8.45pm, Wednesday May 27, Rodavia bus station ....the best part begins

I am starting a new notebook! And I forgot to bring a pen. This little pencil will only last so long since I can't sharpen it, only pick at it.

At 10.45pm I will take a night bus to Cumana, which is near the beaches of Maracaibo and the beaches of Isle Margarita. I will meet MM (female), who has recommended me a cheap hostel, in Cumana. MS (male), who lives on Margarita, will host me (with his family) and help me organise my further travels to Canaima and Amazonas. This is, of course, thanks to S.

I have given in on my plans to be strong and do this travelling thing by myself. As usual I expressed my anxieties - making poor S worry for me and organise others to help me. This is a point of couchsurfing, I suppose, but I'm not as fearful as I sound. I am anxious beforehand, but I know things are usually fine when I get where I'm going - all my difficulties so far, while throwing me into funks, have been minor. Nevertheless, I am happy to have MS to help with organisation and S's 2001 Lonely Planet Venezuela with maps - though it does make the load I have to carry on my back heavier.

I also have S's old mobile phone, which She insisted I take, so my technology-less plans are also only a heroic ideal. S feels better being able to know that I am safe. It does make things considerably easier, except that now I have to make sure not to lose the phone. Here, every other street stalls sell phone recharge cards - a much better system than Australia's.

I am taking the more expensive bus to Cumana. It is really only a few more American dollars, but again I feel like I'm chickening out from an authentic experience. I was worried that the cheaper bus won't have toilets. Seriously, this is my only concern! I have visions of those hardy folk who travel in rickety buses with chickens. I'd love to be that sort, but my bladder... maybe one day, when I'm more experienced with all this, or can ask if there are plenty of toilet stops.

Today was a very low-key day. I am strangely tired - now and earlier. I had a decent night's sleep, waking up at 8.30am surprisingly ready to get out of bed. F was gone for his torture at Guantanamo (physical therapy) and I had the apartment to myself. I decided to have a go at making arepas. It is simple: mix water and arepa cornflour until the right consistency, put in salt as well, make into a ball, flatten and put on the hot plate. I made two and ate them with black beans and mozzarella. It was too much food. I was stuffed. I did dishes and then grabbed my book. I read for a short time in a way I haven't been able to in awhile. I was waiting for F to come home at 11.00am, when I would accompany him to the bank to transfer money. I felt so tired around 11.30am while reading that I lay down and napped until noon.

I spent the afternoon with F and A. F made us butter-sauteed plantains with cheese in the middle and black beans. I was stuffed again. We also downed a bottle of Chilean white wine together, while F talked about his childhood and studies and lifestyle. We agreed we each are weird compared to our peers. He finds other elderly gentlemen too conservative and makes friends with the couchsurfers. I told him my friends are often older. Two glasses of wine made me tired again and the third woke me up to tipsiness.

When F and I went out to run our errands we passed a truck full of little mangos at half the price S bought them for at the market two days previously (1 kilo eaten in two days!): 2 kilos for $5 bolivars. So F bought 4 kilos. I ate 2 mangos when I got home and now have an allergic reation - itchy around the mouth. If I don't scratch too much I should be fine. After my zits have finally gone the last thing I want is a blown-up red face. But mangoes are always worth the risk.

S came home at 5.00, earlier than expected. Around 6.30pm, a little restless, I invited A for a walk and she wanted to know where to, so I said 'Por helado'. She definitely was up for ice-cream. I was still stuffed, really, but... The gelato wasn't as good as what we had at the mall. I had Oreo and lime flavours, but the lime was creamy as well as limey (when I said this and S tasted it, she laughed and laughed - because it was true!, unexpected, and not very good). Lime here is called limon and lemons are called limes. Their relative prices are reversed as well, with limes coming cheap and commonly available and lemons expensive and harder to come by.

While walking I asked S about her couchsurfing experience, specifically how many weeks out of the year she spends alone. She has had 30 couchsurfers already and has only been in couchsurfing for a year. She said that mostly she doesn't hang out with her surfers during the day; often they are here to study or research or just do their own thing and she takes them to a party on the weekend. Of course this news made me feel bad - that I need to be babysat. Let's face it, I do.

Violent movies accost me from the television in the bus station. Both times I've looked up at the screen it showed a roomful of men pointing guns at each other. In a city that has a problem with violence in public, why show movies such as this?