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Bus ride into the clouds and then into hell!
Entry 5 of 31 | show all | print this entry |
The next morning I wondered around the Samba Grande for a few hours before catching a bus to Maracy. You know I´ve always heard that Venezuelian women are some of the most beautiful in the world!! LET ME TELL YOU! That someone must be cronically drunk or like pouches around the stomach. Don´t get me wrong, there are good looking women in Venezuela, I just can´t see any in Caracas. They are all plagued with some sort of bowel disease where the stomach protrudes 2 inches from the beginning of the belt. They seem proud of it though as they wear tight jeans and tight fitting shirts. Must be the local custom...
The bus station was the busiest one I´ve ever seen. With every terminal filled and ticket office backed up, I was flabergasted (¿didñ´t think I know big words huh?) After walking around for 10 minutes like a Gringo lost in Tokyo, I asked for information. As it turned out I only had to take a two hour ($2) local bus. That was easy enough. The ride was uneventful minus the couple infront of me who thought their seat was a pay by hour motel. The bus station at Maracy wasn´t much better. Crowded, HOT and very very busy. With the help of a local vendor I was able to locate the right bus. The trip was underway.
I have never witnessed a more daring driver. Across town, over hills and into the mountains we went. The roads on the mountain were no wider than 12 feet wide. Traffic flowed both ways and there was a turn every twenty meters. Luckily the locals figured out a way to solve the problem...a very loud horn. It would be honked around every turn and bend, so that meant there was a constant flow of horns. When the bus would almost run into someone else on side has to give way which means backing up 10 meters on the side of a twisty mountain so a behemoth bus can pass. The bus always had right of way. How many times we´ve come close to hitting another car, I can´t even count (atleast not in spanish). The worst part¿ The bus caught on fire half way across the mountain. Locals rushed off the bus as the drive yelled FIRE FIRE...ofcourse myself and the two canadians onboard had no idea what happened and thought they went down to take a piss. Thirty minutes later our replacment arrived. You would think the driver learned his lesson, but this is SOUTH america where the water in the toilet flow the other way. The driver went faster and breaked less. What did this mean for us? A two hour rollercoaster ride for less than the price of a Big Mac.
Once we acrossed the peak and reached the windward side of the moutain conditions became drastically more photogenic...I say this because my pictures came out 10x more atmosphereic(is this a word) and 20x scarier. Wait till I put them online. Fog, rain, cloud, incoming cars with no headlights awaited us. We finally arrived in town at around 7. I quickly made friends with the two Canadians and together we split a room for $7. That night we walked around the town had some fish and retired to our beds. A few things I noticed...They must go fishing as soon as we order because it took about 40 minutes for the dish to come out...the town is a latin bohemian town for couples. We saw one gringo and no single girls. It sucks! On top of that the local kids seem to have a short attention span. Every minute or so a large firework would go off somewhere in town scaring the locals and annoying the hell out of me. They even set one off outside our window at the Posada.
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