Johan

We had asked our cab driver for his cell phone number in case we could not find him near the Pepsi sign across the street from the right field entrance after the games were over. But now it was nine hours later as we approached the designated meet-up location and we saw nothing of him or his cab. However, parked near a shrubbery was another cab that appeared to be serviceable but, perhaps, not as nice as the one in which we had arrived at the stadium.

Seeing no driver, we looked around to see if we could spy an empty cab in the traffic. Instead, we saw a young man heading for the car with half a dozen or so empty plastic Polar beer mugs (complete with handles). As Johan opened the trunk to store his treasure, we asked if this was his cab and if he was available. Yes and Yes. ¿tomes la cerveza? Un poco, si.

In many instances, it would seem prudent to have passed on this one and to continue looking for another cab. But, well, the tickets let you in for both games and the first game had started eight hours ago, we were ready to head back to our lodgings. Although the first game started at about three in the afternoon, Estadio Nueva Esparta had been half empty until a little before eight, when the Venezuelan champions, the Leones de Caracas faced the winners of the Mexican Pacific League, the Naranjeros de Hermisillo in the second game of the day. During the early innings, the brass band in a section full of Mexican fans could be heard. At least two Venezuelan drum bands played nearly constantly. And that was on the first base side. 16,000 baseball fans from Venezuela, Mexico, Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic having a party while their champions played what looked to be about AA level ball out on the field. Plus the four of us from Iowa and Minnesota, who just wanted to soak it all up and see an interesting contest. The party atmosphere in the stadium faded somewhat as the predominantly Venezuelan crowd became disappointed with the play of the Leones. In the end, the Mexican squad had prevailed in a game that was really not that close. One Venezuelan fan was heard to complain that the Mexicans had brought their Major Leaguers, including Hermisillo's forty-two year old player/manager and former former National League All-Star third baseman Vinicio (Vinny) Castilla as well as former New York Yankees outfielder Karim Garcia. Some may remember that a brawl started in a 2003 game between the Yankees and Red Sox when Pedro Martinez threw a pitch at Garcia's head.

At least half the crowd had already left before the final out was made. It must be said that although they may have been disappointed in the result, there was no disappointment in the $1 (equivalent) beers and/or Something Special Scotch also sold by numerous vendors throughout the stands. Vendors who had threatened to outnumber the spectators during the afternoon game. Nor were the fans disappointed with the Cantinflas impersonator who made his way through the stands during the game to the delight of many.

And so, our driver, who had been drinking "un poco" let us know that since it was past 11 PM, the fare to our destination in Playa el Agua would be seventy bolivares fuertes ($16.28 at the official exchange rate). We had paid sixty for the ride down, so this did not seem unreasonable.

Having been identified as the one in our group with the best Spanish, I rode shotgun in order to give directions. It should be noted that "the Best Spanish" merely means that I could give directions to the driver well enough to get us to our destination.

Our driver took a shortcut to avoid traffic. But soon, we emerged onto a road that looked vaguely familiar and all was well as we headed back to Playa el Agua.

There are a couple of ways it can go with a driver who has had "un poco" de cerveza. Some proceed with reckless speed and daring. Others may let the mind wander and fail to pay enough attention to the task of driving, perhaps nodding off and leaving the car to take its own path. Fortunately, our driver appeared to be inclined towards this second tendency while being too talkative to be at risk of falling asleep. So the task of the front seat passenger (me) became engaging Johan in conversation not only to head off any nap-taking (which seemed unlikely as long as he kept talking), as well as directing his attention to the roadway (as best I could) in order that we might arrive safely and at our destination. At least he wasn't driving too fast, so if we did have a mishap, we could likely have escaped with set belt bruises.

It turns out that Johan very much liked the US. Through a rambling conversation which might have been only moderately difficult to follow had we both been fluent in the same language, we learned that although Johan knew it was very expensive to live there, he hoped to go to the US someday. A friend of his lives in Florida and another lives somewhere else in the US but I could not pin down a location, so he knows people in the US and he is very friendly with the US and likes Americans. We learned that Johan would like to learn English, but he only knows a few words. Because English is hard. Spanish is easy but English is hard, so he would like to go somewhere in the US where many people speak Spanish. But English can be easier sometimes. For instance, there are so many ways to say "I love you" in Spanish. But only one way in English. There is "te amo" and "te quiero" and a couple of others. [But romantics use other sappy expressions, too.] And there are not many English speaking tourists or visitors to Porlamar. So even if he studied English, he would not be able to practice it.

And so on throughout the rest of our somewhat relaxed ride in the slowest car on the road. We reached the Casa near midnight. I hope he made it home alright.