in the country. One even suggested making a night run down the road. That sealed it for me, no one had ever suggested a night run to pass a territory. I would be in over my head taking this route, even with a guide.

The risks were too high. I would back track through the blank desert, not an easy decision for me, since I routinely look for loops or circuits to drive rather than repeat terrain. My friends on the cargo truck would be safe, it was a regular route used to move people and goods who were in possession of permanent travel papers.

David
Otavalo, Ecuador