I returned last week from Aruba, after enjoying a six-day stay with Kathryn over there. I must admit that I’m still a bit in aftershock. My trip really began on an early Friday, two weeks ago, even though my plane did depart on Saturday. Why? Let’s face it: getting my sorry ass out of the jungle isn’t for the fainthearted, since I have no friends or acquaintances who could conveniently drop me at the airport during the wee hours of a Saturday morning.
I have every intention to chronicle this trip in my usual ironic way, since it was a very important event in my life, as the series of blog posts that follows will attest.
That day started rather ominous; it was raining (as always, duh!) but I was fortunate enough to have a neighbor give me a ride to La Recta de Caucagua, at least saving me from walking the 2-3 miles out of the housing development where I reside. The picture to the left depicts La Recta, which is just a straight three-mile, two-lane highway that connects the only supermarket in the area with the main town. See that red circle, highlighted by a bright yellow and red arrow? That marks the town borders and it’s halfway the road that I still have to walk.
By the way, this picture was taken sometime around 8 AM and the weather was already showing a very bad attitude towards me right then. It was drizzling every five minutes and only the occasional sliver of sun was able to make it through the overcast skies above.
It’s a very lonesome road, with only the sound of the passing cars that rush past to keep you company. Of course, I could have taken the bus from the supermarket to town and save myself the hassle, but why hurry? I had a whole day to reach my intended destination and the prospect of reaching the airport too early didn’t really excite me much.
Anyway, I couldn’t but resist the temptation to do a final roundup of scrap metal scavenging before embarking on this little adventure (as the picture at the right shows). I was opening a can (pun definitely intended) of worms with this, you know; what if the guy that buys them out from me wasn’t open that day? It was early Friday and the locals are known to goof off the day before any given weekend. If this was the case, all my work picking up aluminum cans would be lost. What could I do with them? The guys running the bus to Caracas wouldn’t allow me to board it while carrying two filthy bags smelling of stale beer. Of course, I could conceal them under some brush and come back for them a week later, but my chances of this were few. I tried this ploy a couple of times and the bags weren’t there when I returned for them even only a day after.
I nerved myself and headed straight to the place where I could ditch my crushed cans.
Fortunately, nothing of this happened and I was able to exchange nearly six pounds of cans for the measly sum of 87 bolivars. In the end I was glad of this, since the money proved useful to cover some unexpected expenses I met along the way.
So, I was now relieved of my smelly cargo and it was still early: 9 AM. Where to now?
Onward to the bus!
Well, that’s about it for now. Stay tuned for the continuation of this exciting (YAWN!) journey!>