TRAVEL NUGGET
I've been travelling for 36 years now, since I first went to Montreal late Spring, or was it early summer, of 1969. And I would like to share the wisdom of travel with you.
Come closer.
Closer.
"Don't expect too much; and don't expect too little."
Got it?
It simply takes years to learn stuff, sometimes.
PBB
Saturday, June 19, 2004
TOUR
I took a very quick tour of the Capitolio yesterday morning. If you blinked, you would have missed it.
First, we went to this room with a curved ceiling with paintings depicting the important battles in the war for independence. There is Simón Bólivar on his horse, at the head of his troops. Those were the days when leaders led, and didn't run to the nearest bunker, way down in the belly of the earth, when they received bad news. The room also had some portraits. It never occurred to me to take a picture.
We were then taken to a room where the Assembly meets. While a guide was into a two-minute explanation, he was being informed to leave. So we all did.
After making enquiries, I found the house in which the legendary man himself, Simón Bolívar was born on 24 July 1783. It takes less than a minute to realize that he was born in the lap of luxury. I plan to find out what made him tick.
PBB
I took a very quick tour of the Capitolio yesterday morning. If you blinked, you would have missed it.
First, we went to this room with a curved ceiling with paintings depicting the important battles in the war for independence. There is Simón Bólivar on his horse, at the head of his troops. Those were the days when leaders led, and didn't run to the nearest bunker, way down in the belly of the earth, when they received bad news. The room also had some portraits. It never occurred to me to take a picture.
We were then taken to a room where the Assembly meets. While a guide was into a two-minute explanation, he was being informed to leave. So we all did.
After making enquiries, I found the house in which the legendary man himself, Simón Bolívar was born on 24 July 1783. It takes less than a minute to realize that he was born in the lap of luxury. I plan to find out what made him tick.
PBB
TOUCHY-TOUCHY
If you visit Caracas -- I don't know about the rest of Venezuela -- be prepared to be touched by complete strangers. Like Jamaica, caraqueños touch quite easily, especially at parting.
But in Peru, to quote that damsel in South Pacific, "Nevah 'appen."
It took me quite a while after arriving in New York in 1968 to unlearn this touching habit. It just doesn't seem right in "civilized" society. Making contact with people, using 500 lb bombs, however, is quite acceptable.
PBB
If you visit Caracas -- I don't know about the rest of Venezuela -- be prepared to be touched by complete strangers. Like Jamaica, caraqueños touch quite easily, especially at parting.
But in Peru, to quote that damsel in South Pacific, "Nevah 'appen."
It took me quite a while after arriving in New York in 1968 to unlearn this touching habit. It just doesn't seem right in "civilized" society. Making contact with people, using 500 lb bombs, however, is quite acceptable.
PBB
PUTAS
The joke's on me. That book I bought yesterday that I thought was about Prostitution in Venezuela, is in fact about prostitution in Venezuela, but the prostitution of the media.
So I don't expect to be sending it to my friend who wrote about the traditional and age-long prostitution.
Incidentally, I believe prostitutes deserve more respect because they acknowledge the fact that they are peddling their bodies, the way I peddled my brain at various companies.
But do reporters, editors and owners in radio, television and the newspapers ever acknowledge their prostitution? Never.
PBB
The joke's on me. That book I bought yesterday that I thought was about Prostitution in Venezuela, is in fact about prostitution in Venezuela, but the prostitution of the media.
So I don't expect to be sending it to my friend who wrote about the traditional and age-long prostitution.
Incidentally, I believe prostitutes deserve more respect because they acknowledge the fact that they are peddling their bodies, the way I peddled my brain at various companies.
But do reporters, editors and owners in radio, television and the newspapers ever acknowledge their prostitution? Never.
PBB
Friday, June 18, 2004
ONE MONTH FOR HISTORY;
12 MONTHS FOR BASKETBALL
How I would love to step into a graduating, high school class and ask the students if they know who Marcus Garvey was. I suspect one or two could give me an answer.
Then I would ask if they knew who Paul Robeson was. It's possible I could get one answer.
Then I would pull this one out of the bag. Who was Robert J. Williams?
Robert J. who?
How well I remember Radio Free Dixie, broadcasting from Havana in the early sixties, the one-hour program filled with jazz and the defiant voices of Mabel Williams and her husband Robert J. Williams, coming through my Grundig radio, strong and clear. Broadcasting on 50,000 watts, Radio Free Dixie could be heard on the West Coast of the US, until the Cuban government exercised their displeasure by cutting it to about 50 watts, if memory serves.
"Radio Free Dixie," Mabel Williams would say, "invites you to listen to the free voice of the South. Stay with us for music, news and commentary by Robert F. Williams." It is not difficult to remember Williams's booming sign-off, the drums still pulsating: "Freedom, Freedom Now, or Death!"
I would tell them about this black man from Monroe, North Carolina in the Fifties, who confronted racism head one, usually a .45 in his waist, and sometimes a rifle or two in his car, and quite a few guns, rifles in his home. The dynamite would be stored outside.
A former Marine, Williams taught his wife and two young boys to shoot. Those were the days in Dixie when Blacks had zero rights, where the sidewalks weren't paved in their section, and when blacks walked in the street to leave the sidewalks free for whites.
After many summers of protests a black man, Elgie Gray, was finally hired as a policeman. Denied the use of a patrol car, Gray said: "I was told that I wasn't allowed to arrest a white person."
Summer after summer, Williams led the struggle to integrate the public pool, without success. An official explained why: "To allow negroes to swim even once a week would be too expensive because the water would have to be changed after the colored people had used it."
I would tell the students that Robert F. Williams, President of the Monroe branch of the NAACP, was suspended by the national office, headed by Roger Wilkins, who despised him, for advocating self-defense.
Robert F. Williams was a friend of Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, Juan Almeida Bosque (the Afro Cuban commander of the Cuban Army), Ho Chi Minh, Mao tse Tung, Chou en Lai, as well as a string of Americans and Canadians, many of whom were white and who helped him escape to Cuba, through Canada, when the government went after him on trumped-up charges of kidnapping.
I would tell them that Robert F. Williams was a rare, black freedom fighter and leader during the civil rights movement in that, for a man on the forefront of the right to vote, the right to integrate public facilities, who managed to die in his bed, at age 71, in 1996.
The Black Panthers were inspired by him in their approach to arming themselves; Imira Baraka credited him for his political awakening. A few of the people he inspired along the way.
I bought the book, Radio Free Dixie, on 21 April 2000, and just read it. Compelling!
PBB
12 MONTHS FOR BASKETBALL
How I would love to step into a graduating, high school class and ask the students if they know who Marcus Garvey was. I suspect one or two could give me an answer.
Then I would ask if they knew who Paul Robeson was. It's possible I could get one answer.
Then I would pull this one out of the bag. Who was Robert J. Williams?
Robert J. who?
How well I remember Radio Free Dixie, broadcasting from Havana in the early sixties, the one-hour program filled with jazz and the defiant voices of Mabel Williams and her husband Robert J. Williams, coming through my Grundig radio, strong and clear. Broadcasting on 50,000 watts, Radio Free Dixie could be heard on the West Coast of the US, until the Cuban government exercised their displeasure by cutting it to about 50 watts, if memory serves.
"Radio Free Dixie," Mabel Williams would say, "invites you to listen to the free voice of the South. Stay with us for music, news and commentary by Robert F. Williams." It is not difficult to remember Williams's booming sign-off, the drums still pulsating: "Freedom, Freedom Now, or Death!"
I would tell them about this black man from Monroe, North Carolina in the Fifties, who confronted racism head one, usually a .45 in his waist, and sometimes a rifle or two in his car, and quite a few guns, rifles in his home. The dynamite would be stored outside.
A former Marine, Williams taught his wife and two young boys to shoot. Those were the days in Dixie when Blacks had zero rights, where the sidewalks weren't paved in their section, and when blacks walked in the street to leave the sidewalks free for whites.
After many summers of protests a black man, Elgie Gray, was finally hired as a policeman. Denied the use of a patrol car, Gray said: "I was told that I wasn't allowed to arrest a white person."
Summer after summer, Williams led the struggle to integrate the public pool, without success. An official explained why: "To allow negroes to swim even once a week would be too expensive because the water would have to be changed after the colored people had used it."
I would tell the students that Robert F. Williams, President of the Monroe branch of the NAACP, was suspended by the national office, headed by Roger Wilkins, who despised him, for advocating self-defense.
Robert F. Williams was a friend of Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, Juan Almeida Bosque (the Afro Cuban commander of the Cuban Army), Ho Chi Minh, Mao tse Tung, Chou en Lai, as well as a string of Americans and Canadians, many of whom were white and who helped him escape to Cuba, through Canada, when the government went after him on trumped-up charges of kidnapping.
I would tell them that Robert F. Williams was a rare, black freedom fighter and leader during the civil rights movement in that, for a man on the forefront of the right to vote, the right to integrate public facilities, who managed to die in his bed, at age 71, in 1996.
The Black Panthers were inspired by him in their approach to arming themselves; Imira Baraka credited him for his political awakening. A few of the people he inspired along the way.
I bought the book, Radio Free Dixie, on 21 April 2000, and just read it. Compelling!
PBB
BRAIN DRAIN
My synapses seem to be on a go-slower of late. Let me count the ways.
1. I had two lapses in the message I sent to you on Tuesday:
a) As a rule I never show the entire list, partly because if it is lengthy, then you have scroll down to read the message.
b) I usually supply a link http://barrspot.blogspot.com and not a name barrspot.blogsot.com
2. Yesterday, a guy approached me near the Capitolio and, not behaving as a stranger, asked me about whether or not I had changed money and at what rate. I would have told any judge that I had never seen this guy in my life. But this morning, having just had a quick tour of the assembly building, I was the one who hailed him, now with a clear memory of who he is. He was the one who took me to get money changed on Wednesday, or was it Tuesday. To solicit a tip, he had told me that he drank coffee also. I had given him 1,000 Bolivares. Today, I gave him 5,000 Bolivares. Of course, afterwards I was wondering if I gave him 5,000 or was it 500?
3. After I purchased two books, one about the CIA in Venezuela, the other about Putas (Prostitutes) in Venezuela, and a pro-Chávez, red cap, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be $10 in my wallet. I know I am supposed to have $100 and began to search my brain to understand what I did with the $100. About half an hour later, when I got the opportunity to take another look, indeed, I still had the $100 bill.
Incidentally, I am too lazy to read a book in Spanish about prostitutes. It is for a friend who wrote a book about prostitutes in Brasil.
4. Yesterday, after about an hour and a half at the internet, I paid with a 20,000 Bolivar bill. He gave me two ten-thousand bills and continued to search for change. Somebody else with a working brain would have noticed that something was wrong, but I just had a sort of a puzzle bubbling up to the surface of my brain, when he reached and took back one of the 1,000 Bolivar notes from me before handing me the rest of the change. It bothers me that I wasn´t the one to point out the mistake.
THREE STRIKES YOU´RE OUT
After I left the internet cabina, I bought not one but two pineapples. Oh, what a wonderful aroma! Then I crossed the street and bought one kilo of grapes and a kilo of mangos(3).
It was with some anticipation that I ate a couple grapes. They were terrible.
Then I ate a few slices of pineapple. They weren´t sweet by any stretch of the imagination.
The mango didn´t bring me any satisfaction either.
Bummer.
PBB
My synapses seem to be on a go-slower of late. Let me count the ways.
1. I had two lapses in the message I sent to you on Tuesday:
a) As a rule I never show the entire list, partly because if it is lengthy, then you have scroll down to read the message.
b) I usually supply a link http://barrspot.blogspot.com and not a name barrspot.blogsot.com
2. Yesterday, a guy approached me near the Capitolio and, not behaving as a stranger, asked me about whether or not I had changed money and at what rate. I would have told any judge that I had never seen this guy in my life. But this morning, having just had a quick tour of the assembly building, I was the one who hailed him, now with a clear memory of who he is. He was the one who took me to get money changed on Wednesday, or was it Tuesday. To solicit a tip, he had told me that he drank coffee also. I had given him 1,000 Bolivares. Today, I gave him 5,000 Bolivares. Of course, afterwards I was wondering if I gave him 5,000 or was it 500?
3. After I purchased two books, one about the CIA in Venezuela, the other about Putas (Prostitutes) in Venezuela, and a pro-Chávez, red cap, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be $10 in my wallet. I know I am supposed to have $100 and began to search my brain to understand what I did with the $100. About half an hour later, when I got the opportunity to take another look, indeed, I still had the $100 bill.
Incidentally, I am too lazy to read a book in Spanish about prostitutes. It is for a friend who wrote a book about prostitutes in Brasil.
4. Yesterday, after about an hour and a half at the internet, I paid with a 20,000 Bolivar bill. He gave me two ten-thousand bills and continued to search for change. Somebody else with a working brain would have noticed that something was wrong, but I just had a sort of a puzzle bubbling up to the surface of my brain, when he reached and took back one of the 1,000 Bolivar notes from me before handing me the rest of the change. It bothers me that I wasn´t the one to point out the mistake.
THREE STRIKES YOU´RE OUT
After I left the internet cabina, I bought not one but two pineapples. Oh, what a wonderful aroma! Then I crossed the street and bought one kilo of grapes and a kilo of mangos(3).
It was with some anticipation that I ate a couple grapes. They were terrible.
Then I ate a few slices of pineapple. They weren´t sweet by any stretch of the imagination.
The mango didn´t bring me any satisfaction either.
Bummer.
PBB
Thursday, June 17, 2004
CASAS DE CAMBIO
Caracas, 17 June 2004
Believe me, it is quite a challenge to change dollars in Caracas. And, I would suppose the entirety of Venezuela.
In the first place, many of the money changers behave as if they are doing something illegal.
The official rate is $1 = 1,916.00 but, of course, it fluctuates daily. Yesterday, a woman on the street took me to a small office on the second floor. Initially, the changer wrote 2,500 Bolivares but by the time I produced the money it was 2,000. The day before I got 2,100.
This morning I went to two locations a block from where I stayed the past few days, at the El Conde. I leave on Sunday so the trick is not to do so with a lot of Bolivares in my pocket. Consequently, I was trying to change $50 but they kept insisting on changing my $100. At the first place, I returned the 240,000 Bolivares and recovered my $100. At the second place, I practically grabbed my money out of his hands and walked out. It´s as if they are dictating what you do with your money.
Finally, I walked to Avenida Urdaneta, following the directions from the woman who sold me orange juice. I spoked with a man who took me to a jewellery store. At first, they didn´t have change of the $100, but, finally, I changed $60 at the rate of 2,500. Which was a hell of a lot better than in Altamira, on the same block as my hotel, Floresta. They, American Express, offer the worst rates you can find in Caracas, about 1,900 Bolivares and compound it by charging you an interest for service.
I´m not a big spender so I don´t see why this money shouldn´t carry me through to my ride, Aeropostal, on Sunday afternoon.
PBB
Caracas, 17 June 2004
Believe me, it is quite a challenge to change dollars in Caracas. And, I would suppose the entirety of Venezuela.
In the first place, many of the money changers behave as if they are doing something illegal.
The official rate is $1 = 1,916.00 but, of course, it fluctuates daily. Yesterday, a woman on the street took me to a small office on the second floor. Initially, the changer wrote 2,500 Bolivares but by the time I produced the money it was 2,000. The day before I got 2,100.
This morning I went to two locations a block from where I stayed the past few days, at the El Conde. I leave on Sunday so the trick is not to do so with a lot of Bolivares in my pocket. Consequently, I was trying to change $50 but they kept insisting on changing my $100. At the first place, I returned the 240,000 Bolivares and recovered my $100. At the second place, I practically grabbed my money out of his hands and walked out. It´s as if they are dictating what you do with your money.
Finally, I walked to Avenida Urdaneta, following the directions from the woman who sold me orange juice. I spoked with a man who took me to a jewellery store. At first, they didn´t have change of the $100, but, finally, I changed $60 at the rate of 2,500. Which was a hell of a lot better than in Altamira, on the same block as my hotel, Floresta. They, American Express, offer the worst rates you can find in Caracas, about 1,900 Bolivares and compound it by charging you an interest for service.
I´m not a big spender so I don´t see why this money shouldn´t carry me through to my ride, Aeropostal, on Sunday afternoon.
PBB
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
In Search of ...
Caracas, Venezuela
I must have cut quite a suspicious figure this afternoon, standing at the gate of the Casa Blanca, asking the guard if this is where the April 2002 coup against President Hugo Chávez took place.
And, a few minutes later, What´s that building, the one across from Casa Blanca. That´s administration. And this one says it´s a jail.
Then, two blocks down the boulevard, Is this where those people were killed. Yes, right here on this overpass.
And where did the shots come from. Over there, on that building.
I bought a few postcards another block away but had to walk about 10 more blocks, to Plaza de Candelabria to buy the stamps. Being a stamp collecter before I was a teen, I will not mail postcards without real stamps.
This morning, I moved from the hotel El Conde (which means Count; I didn´t know) in Chávez country, Silencio, to Altamira, rabid anti-Chávez country. Both areas are entirely different from each other. Casa Blanca is in Miraflores but I am not sure if it sits in barrio Silencio or is adjacent to it. Like Kingston, half of Caracas seems to be selling and half seems to be buying. The activity on the streets in that area is extremely intense, small booths packing sidwalk after sidewalk.
Two men warned me today to keep a wary eye on my money. I bought five CDs for 10,000 Bolivares from a guy. I heard a song being played this morning while I was on my way, via metro, to Hotel Floresta in Altamira. It is about nine stops from Capitolio. It was a difficult haul with my backpack, a smaller bag and my laptop. Luckily, at about 9, it wasn´t rush hour and I made it without being a nuisance to other riders.
I had told the guy I would return for the album. I deliberately asked him not to play them because I like the idea of being surprised. Let´s see what type of surprise awaits me in Bush country since I forgot to pack my CD player!
I like taking tours early so as to get the lay of the land, but I head into day four, tomorrow, without having done so. I am yet to visit an art museum, and I leave Sunday afternoon.
I bought a Chavista red beret. It´s not really a beret beret, but close enough to it. I think it says Soy Chavista. Something like that, but identifying with him.
Hopefully, he will embarrass the oposition on the August 15 referendum that they moved heaven and high water to wrangle, throwing in several thousand illegal votes, many from the cemetery. If Bush could just get rid of Chávez he could, at the same time, strike another blow against Castro. Even now, I can see the opposition crafting their statements for whatever outcome. Well, that´s normal procedure, isn´t it.
But if they lose, they will raise hell. As will the US government, who so quickly approved the lilliputians who ousted Chávez on 11 April 2002, throwing out the Constitution, abolishing the Congress and the Supreme Court while they were at it. The thugs lasted only a couple days as the president retained the support of the army and his people who took to the streets.
There are a bunch of people dreaming of the good old days when they controlled everything, but the forgotten folks are more interested in a future that offers them more than they dared wish for in the past.
I am yet to get any information regarding places in Altamira worthing visiting. I may remain or I may make another move in a couple days. We´ll see.
PBB
Caracas, Venezuela
I must have cut quite a suspicious figure this afternoon, standing at the gate of the Casa Blanca, asking the guard if this is where the April 2002 coup against President Hugo Chávez took place.
And, a few minutes later, What´s that building, the one across from Casa Blanca. That´s administration. And this one says it´s a jail.
Then, two blocks down the boulevard, Is this where those people were killed. Yes, right here on this overpass.
And where did the shots come from. Over there, on that building.
I bought a few postcards another block away but had to walk about 10 more blocks, to Plaza de Candelabria to buy the stamps. Being a stamp collecter before I was a teen, I will not mail postcards without real stamps.
This morning, I moved from the hotel El Conde (which means Count; I didn´t know) in Chávez country, Silencio, to Altamira, rabid anti-Chávez country. Both areas are entirely different from each other. Casa Blanca is in Miraflores but I am not sure if it sits in barrio Silencio or is adjacent to it. Like Kingston, half of Caracas seems to be selling and half seems to be buying. The activity on the streets in that area is extremely intense, small booths packing sidwalk after sidewalk.
Two men warned me today to keep a wary eye on my money. I bought five CDs for 10,000 Bolivares from a guy. I heard a song being played this morning while I was on my way, via metro, to Hotel Floresta in Altamira. It is about nine stops from Capitolio. It was a difficult haul with my backpack, a smaller bag and my laptop. Luckily, at about 9, it wasn´t rush hour and I made it without being a nuisance to other riders.
I had told the guy I would return for the album. I deliberately asked him not to play them because I like the idea of being surprised. Let´s see what type of surprise awaits me in Bush country since I forgot to pack my CD player!
I like taking tours early so as to get the lay of the land, but I head into day four, tomorrow, without having done so. I am yet to visit an art museum, and I leave Sunday afternoon.
I bought a Chavista red beret. It´s not really a beret beret, but close enough to it. I think it says Soy Chavista. Something like that, but identifying with him.
Hopefully, he will embarrass the oposition on the August 15 referendum that they moved heaven and high water to wrangle, throwing in several thousand illegal votes, many from the cemetery. If Bush could just get rid of Chávez he could, at the same time, strike another blow against Castro. Even now, I can see the opposition crafting their statements for whatever outcome. Well, that´s normal procedure, isn´t it.
But if they lose, they will raise hell. As will the US government, who so quickly approved the lilliputians who ousted Chávez on 11 April 2002, throwing out the Constitution, abolishing the Congress and the Supreme Court while they were at it. The thugs lasted only a couple days as the president retained the support of the army and his people who took to the streets.
There are a bunch of people dreaming of the good old days when they controlled everything, but the forgotten folks are more interested in a future that offers them more than they dared wish for in the past.
I am yet to get any information regarding places in Altamira worthing visiting. I may remain or I may make another move in a couple days. We´ll see.
PBB
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
CARACAS - 15 June 2004
Got out of bed this morning and ate the other mango. Showered, without soap, as the doctor suggested yesterday, and applied this creme around my middle. He looked through the miscroscope but didn't see anything of consequence wiggling under it. He couldn't tell me why I was itching. Psoriasis popped into my head just now, so I will go look it up when I am done here. I have no idea what it is, it just, like a message from my guardian angel, popped into my head.
I got such a message from my guardian angel several days ago. It was early morning and I couldn't get back to sleep so I switched on the TV at 5 o'clock to see an report about an Afghan who was killed in Moscow by skinheads. He left a Russian wife and a less than one year old child.
Then I was reminded of the Peruvian recently killed by skinheads in Moscow.
I started wondering if it were for some good reason why I had turned on the station. For months, my top priority had been to visit Moscow. I didn't make the trip when I was in St. Petersburg in 1996 (?). Maybe I didn't have the time to take the round-trip. Anyway, it is working itself back into my head. Why should I let some skinheads regulate my itinerary! Let's hope those aren't my last words.
Speaking of last words. I believe the Reagans have manufactured an urgan legend. His daughter spoke warmly of how, after being a vegetable for about ten years now, how he opened his eyes, which had been shut for a few days, how he opened his eyes, looked at his dear Nancy, who he hadn't recognized from God knows when, looked at her in a very knowing way, and died. I think that is a load of crap. Is that the way death goes? You are a vegetable for ten or more years, and at the moment of death, lucidity appears?
OK, where was I? Enough of Moscow. This morning, I went for a walk in the SILENCIO neighbourhood, which is where I am staying. It is chock full of life. First, I went to Plaza Bolívar, which had a long line of people. Later, I found out that they were renewing their ID cards, which they will need for just about every transaction, including voting on August 15, when the United States hopes that Chávez will lose the referendum. My thoughts: Pond scum! And I wasn't referring to the Venezuelans.
The streets nearby are chock-full of small booths, selling all manner of knicks knacks.
I returned to the hotel at about 10 o'clock and had breakfast in a room that lets the sun in. The roof has a colored glass, or is it plastic? Because of the tint, the color of food suddenly becomes strange. You've never seen food like that before, unless after a while, forgotten in the refrigerator.
But, suddenly, when I opened my book about Robert F. Williams, a heroic but largly unknown freedom fighter in the South, the highlighted portions literally jumped out at me from the pages, as if summoned. It was quite amusing to see this effect.
I took the metro to Bellas Artes, then took a cab to Maripérez to take the Teleférico de Caracas. I'll tell you about this cable car in another post.
PBB
Got out of bed this morning and ate the other mango. Showered, without soap, as the doctor suggested yesterday, and applied this creme around my middle. He looked through the miscroscope but didn't see anything of consequence wiggling under it. He couldn't tell me why I was itching. Psoriasis popped into my head just now, so I will go look it up when I am done here. I have no idea what it is, it just, like a message from my guardian angel, popped into my head.
I got such a message from my guardian angel several days ago. It was early morning and I couldn't get back to sleep so I switched on the TV at 5 o'clock to see an report about an Afghan who was killed in Moscow by skinheads. He left a Russian wife and a less than one year old child.
Then I was reminded of the Peruvian recently killed by skinheads in Moscow.
I started wondering if it were for some good reason why I had turned on the station. For months, my top priority had been to visit Moscow. I didn't make the trip when I was in St. Petersburg in 1996 (?). Maybe I didn't have the time to take the round-trip. Anyway, it is working itself back into my head. Why should I let some skinheads regulate my itinerary! Let's hope those aren't my last words.
Speaking of last words. I believe the Reagans have manufactured an urgan legend. His daughter spoke warmly of how, after being a vegetable for about ten years now, how he opened his eyes, which had been shut for a few days, how he opened his eyes, looked at his dear Nancy, who he hadn't recognized from God knows when, looked at her in a very knowing way, and died. I think that is a load of crap. Is that the way death goes? You are a vegetable for ten or more years, and at the moment of death, lucidity appears?
OK, where was I? Enough of Moscow. This morning, I went for a walk in the SILENCIO neighbourhood, which is where I am staying. It is chock full of life. First, I went to Plaza Bolívar, which had a long line of people. Later, I found out that they were renewing their ID cards, which they will need for just about every transaction, including voting on August 15, when the United States hopes that Chávez will lose the referendum. My thoughts: Pond scum! And I wasn't referring to the Venezuelans.
The streets nearby are chock-full of small booths, selling all manner of knicks knacks.
I returned to the hotel at about 10 o'clock and had breakfast in a room that lets the sun in. The roof has a colored glass, or is it plastic? Because of the tint, the color of food suddenly becomes strange. You've never seen food like that before, unless after a while, forgotten in the refrigerator.
But, suddenly, when I opened my book about Robert F. Williams, a heroic but largly unknown freedom fighter in the South, the highlighted portions literally jumped out at me from the pages, as if summoned. It was quite amusing to see this effect.
I took the metro to Bellas Artes, then took a cab to Maripérez to take the Teleférico de Caracas. I'll tell you about this cable car in another post.
PBB
Caracas, Venezuela
I left Lima at 4:30 AM, stopped in Guayaquil, Ecuador, and arrived in Caracas just short of noon. At immigration I was missing the arrival form so I had to go to Aeropost to get it. Then when I went to exit, I found I didn't have the customs form either.
I had read all morning and only closed my eyes an hour or so out of Guayaquil. They must have handed out the forms then. But why wouldn't they just leave the forms in my lap? How could they have figured that I am a pain in the ass even without an interaction?
Anyway, as I exit the customs door a guy outside attaches to me. It was simpler to just go along with him. He took me to an office where I got the name of the tourist office, INATUS, in the city. I also got the name and address or a hotel, Le Conde, where I am at the moment.
Although I was offered a 20,000 Bolivar ($1 = 2,000) taxi ride, I opted for the 4,000 Boliver bus ride. I am certain the driver had said he would let me off at Parque Bolívar, but that offer was taken off the table. As he let a passenger off near the metro station Gato Negro (Black Cat), he suggested that I take a cab for 6,000 Bolivares) and I did.
The Hotel Conde sits in the middle of the business district, which is not the greatest place to be during the night because there is no ebb and flow of a bunch or residents. I decided to at least say for two days while I check out the place.
I got accustomed to the musty smell pretty fast. I have a view from room 218 that's not worth viewing. It contains a terrible, worn print of Van Gogh's reapers, two beds, two wafers of soap.
FIRST TRIP
I walked about three or so blocks to the Capitolio metro and asked the guy in the booth for six tickets. He asked me where to. I told him I didn't know. He looked at his fellow worker and shrugged his shoulders.
I then told him Bellas Artes because that's where I was going, to visit INATUR. It is the Central Avenue station. It took me a while to find the office on the 35th floor of one of two towers. I got material from a very pleasant woman, whose body offered an aroma rather than a smell. Slender, lipsticked, a warm look, pleasant look in her eyes.
Then I spent half an hour in an internet cafe deleting enough stuff to still leave me 89 percent full.
I took the metro to ALTAMIRAS. Altamiras is where she had suggested I may find some good hotels and more segurity at night. Altamiras is the square where about 14 people were gunned down by a desperate opposion who tried to pin it on the President.
I would have a defintely better view and pay 2,000 Bolivares less if I moved there. I may still go there tomorrow. This morning a maid rang my bell and when I answered, immediately apologized and left. Had me thinking about my stay at Hotel Seville on 28th Street (if memory serves me), near Madison Avenue, late 1968, when our telephone would ring every now and then and when we picked it up, there was nobody on the line. Strange, we thought, my girlfriend and I. Then one night I went to meet her coming home from work. By the time we got to the hotel, the ring that she had borrowed from her friend, to prove to the world that we weren't living in sin, was gone. My laptop is being stored in the office.
I had dinner nearby, returned home to finish a bit of watermelon and one of two mengoes that I had bought earlier.
Earlier, I stopped at a kiosc to buy a newspaper. I asked the man for the pro-Chavez papers, since I didn't want to spend a dime on an opposition paper. He then came outside to show me the pro-Chávez art on the wall above his kiosc. (I don't know if I spelled that right.)
PBB
I left Lima at 4:30 AM, stopped in Guayaquil, Ecuador, and arrived in Caracas just short of noon. At immigration I was missing the arrival form so I had to go to Aeropost to get it. Then when I went to exit, I found I didn't have the customs form either.
I had read all morning and only closed my eyes an hour or so out of Guayaquil. They must have handed out the forms then. But why wouldn't they just leave the forms in my lap? How could they have figured that I am a pain in the ass even without an interaction?
Anyway, as I exit the customs door a guy outside attaches to me. It was simpler to just go along with him. He took me to an office where I got the name of the tourist office, INATUS, in the city. I also got the name and address or a hotel, Le Conde, where I am at the moment.
Although I was offered a 20,000 Bolivar ($1 = 2,000) taxi ride, I opted for the 4,000 Boliver bus ride. I am certain the driver had said he would let me off at Parque Bolívar, but that offer was taken off the table. As he let a passenger off near the metro station Gato Negro (Black Cat), he suggested that I take a cab for 6,000 Bolivares) and I did.
The Hotel Conde sits in the middle of the business district, which is not the greatest place to be during the night because there is no ebb and flow of a bunch or residents. I decided to at least say for two days while I check out the place.
I got accustomed to the musty smell pretty fast. I have a view from room 218 that's not worth viewing. It contains a terrible, worn print of Van Gogh's reapers, two beds, two wafers of soap.
FIRST TRIP
I walked about three or so blocks to the Capitolio metro and asked the guy in the booth for six tickets. He asked me where to. I told him I didn't know. He looked at his fellow worker and shrugged his shoulders.
I then told him Bellas Artes because that's where I was going, to visit INATUR. It is the Central Avenue station. It took me a while to find the office on the 35th floor of one of two towers. I got material from a very pleasant woman, whose body offered an aroma rather than a smell. Slender, lipsticked, a warm look, pleasant look in her eyes.
Then I spent half an hour in an internet cafe deleting enough stuff to still leave me 89 percent full.
I took the metro to ALTAMIRAS. Altamiras is where she had suggested I may find some good hotels and more segurity at night. Altamiras is the square where about 14 people were gunned down by a desperate opposion who tried to pin it on the President.
I would have a defintely better view and pay 2,000 Bolivares less if I moved there. I may still go there tomorrow. This morning a maid rang my bell and when I answered, immediately apologized and left. Had me thinking about my stay at Hotel Seville on 28th Street (if memory serves me), near Madison Avenue, late 1968, when our telephone would ring every now and then and when we picked it up, there was nobody on the line. Strange, we thought, my girlfriend and I. Then one night I went to meet her coming home from work. By the time we got to the hotel, the ring that she had borrowed from her friend, to prove to the world that we weren't living in sin, was gone. My laptop is being stored in the office.
I had dinner nearby, returned home to finish a bit of watermelon and one of two mengoes that I had bought earlier.
Earlier, I stopped at a kiosc to buy a newspaper. I asked the man for the pro-Chavez papers, since I didn't want to spend a dime on an opposition paper. He then came outside to show me the pro-Chávez art on the wall above his kiosc. (I don't know if I spelled that right.)
PBB
My second article in Counterpunch follows:
Weekend Edition
May 29 / 31, 2004
Pre-Emptive War Insurance
A War Crimes Avoidance Strategy
By PATRICK B. BARR
"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."
- Lord Acton (1834-1902), 1887
How often have we parrotted that well-known phrase without having any concrete understanding of what Lord Acton really meant. But now, akin to proving Einstein's Theory of Relativity long after he developed it, we can point to the special status of the United States in Gulf War 2 as concrete proof of absolute power in action.
Far from absolute was the power of the Ottomon, Spanish and British Empires, and before that, the Arabs who spread civilization as far north as Spain. Their power had geographic limits. The United States of America, unlike any other nation in history, projects absolute power to every corner of the earth ... as well as to outer space.
With this absolute power at its command, in 2002, the US succeeded in getting an exemption from war crimes by a compliant UN Security Council, and, not leaving any stone unturned, signed bilateral agreements with 89 countries to ensure they do not prosecute US personnel or turn them over to the International Criminal Court. Twenty-six of these countries remain unnamed publicly and one, the Philippines, sits on the Security Council. The exemption was renewed last year, and a third is being pursued at this moment. The pressure applied by the US can bring countries to their knees.
In The Clash of Fundamentalisms, Tariq Ali recounts how, in August 1976, then Secretary of State Dr. Henry Kissinger visited Lahore in an effort to dissuade Prime Minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto from acquiring nuclear weapons. When Bhutto refused, Dr. Kissinger told him that "we can destabilise your government and make a horrible example out of you." Within six months, Bhutto's government was removed in a coup, he was charged and found guilty of murder, and, two years later, executed.
Arab Free Voice reports that CIA director George Tenet paid a secret visit to Qatar on Tuesday, May 25, where he met the Emir of Qatar, Shaykh Hamd ibn Khalifah Al Thani and the Qatari Foreign Minister Hamd ibn Jaxim ibn Jabr Al Thani. The US spy chief gave the Qatari leaders a letter from the U.S. Administration reportedly couched in undiplomatic, tough, and frank language. It was reported that the letter contained a paragraph concerned with what it described as "the policy of media incitement pursued by Qatar's al-Jazeera satellite TV company against the American forces and the American presence in Iraq. Time will tell if Al-Jazeera is muzzled, or if Qatar is destabilized.
Unlike the US, Nazi Germany failed to see the brilliance of the concept of total freedom in times of preemptive war. This "lapse" on the part of Hitler means that today, in the 21st century, Israeli groups may still be hunting Nazis culpable of murdering millions of Jews before and during World War II.
But, despite the atrocities carried out at Abu Ghraib, who will dare challenge this most powerful country, even at the level of human rights, much less war crimes? The most that can be expected is that the US will suffer a bloody nose and its war crimes in Iraq, as well as alledged war crimes in Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, will fade into history. Within a few years, Abu Ghraib will fade from memory, especially now that the US Administration may raze the compound made infamous by Saddam Hussein and now, by the US military.
Long before the neo-cons highjacked the US government, it was widely known that Saddam Hussein was an evil man; even back when he was embedded with the CIA; even when the US and Great Britain supplied him with WMDs in the form of anthrax spores and other such nasty potions that he, with US knowledge, used "to kill his own people", as the mantra goes. "Why, oh why," Saddam must be thinking, esconced in US custody, place unknown, "didn't I seek exemptions for crimes against humanity as well as against war crimes?"
Absolute power enabled the Administration get Peru's Alejandro Toledo, against the wishes of politicos and Peruvians alike, to vote for a US resolution against Cuba at the 60th session of the UN Human Rights Commission in Geneva. It was the one vote needed to pass the resolution. Within 24 hours, the United States announced that Peru and Ecuador would join with Colombia in the first round of negotiations on a Free Trade Agreement scheduled for May 18-19. The Office of the US Trade Representative announced: "The FTA negotiations were scheduled to begin with Colombia alone, pending the resolution of certain issues with respect to Peru [emphasis mine] and Ecuador, which have now been addressed."
A year ago, in an incident that strained relations between Cuba and Mexico, the US pressured Mexico's Vincente Fox to ensure that Fidel Castro depart prematurely from an OAS meeting, and the country, before the arrival of George Bush, who seems to lack the grace of his father, who at a similar OAS meeting remained in the same conference room with Castro. While Castro's plane was leaving Mexico, President Bush's was arriving. Mission accomplished.
Absolute power means never having to say you're sorry after killing wedding guests, including bride and groom in Irak, two years after a similar massacre in Afghanistan.
And, for the third time since 2002, the United States is pushing for a new U.N. Security Council resolution aimed at exempting its troops from prosecution for war crimes when they serve in any U.N. peacekeeping operations.
Just as Hitler failed to seek exemptions for war crimes, so did Donald Rumsfeld fail to ban recording devices from military compounds in Iraq before the preemptive war. Don't show the bodies coming home and don't show the fun time to be had by our folks in Abu Ghraib, among other prisons. As a consequence, the whole world gets to see the dark side; the side that only a handful of newspapers and magazines dare illuminate, but which groups like the Black Panther Party, countries like Chile, groups like the Sandinistas, and the men and women who fill our jails, know all too well.
Iraqis, male and female, were raped in Abu Ghraib prison. Uncle Sam is caught with his pants down, double-standards and hypocrisies exposed for the entire world to witness.
Patrick B. Barr was formerly with The Daily Gleaner, Kingston, Jamaica. He can be reached at: barrybar@hotmail.com
WWW http://www.counterpunch.org
Weekend Edition
May 29 / 31, 2004
Pre-Emptive War Insurance
A War Crimes Avoidance Strategy
By PATRICK B. BARR
"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."
- Lord Acton (1834-1902), 1887
How often have we parrotted that well-known phrase without having any concrete understanding of what Lord Acton really meant. But now, akin to proving Einstein's Theory of Relativity long after he developed it, we can point to the special status of the United States in Gulf War 2 as concrete proof of absolute power in action.
Far from absolute was the power of the Ottomon, Spanish and British Empires, and before that, the Arabs who spread civilization as far north as Spain. Their power had geographic limits. The United States of America, unlike any other nation in history, projects absolute power to every corner of the earth ... as well as to outer space.
With this absolute power at its command, in 2002, the US succeeded in getting an exemption from war crimes by a compliant UN Security Council, and, not leaving any stone unturned, signed bilateral agreements with 89 countries to ensure they do not prosecute US personnel or turn them over to the International Criminal Court. Twenty-six of these countries remain unnamed publicly and one, the Philippines, sits on the Security Council. The exemption was renewed last year, and a third is being pursued at this moment. The pressure applied by the US can bring countries to their knees.
In The Clash of Fundamentalisms, Tariq Ali recounts how, in August 1976, then Secretary of State Dr. Henry Kissinger visited Lahore in an effort to dissuade Prime Minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto from acquiring nuclear weapons. When Bhutto refused, Dr. Kissinger told him that "we can destabilise your government and make a horrible example out of you." Within six months, Bhutto's government was removed in a coup, he was charged and found guilty of murder, and, two years later, executed.
Arab Free Voice reports that CIA director George Tenet paid a secret visit to Qatar on Tuesday, May 25, where he met the Emir of Qatar, Shaykh Hamd ibn Khalifah Al Thani and the Qatari Foreign Minister Hamd ibn Jaxim ibn Jabr Al Thani. The US spy chief gave the Qatari leaders a letter from the U.S. Administration reportedly couched in undiplomatic, tough, and frank language. It was reported that the letter contained a paragraph concerned with what it described as "the policy of media incitement pursued by Qatar's al-Jazeera satellite TV company against the American forces and the American presence in Iraq. Time will tell if Al-Jazeera is muzzled, or if Qatar is destabilized.
Unlike the US, Nazi Germany failed to see the brilliance of the concept of total freedom in times of preemptive war. This "lapse" on the part of Hitler means that today, in the 21st century, Israeli groups may still be hunting Nazis culpable of murdering millions of Jews before and during World War II.
But, despite the atrocities carried out at Abu Ghraib, who will dare challenge this most powerful country, even at the level of human rights, much less war crimes? The most that can be expected is that the US will suffer a bloody nose and its war crimes in Iraq, as well as alledged war crimes in Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, will fade into history. Within a few years, Abu Ghraib will fade from memory, especially now that the US Administration may raze the compound made infamous by Saddam Hussein and now, by the US military.
Long before the neo-cons highjacked the US government, it was widely known that Saddam Hussein was an evil man; even back when he was embedded with the CIA; even when the US and Great Britain supplied him with WMDs in the form of anthrax spores and other such nasty potions that he, with US knowledge, used "to kill his own people", as the mantra goes. "Why, oh why," Saddam must be thinking, esconced in US custody, place unknown, "didn't I seek exemptions for crimes against humanity as well as against war crimes?"
Absolute power enabled the Administration get Peru's Alejandro Toledo, against the wishes of politicos and Peruvians alike, to vote for a US resolution against Cuba at the 60th session of the UN Human Rights Commission in Geneva. It was the one vote needed to pass the resolution. Within 24 hours, the United States announced that Peru and Ecuador would join with Colombia in the first round of negotiations on a
A year ago, in an incident that strained relations between Cuba and Mexico, the US pressured Mexico's Vincente Fox to ensure that Fidel Castro depart prematurely from an OAS meeting, and the country, before the arrival of George Bush, who seems to lack the grace of his father, who at a similar OAS meeting remained in the same conference room with Castro. While Castro's plane was leaving Mexico, President Bush's was arriving. Mission accomplished.
Absolute power means never having to say you're sorry after killing wedding guests, including bride and groom in Irak, two years after a similar massacre in Afghanistan.
And, for the third time since 2002, the United States is pushing for a new U.N. Security Council resolution aimed at exempting its troops from prosecution for war crimes when they serve in any U.N. peacekeeping operations.
Just as Hitler failed to seek exemptions for war crimes, so did Donald Rumsfeld fail to ban recording devices from military compounds in Iraq before the preemptive war. Don't show the bodies coming home and don't show the fun time to be had by our folks in Abu Ghraib, among other prisons. As a consequence, the whole world gets to see the dark side; the side that only a handful of newspapers and magazines dare illuminate, but which groups like the Black Panther Party, countries like Chile, groups like the Sandinistas, and the men and women who fill our jails, know all too well.
Iraqis, male and female, were raped in Abu Ghraib prison. Uncle Sam is caught with his pants down, double-standards and hypocrisies exposed for the entire world to witness.
Patrick B. Barr was formerly with The Daily Gleaner, Kingston, Jamaica. He can be reached at: barrybar@hotmail.com
WWW http://www.counterpunch.org
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