Depressing

Wake up early &; yes - no power. Continually getting dreams about
missing planes. I just hope they're not a taster for what I have in
store. Bit of breakfast, then shower &; then another hunt for a cash
machine that works. Still no joy, but have e-mailed Keels, so hopefully
he could sort something by tomorrow, otherwise a night on the streets
or round Horace &; Jorges beckons. Both options don't exactly fill
me with glee. The biggest problem will come when I've got to pay
airport tax at Caracas. Maybe a visit to the British Embassy in Caracas
will be my only option. What an absolute arse though. Considering
charging my bank a fee for the waste of time &; inaccessibility of
MY money. That's all well &; good, but doesn't exactly help my
scenario at the moment.

I had shit loads of e-mails though - took an hour to get through them
all. Heard from the chick, which was cool &; got a picture of a
'broken' penis sent to me from Keels. There just happened to be about
six strangers standing around me when the picture appeared on the
screen. Comments on how peculiar my friends were, did the rounds of Bum
Bum Tours.

Met up with Jorge &; literally spent another 4 hours visiting banks
&; shops that accept visa, attempting to get money. Nuttin'.
Supposedly visa do not recognise my bank now. It was quite funny
actually. There's sixties acid &; coke casualty Jorge, looking like
a burnt out hippie, calling the bank manager a fool. He told him he
would never work for Banco Union, because they're all idiots. Still
didn't exactly help my cause, but he did me proud in trying to help. I
honestly don't know what the problem could be &; am now getting
particularly worried. The Venezuelan Andes aren't exactly the best
place to be stuck with bugger all money. A visit to the British
Consulate looks like it is going to be the only option. I'm finishing
my stint in Venezuela the same way I started it. Rich man / poor man
type deal. It's driven me to imbibing my first libation of the trip. It
was this weird stuff called Chicito. A mixture of about 28 local herbs
&; booze. Bit of a throat burner.

The concept of losing &; winning games has seriously come into play
here. Jorge insists on trying every bank in town, (each attempt is a
new game), which wouldn't be bad if we had a car, as Merida is a fair
old sized town &; it's pissing down with rain. But we haven't &;
I've just stood in a minor lake with nothing but a pair of pumps on my
feet. Fooking hell, this is getting depressing. Every single game was
lost, even though we played about five at every cash machine within two
mile square miles.