A Pearl of the Antilles or The Journey That Almost Wasn't

I don't think we'll have to worry about catching the bus. 

Hello friends, nice to chat again.

Been a crazy week (not in the party/booze sort of way), but rather the return from traveling, jump back into the mix, and a situation that has really shook some things up.

As you may recall my friends and I may or may not have taken a trip to an island that typically isn't visited by Americans.  In fact, I only know of three others that have: Jay-Z, Beyonce, and Anthony Bourdain.  I'll take that company.

Due to the length of the trip, the various topics that could be focused on, and the said situation, I'm just going to touch on two aspects of the trip tonight- the actual commute and Hemingway.  Don't worry, don't worry, I'll get to the other stuff in a later post.

The Journey

After getting special permission to leave school early and catch our flight, we got to the airport about three hours early. You would think this would be plenty of time to get checked in, customs, and whatever...not so fast my friend, this is Venezuela.

The manager and the mob.  That's Jose (Marshall's bud) just of his left shoulder.

The abnormally long line seemed to take forever to move.  By the time we got to the top 10, things were starting to get tight.  Our three hour window had shrank to 70 minutes, we didn't have a visa, and there was mass confusion about what was needed.

As we finally made our way to the front of the line, we received the news that they were out of visas and we had to wait in another line.  This new line was not the most jovial of lines and seemed to have a Dante-esq feel of despair to it.  We threw our stuff down and waited.  Slowly there started to be more of a commotion.  Groups of Venezuelans were asking about visas, arguing with the employees, and voicing their concern about getting through customs. As you can imagine, this caught our attention. 

"Who we gotta bribe to get on this plane?"

At this point, Jon and Randi started to eavesdrop on the discussions while Marshall made friends with a young man and his mom.  Soon, the manager of the airline came forward and said there was no visas.  This dog does not hunt, because if there is not visa- there is no trip.  People were really starting to lose it.  Cultural hand gestures and raised voices were paired with swarming this manager.  While the patrons were frantically gesticulating, tensions in our group started to rise.

Would we get a visa? Where do we go? What if there are no more seats? Where are we going to stay? Marshall continued to speak to the new friends, and talk with them to the employees to try to get something figured out.  Jon and Randi kept trying to decipher what the hell was going on.  Meanwhile, I popped a xanax to prep for the flight (I knew we would make it). 

That was the mood right before it turned out ok. 

At this point the scene was about two straws from chaos and Marshall's new bud left the line and found a dude selling visa.  Seven visas to be exact.  Five for us and two for him.  Perfect.  No we had to continue to jockey for position and figure out just what is going on and how to get us on the plan.  Turns out they overbooked the plain, but since we already had tickets paid for in October and the visas, we got shuttled to another line where after making a phone call and shooting a text, they guy certified us to travel.  Problem was, Marshall's new friend couldn't get on this plane and had to take the next one (three days later- we know this because we ran into him on the flight back).

The five us take off from the line, hustle to customs, fill out our forms and get through security. At the last stop before hitting the terminal, the customs agent I was funneled to noticed something odd.  I was in Venezuela on a family visa.  I had no idea, and the two other times coming into this country no one else said anything.  I have no idea who my family are here, but I feel bad I haven't visited them.  After calling Jon and Randi over for help, the guy had a laugh with us and we finally hit the road to our gate.

We hustled about, grabbed some food, and shortly thereafter were called to board.  We went down a flight of stairs and waited in another what... yep, another line (you probably didn't guess it).  They had to take groups in a bus to our plane via the tarmac.  Yeah man, that's old school.  We finally reached the old bird, took our seats, and promptly drifted to sleep.  

Now the not so fun part. 

We get off the plane and walk through the terminal to the customs lines and wait in a groggy state.  It was about 1AM and everyone was kind of out of it.  Slowly and surely the lines moved up and we were next.  While we were sized up and passports investigated, we had to remember to tell them to not stamp the passport. 

1AM customs.  Lucky line number 13.

Things went according to plan for all of us sans two.  Yep.  Passports stamped- this was not good.  This was not good at all.  Cue the brief shower of terror.  Luckily the group rebounded, we figured we couldn't do anything about it now and we had some time to figure out what to do.  

We changed currency, got a beverage and cigar, and finally hailed a cab to head for the hotel.  

Unfortunately it wasn't Tony Danza.

What a weird eight hour emotional roller coaster.

Hemingway

You probably don't know, but Hemingway is in my top three favorite authors.  So when we had the chance to galevant around and check out places that he hung out during his years abroad I was all about it.  

The Lonely Planet makes it easy to find these little nuggets of awesome and we quickly started checking them off.  Hemingway was a cosmopolite (not to be confused the female semi-smut mag Cosmopolitan) and a man that pushed the envelope.  While I don't idolize the un-virtuous aspects of his life, there are very admirable qualities of the guy.  He was fearless, confident in his own zen, and had a unique perspective on how to live life (even though he fell short in some spots).  All in all, you can't say he got cheated and his work will stand strong against the ages.  

The short of it is the guy was a bad ass and Jon and I were stoked to follow his old trails.  

Enough of an intro onto the photo tour:

In front of the.. well you can read it.  Hemingway's favorite daiquiri. 

Inside the bar.

The man (on the right).

I think we'd be a power trio.  Maybe jazz fusion or prog rock.  

Hemingway's onetime semi-permanent residence. 

Roof top view. 

Other side. 

My first of two mojitos.  Seriously, not really my deal- too classy. 

En route to room 511.

This plaque was approved by the people for Jonathan Moreno Ramirez.

"It's Herbie Hancock."

Coolest bar on the whole island.  Hemingway's mojito joint. 

Nat King Cole's autograph is somewhere on this wall. 

'Nough said.

The Dude abides. 

The Hemingway stamp of approval. 

Telegrams congratulating him on his Nobel Prize. If you don't know google it. 

Yep, that's creepy. 

Hemingway and the winner of his fishing tournament.  I wonder what happened to that guy?

That typewriter wrote Old Man and Sea, Death in the Afternoon, and a little book called For Whom the Bell Tolls- you may have heard of them.  

Man that trophy is nice, I wonder who that guy is. 

The view from room 511.

The setting for Old Man and the Sea.

Hemingway used to hangout in the this old Spanish Fort.

That dude needs to shave. 

Another shot of the Old Man and the Sea setting. 

Remember anything from Spanish II? Ready... GO!

Some hairy guy next to the Hemingway bust. 

The bar referenced in Old Man and the Sea. 

Ryan Robinson's Links of Knowledge 

Some hot action in Valencia the past few days.

Big butt problems in Venezuela.

The Venezuela air-travel paradox. 

On the US front: Heartland is hurting, 70/99 Iowa counties are losing people.

Well this old boy needs to hit the hay.

However, I do have a request.  If you have a free minute and a chance to shoot my family a positive thought and/or a prayer we'd greatly appreciate it.  We are dealing with some challenging circumstances and could use your support, while respecting our privacy. Thanks.

Due to the above circumstance, I may miss the scheduled blog time but we'll see.

Thanks for following along and have a great week.

Until Next Time,

KRS