Friday Travel Stories and News 1.25.24

Welcome to the NFN8|BLUE’s(Infinite Blue 😊) Friday Travel Stories and News. Fridays will be all about different experiences and funny stories.

Unstamped Adventure: Missing Passport Stamp Tales from Venezuela

🛂I had flown to Miami from San Diego, via Dallas.  I checked into the Crown Plaza for the night before my flight the next morning.  After a decent night of sleep I awoke to a beautiful Florida sunrise over the Atlantic.  I was ready in 30 minutes and out of the hotel enroute to the airport.  This was going to be a crazy 8 hours.  I was heading to Marcaibo, Venezuela and didn't even check out of my hotel.

🛂I had prepped for this trip, I was going to Marcaibo to get measurements of the ticket counter area for the airline in which we were going to install new kiosks.  Given that I connected through Dallas and Miami, I should be able to figure out which airline that might have been.  I had contacted the station manager and she would be meeting me at the plane in Marcaibo.  

🛂The flight was a quick 2.5 hours and I had to move fast upon arrival, I was catching the same plane back to Miami.  Upon stepping off of the aircraft, the station manager was right there to greet me.  We went straight to the front of the customs line.  There, we met a very big man who was "in charge" of customs.  The station manager explained what I was doing there and shooed us through; no stamp, nothing showing that I had even entered the country.   Already feeling a bit uneasy.

🛂We hurried to the ticket counter and I quickly got out my laser and graph paper.  As I began to get the dimensions of the space, the station manager ran to the back office.  After a minute or two I turned around to see two Venezuelan guards with M-16's in my face and yelling at me in Spanish.  I know some Spanish but they were going way to fast and loud for me to understand anything.  My first thought, “if they ask for my passport and realize I entered the country without going through customs, I am done!” After a few seconds of getting yelled at, the station manager returned and let them have it, thankfully.  She looked at me, says, "Are you done, cause you gotta go."  

🛂In Marcaibo, you go back through customs on the way out.  The nice lady asked for my passport, I handed it to her, she looked at me and asked, "Where did you come from and where is your stamp?"  I look at the station manger and she starts yelling at her, and then a minute later "the very big man" came back, dismissed the customs agent and shooed me back through again.  Back on the plane and in the air, there was a ton of relief.  I was upgraded to 1st class and definitely had a cocktail….. or three.  

🛂I won’t ever enter another country without a stamp upon entry!!

-Jamie

Search for Come(Co-May) - You Must Be Looking For Come -By Peter Ramseier

Part 3

🌍I stood at the top of the jet stairs, closed my eyes and inhaled.  The warm, humid, motionless air mixed with the sounds and smells of Burundi.  Anxious to get through the immigration line, I snapped out of it and bounded down the stairs.  By the time my passport was stamped I was drenched in sweat.  Yep, that’s how I remember it.  Hot and humid.  I grabbed my two checked bags which were full of kids clothes to distribute as I knew there would be a need somewhere and made it to the front of the terminal.  “Act like you know what you’re doing and where you’re going”, this is key when traveling to any “third” world country.  There is never a shortage of advantage takers.  I walked over to an empty taxi and in perfect Kirundi asked him how much it would cost to take me to Hotel Botanika.  We eventually agreed on a fare and headed down the road towards the capital of Bujumbura.  We spoke about the purpose of my trip and he offered some tips on safety when in and around the city.  “You won’t have many problems because you speak Kirundi” he told me.  “Yeah, we’ll see.”, was my response.

🌍Hotel Botanika is a small “boutique” hotel on Boulevard de l’Uprona.  The security gate opens into a small courtyard with a restaurant and small bar.  It is a fantastic place to stay.  It’s clean, has AC, the restaurant serves delicious food and the staff is wonderful.  I arrived around 9pm so the restaurant was full.  The barman cleared a spot for me at the end of the bar and brought me some samosas, fries, and a Primus (the local beer).  I thought I was in heaven.  By the time I laid down for the night I was exhausted.  Not even the beats from Havana Club across the street could keep me awake.

🌍At 5am I awoke with chills.  The good kind.  The local Imam was announcing the call to prayer.  One of the most hauntingly beautiful sounds.  A sound I miss, and I’m not Muslim.  It was as though he was welcoming me and praying for my success. He wasn’t, but it felt like it to me.  After breakfast I gathered my thoughts and headed to the street.  This was it!  The search begins now.  I walked down to the corner where about 20 cabs were parked.  The drivers were in a full conversation about something so I waited.  One of them noticed me and hurried over to his car and motioned for me.  We settled on $30 for the whole day, down from $60.  When I told him where we were going he looked a little worried.  Why are you going there?  That is not for muzungu (roughly translated, whitey).  My explanation seemed to calm him so we headed in the direction of Muzinda.  He had to drop me off on the side of RN9 because the road up to Kivoga was not passable.  I walked the mile long road that cut through a palm tree forest and remarked that this used to be a coffee plantation. The road ended and I looked up the hill through the sweat pouring down my face at Lycee Maranatha de Kivoga. 

Lycee Maranatha de Kivoga: The school where my dad taught French and was the principal when I was ages 4-9.  I walked along the pathway that lead to my house, there it was, kinda run down.  I remember my dad painting it with some friends one night to the light of four 4x4’s because of the oppressive heat during the day.  I looked over the old muddy soccer field where I learned to ride a bike and would slide in the red mud after a rain in my underwear.  There weren’t many people around but those that were would exchange greetings with me and then laugh and shake their heads at my language skills.  I noticed an elderly man coming up a path towards me.  He looked vaguely familiar.  He walked right up to me and said “Hello Peta, where are Jimmy and Johnny?” (my brothers).  I was shocked!  It had been over 35 years and this guy recognized me!  Big smile on his face and said. “You must be looking for Come.”

-Peter Ramseier

Til next time,

-Jamie and Ashley