Pueblo Viejo, El Morro Complex

November 9

Spanish vocabulary has tripled since Thursday and, yet, cluelessness reigns. Greatest proficiency occurs during complimentary exercises of ordering a beer and finding the bathroom. Have met long-time, seasonal, resident gringos who no hablo Espanol. Have no idea how they get along as few locals, even those performing work at the marina, habla Ingles... at all.

Have no recollection of ever hearing a Venezuelan talk on the VHF radio. Every transmission is shouted in full voice with great enthusiasm. Often the same words over and over and over. Maintain some curiousity as to what's being said, but suspect it would not be terribly instructive. As an advocate of having a passion in one's life, dislike to complain, but prefer a more muted expression. ('muted passion' - oxymoron? See unlikely-to-be-written monographs: "Passion vs. A Passion" or "Conflating Disparate Ideas into a Single Word, From Big Bang to Now")

Snapshots of day: First, took jerry cans via dinghy to fuel dock for 10 gals. diesel, 5 gas. A local, who arrived just prior, a quardia, who arrived just after, and I loitered with an employee and a fifth guy for 30 min. awaiting man with key who then loitered with us, between asking details on how much fuel was wanted and location of boat, for another 15 before explaining that 60 liters of fuel, previously 60 Bs would now cost 1000. Second, retrieved VHF when electronics technician who was to check it out Friday, then this morning, then this afternoon, might get to it manana por la manana. Third, returned as advised for clean laundry at 1600. Re-returned at 1700 for new advice to expect it at 1000 tomorrow. No mention will be made of breakfast or unfilled Scuba tank.

Inclination to leave grows as there is little to do except shop (sound of loud buzzer), work on boat or work/play on computer. If laundry materializes (pun intended? You decide) and departure papers are completed will not slam the door as I skedaddle at 0-dark hundred Wednesday.

Jack