Venezuela 委内瑞拉 8/2014

I came to this country on business, but squeezed in some time to take a peek.

Venezuela is no stranger to making international news in the past few decades. From the time of its former leader Hugo Chavez, it constantly has poked the eyeballs of the Americans. The cynicism swirls around the fact that a country with the world’s largest oil reserve remains so destitute.

It was an unsafe and volatile country. I was driven to a section of the capital, Caracas, in what felt like a bulletproof car. A large procession, some on their bikes while others on foot, the color distinctly red, marched in a street demonstration, noisy and boisterous. For a tourist out looking for excitement, it was carnival-like, but one could feel the tense and tentative air. I was later driven to another, more affluent, part of the city for more sightseeing. The contrast could not have been more stark. Young people distributed political pamphlets on the streets, and at traffic junctions advocating opposing ideology. The air was astir with fervor, but there was no formation. This was a country where some wanted to turn right, and others left, the bifurcation so visible that no wonder it continues to be mired to this day.

Local acquaintances cautioned me not to venture out on the streets on my own, but I could not help myself. I wandered out with childlike curiosity, but quickly withdrew into my hotel. I could feel the insecurity. The driver took me out in his car to the money changers. I was repeatedly reminded to remain in the car like a good boy while he hopped into an obscure exchange bureau. He was obviously on edge throughout, always alert and constantly on the lookout. I enjoyed the thrill of dangers.

The country’s economic troubles could be seen in its exchange rate. The official rate differed vastly from the black market rate, reminding me of Zimbabwe. This country was in a lamentable state.

One day, I was chauffeured to visit Hugo Chavez. I was a few years too late, so I could only see him at the mausoleum. At the gate, my driver tried to convince the security guards to let him park the car within the security gate. He tried his best in his Spanish, which sounded all Greek to me. Our car was eventually allowed in. Once in, the driver explained to me he had told the guard I came from China, that I was a high-ranking communist party officer here to pay my respects to their late great leader. Now that we have lied our way through the gate, he asked that I continue to act like I was indeed a communist from China, a VIP. Thinking that I was indeed a comrade and a VIP, they assigned a veteran loyalist for a free one-to-one guided tour. On display was also Mr. Mao’s red book. I was surprised by how socialistic they were. After the tour, the driver complimented my acting. That fella, I really wanted to smack him on the wrist. This was a memorable day—I was within five feet of Hugo Chavez, a colorful character who dared to call the then U.S. President the devil before the world. I became a communist and a humbug today. I was playing a dangerous game of playing along.

The driver also took me to a more affluent suburb. It was a sunny weekend; we joined other locals hiking up the mountain. I felt involved in the local activities. The turmoil beyond seemed remote. I reached the top of the hiking trail more than 10 minutes ahead of my driver, waiting for his arrival with a cheeky wide grin. He asked me, panting heavily, how old I was. After revealing I was a good 10 to 15 years older, he explained he only just quit cigarettes.

On the climb up to the top, outdoor gym equipment was set up at various points. Young people hung around the gyms in the open-area pumping iron, showing off their six-packs and their greasy and dancing man boobs. I asked the driver why the obsession with the V shape? The driver explained, “No body, no honey”, that’s the way to attract the girls here. Good time, bad time, romance must go on.

Hiking around here, we came across a highway closed to traffic for a few hours on a weekend so the people could use it for recreational activities. I sat at the bottom of the hill to see and enjoy the exhilaration of joggers, rollerbladers, cyclists, and street luges that came charging downhill at high speed. What a fantastic idea! What a wonderful time!

On a day out with the driver, we went along the beach. The locals were out enjoying the sea as if everything was normal. Young people energeticlly danced to the drumbeat on the beach. It was all so free-spirited. The girls shook their butts so fast it was like uncontrolled twitching. But it was so spontaneous, so passionate. Good time, bad time, the party must go on.

4/2015 年委内瑞拉出差，百忙中抽空了解这里风土人情。这是个国际新闻焦点国家，从查韦斯开始就是没间断过。经常听到的讽刺议论是一个世界储油量最多的国家为何沦落得如此潦倒。我到这里时这国家已经动荡不安，入不敷出，内部分歧难以弥合，社会极度不安全。我在城市的一面看到一帮红色的人群，举着无星红旗，骑着电单车和步行的，在大街浩浩荡荡游行。在城市另一面，中上层次的住宅区年轻人在街道派发传单宣传不同政治观点。这是个社会矛盾明显国家，在小距离里并存的两极化，使人担忧。

当地熟人提醒这里治安不好，要像缩头乌龟，最好不要外出。但我还是按捺不住，像傻子一样张望一会后就逃回酒店安分了。驾驶员带我外出换币时总是再三叮嘱要安分呆在车内不要抛头露面。他火速换后缵入车内一溜烟走了。危险加刺激，特别享受。

官方汇率跟黑市汇率是天渊之别的，使我想起同病相怜的津巴布韦。一个国家两个市场，一黑一正，当大家都无奈往黑市走，这国家问题就大了。

有一天司机带我瞻仰查韦斯陵墓。在大门前司机跟保安交涉让他把车停到大铁门内。我没听懂他跟保安的西班牙语的交涉，但他做到了。进入大门后，他说他向陵墓人员介绍我是中国来的高级党员，到此瞻仰他们伟大领导。这家伙图小方便把我套进去了，既然已走到这步，只恁他摆布，按他意思，把高官角色继续演下去。误以为我是高官，还安排导游给我个别讲解。在这里还展示毛主席的小红皮书，很意外他们对社会主义热忱。出大铁门后，司机大赞我演技精湛，我还真想把他修理一下。因为他，我今天成为乌龙骗局的主角。

司机把我带到他附近小区，是个中上层社区，白人较多。这是周末，一切那么宁静，居民陆续到这儿爬山，都是人走出来的坡道，外面的动荡远在天边。我比司机早十分爬到山顶，他到山顶上上气不接下气，弯着腰喘气，不服的问我今年几岁了。当我回答我比他大十到十五岁，他找借口说他刚戒烟。兄弟们，该戒烟了吧！上坡路上几处平地块设了简单露天健身机械，男生都裸着上身使劲举铁举重强身壮体，汗流浃背，六块腹肌，抖动的肌胸，非常的认真，非常的投入。我仔细看他们的身材，不能说都是肌肉男，但都是那V字形身材。我就好奇问司机这里健身文化，他嬉皮笑脸说，没魔鬼身材是吸引不到仙女的。无论什么时势，爱情是势不可挡的。

在这山林爬山来到坡底，一条宽阔高速公路可是没看到车辆通行，市民说每月固定一个周末几小时大道被封闭给老百姓户外活动。我静坐草地乘凉，看着跑步的，骑自行车的，滑轮的，滑板的，街道雪橇，从坡顶飞驰而下；没乌烟瘴气和噪音，只有笑容笑声，这是委内瑞拉该有的日子。

司机有一天载我沿海滩游一圈，当地的人们也在沙滩玩水，年轻人围绕着音乐的鼓动激情的舞动，那臀部颤动得如被电击不停抽搐, 男女互动，挑逗，调情，都那么即兴，那么奔放。更是动乱，更要抓紧弄时间；无论什么时势，派对还是要开的。