I take a one hour hike up some mountain road to a Frenchmans farm for some horseback riding. After fending off the advances of a spunky young horse that kept biting me, we rode through some Andes trails. It was a bit scary to look down the edge of cliffs and realize your life is in entrusted with a horse. In my case, it was Russo, a bastard of a horse that didn’t respect me. He would randomly stop and start eating. The Frenchman would yell at me, shouting “Control your horse!” and “Give it character.. energy!” I had to grab on Russo’s hair and whip the hell out of until it knew who was boss, very similar to how one would command respect from a woman.
The Frenchman was actually a very interesting character. He was tall and had long hippy hair that he kept in a ponytail. Fifteen years ago, he was living on some boat in the Caribbean when a hurricane forced him to make land fall in Venezuela. Without knowing any Spanish, he lived in the barrios of Caracas for six months. “For what they lack in money, they make up in heart.” He then found his way to Merida, where he met his wife. I asked him if he ever thought about going back to France, and he said no.
In Europe and the United States, there’s a lot of regulations and rules to have a secure life and comfortable lifestyle. Everyone gets in their cars, with their seat belt, air bag, and insurance, yet everyone is scared to get into an accident because they know it will still cost them. You pay for all these things to be comfortable yet at the end of the year you have no money.
All these Western countries say how there are free, but with all those rules it’s a dictatorship in disguise.
I agree with him. But this freedom that he has comes at a cost of giving up the comfort and security that we take for granted here. Apparently him and many other Europeans living in Venezuela don’t mind.
It was time to say goodbye to Merida and Venezuela, with a final flight to Caracas before I head back home. There was still one challenge remaining: I had to walk 1.5 miles to the airport at 5am with my backpack. While Merida isn’t a dangerous city, this walk would be like walking through Northeast DC in the middle of the night. If you get robbed you’re friends would first say, “What were you thinking?”
There was quite a few people milling around that early in the morning. Vendors setting up shop for the day. People stumbling home from another crazy Wednesday night. I was almost at the airport when a scooter with two guys passed me. They immediately made a u-turn and I mentally accepted that I was going to get robbed. In that moment you think of what to do: run, use the backpack as a weapon, or fight back with yellow belt Taekwondo skills. Thankfully, they left me alone.
On the plane ride back to the U.S. I was fortunate enough to sit next to a friendly Venezuelan woman, who reminded me of how great the women there are. Since my return here I have very little motivation to go out… no desire to chat up the materialistic zombie women who are mediocre in bed. But horniness and an endless alcohol budget are powerful when combined, so I predict that in two weeks you’ll see me out trying to grind on the easiest girl in the club. Venezuela, shantytowns and all, will be missed.
Here is my updated, international women rating guide. The values from the previous rating have been rescaled. Venezuela is heaven for ass-men. Even the girls who don’t have ass, have ass. God bless ’em.
|American Girls||Venezuelan Girls||Italian Girls|