Taganga, Colombia... Maracaibo, Venezuela

After a mostly uneventful stay in Barranquilla, I went to a little fishing village on the beach called Taganga. Ultra-relaxing. I'll miss that place, and the friends I made there. I also DJed in a bar called Garaje, but that pretty much sucked -- their equipment was shit, and people kept asking me to play -- guess who? -- Bob Marley. And music that isn't old. Christ. On Friday, I left Taganga and headed for Maracaibo, Venezuela. My plan was to go out Friday night in Maracaibo and then grab a bus or a plane to Merida. But the trip was a nightmare. Nuff said. I didn't get into Maracaibo until 2am. So I grabbed a room in whatever hotel I could find and crashed.

Apparently I was really exhausted, because I didn't wake up until after 11am. Too late to get the bus to Merida. So I get in touch with a couchsurfer named Luis. He shows me around his town (which looks amazingly like Los Angeles) and helps me find a hotel (Thomas from France already had his couch). Later on we go out to a fancy discoteca with guys in suits at the door. A place I would never enter -- and they didn't want to let me in. I had a lot of fun though, except for when Luis's girlfriends kept insisting that I dance. To reggaeton? You gotta be kidding. Actually I know I'd have more fun if I did, but... uff... I guess I'm not THAT desperate to have fun. Besides, I was havin a swell time sittin in my chair and watching the throngs of slick-haired, button-up shirt dudes and their high-heeled, totally made-up (and quite hot) lady friends arrive while I sipped my tequilas and beers.

We stayed out pretty late, and got pretty drunk. The music was all the same crap that I've been hearing on this trip -- especially in Panama. The same pop, reggaeton, and commercial techno-salsa hits, oh joy. Then we went to another bar, and -- guess what? -- they played exactly the same songs. My new friends didn't care -- they danced to them all again. Good for them. After that was finally over, we went to eat some late night greasy grub. I had a patacon, which was a sandwich with carne asada inside, but instead of bread, there was fried smashed bananas. Una bomba atomica in the stomica.

At 9:30 this morning I got on a bus bound for Merida. Nine (!) hours later I arrived, and I'm now hangin in my dad's cousin's apartment. Tonight it's raining.