I am bitten by multiple mosquitoes. There don't appear to be any glass windows in this house: just bars. This keeps the house cool but full of mosquitoes. I think I am the only one who gets bitten. I have mosquito bites all over my legs, feet and fingers. The rash on my left arm seems to be growing in proportion with the shrinking of my eye.
I've put on a load of washing and handwashed my sarong and shirt and, ah, I will have clean clothes again (though I have not been smelly at all while travelling). Three couchsurfers just arrived - N, C and S (male). There will be a lot of Spanish spoken tonight, I suspect.
Oi, I'm really not up for being social in a language I don't speak. I haven't had a chance to be alone in the past couple of days. The problem with Venezuela is that there is no point in saying, I'll just go for a walk. There's really nowhere to go - it isn't pretty or interesting to walk around - just walls, gates and garbage-dribbled empty lots. Otherwise, I would go for a walk now.
Yesterday afternoon, MS and I went to the beach. I was starving. We walked in the heat along deserted roads and caught a bus to the local beach - the one used by Margarita families rather than tourists. First we walked through an old fortification currently being renovated and with a good view overlooking the ocean. Inside the walls, we walked onto a stone floor with pink-painted galleries on four sides, one of which had been a prison. Up stairs on the far end was a rampart with a view.
view from Castillo de San Carlos Borromeo
MS said that private companies put on concerts here but the locals protested because it is a public place. The guard at the door told MS that the government has now agreed to hold any events open to the public and Castillo de San Carlos Borromeo will have longer opening hours.
At a bakery I got something for breafast called a quesadilla, but it bore no resemblance to the Mexican kind. It was a bready pastry with a strange topping. Apple, I think, but exceedingly sweet with an indescribable odd flavour that I couldn't stomach. I ate around the topping but the quesadilla was only small. Mostly I drank Coke Zero. After finally filling my stomach, I went into the water. Pampatar was full (but not overfull) of people, mostly families with lots of cute little girls. The water was waveless and a few small yachts floated nearby. The beachside stalls were better upkept then at Playa el Agua and there were fewer people selling jewellery on boards and handing us artworks. There was an ice-cream seller with a computerised repetitious melody that drove us a little batty. MS and I played in the water, we sat in the shade cast by palms on the beach and MS taught me the words for sand, palms, clouds and boats (arena, palmeras, ollas, botes). I was also dealing with my discomfort with public displays of affection, especially when the boy displaying affection is not a long-term partner. Clearly, though, my discomfort was limited...
Despite the calmness of the water I like Pampatar better than Agua - it has more character and feeling. I've discovered that palms do not necessarily make a beach beautiful. They can just simply be there in the background not making much of an impression.
Pampatar beach
For our evening snack MS made chapatis - lovely, warm, dense and chewy - which we ate with pumpkin soup made by MS's sister. I went grocery shopping with MS to an enormous supermarket. It wasn't white like in America and Australia, so was more pleasant, with huge aisles. Nevertheless it was crowded.
MS invited me to his room that evening, which he built in the back of the courtyard. He meant to build two little flats, but inflation rose and he could no longer afford the building materials. The rectangular building remains hollow except for the one finished room with beautiful decorative wooden girders. We had a great night in that room.
I've put on a load of washing and handwashed my sarong and shirt and, ah, I will have clean clothes again (though I have not been smelly at all while travelling). Three couchsurfers just arrived - N, C and S (male). There will be a lot of Spanish spoken tonight, I suspect.
Oi, I'm really not up for being social in a language I don't speak. I haven't had a chance to be alone in the past couple of days. The problem with Venezuela is that there is no point in saying, I'll just go for a walk. There's really nowhere to go - it isn't pretty or interesting to walk around - just walls, gates and garbage-dribbled empty lots. Otherwise, I would go for a walk now.
Yesterday afternoon, MS and I went to the beach. I was starving. We walked in the heat along deserted roads and caught a bus to the local beach - the one used by Margarita families rather than tourists. First we walked through an old fortification currently being renovated and with a good view overlooking the ocean. Inside the walls, we walked onto a stone floor with pink-painted galleries on four sides, one of which had been a prison. Up stairs on the far end was a rampart with a view.
view from Castillo de San Carlos Borromeo
MS said that private companies put on concerts here but the locals protested because it is a public place. The guard at the door told MS that the government has now agreed to hold any events open to the public and Castillo de San Carlos Borromeo will have longer opening hours.
At a bakery I got something for breafast called a quesadilla, but it bore no resemblance to the Mexican kind. It was a bready pastry with a strange topping. Apple, I think, but exceedingly sweet with an indescribable odd flavour that I couldn't stomach. I ate around the topping but the quesadilla was only small. Mostly I drank Coke Zero. After finally filling my stomach, I went into the water. Pampatar was full (but not overfull) of people, mostly families with lots of cute little girls. The water was waveless and a few small yachts floated nearby. The beachside stalls were better upkept then at Playa el Agua and there were fewer people selling jewellery on boards and handing us artworks. There was an ice-cream seller with a computerised repetitious melody that drove us a little batty. MS and I played in the water, we sat in the shade cast by palms on the beach and MS taught me the words for sand, palms, clouds and boats (arena, palmeras, ollas, botes). I was also dealing with my discomfort with public displays of affection, especially when the boy displaying affection is not a long-term partner. Clearly, though, my discomfort was limited...
Despite the calmness of the water I like Pampatar better than Agua - it has more character and feeling. I've discovered that palms do not necessarily make a beach beautiful. They can just simply be there in the background not making much of an impression.
Pampatar beach
For our evening snack MS made chapatis - lovely, warm, dense and chewy - which we ate with pumpkin soup made by MS's sister. I went grocery shopping with MS to an enormous supermarket. It wasn't white like in America and Australia, so was more pleasant, with huge aisles. Nevertheless it was crowded.
MS invited me to his room that evening, which he built in the back of the courtyard. He meant to build two little flats, but inflation rose and he could no longer afford the building materials. The rectangular building remains hollow except for the one finished room with beautiful decorative wooden girders. We had a great night in that room.
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WELL???
ReplyDeleteDoes the american girl realise she left her heart is in Venezuela or does she return to Melbourne's sub-par beaches?
Sounds like you're having fun anyway :)
V
Keep reading for the rest of the story. (Let's just say a: I'm returning to Melb on Monday and b: I'm going back to South America ASAP)
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