Piracy in Venezuela
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! This is the Sailing Vessel
Nomad. We've just been robbed by three men armed with
a shotgun!" The shocking wakeup call came over our VHF
radio around midnight. The assaulted boat was an American-flagged
vessel on the outer edge of the anchorage in Porlamar, Margarita
Island, Venezuela. We stumbled out of our bunk in an adrenalin-infused
panic. Nick grabbed the spotlight and shone it across the
dark anchorage. The beam illuminated an unlit pirogue speeding
across the anchorage. The captain of Nomad indicated
that he and his girlfriend were physically OK but highly traumatized.
A local man who monitors VHF called the police, but the authorities
never showed up that night or in the days that followed.
Two days later, the captain retold his ordeal on the morning
VHF net. He and his girlfriend awoke to find a shotgun pointed
in their faces. Three armed men proceeded to take money and
other valuables from the boat. Then they dragged the captain
into the cockpit where he was forced to put his head between
his legs as they pressed a shotgun against his skull. He truly
believed he was dead at this point. However, the robbers spared
his life and sped away in a pirogue.
In the days and weeks that followed this incident, the rumor
mill buzzed with stories of recent attacks in Venezuela. The
Safety
and Security Net reports five armed attacks in January
in a wide area including Porlamar, Robledal, Testigos, Cabo
San Francisco, and Mochima. It's worth noting that the other
incidents were against Europeans, who comprise the majority
of cruising boats in Venezuela. After a relatively quiet period,
it seems that trouble is again brewing in Venezuela.
Chain of incompetency
"Please don't tell me mañana if you don't
mean it."
After spending time cruising through the Caribbean, this
line from a Jimmy Buffett song has special meaning. The punctuality
and efficiency we expected back in the States is not highly
valued as you travel south. Getting things done on island
time is inevitably a long, drawn-out process that tries the
patience of a tightly-wound norteamericano.
So, take a Tylenol and let me tell you about our anchor chain
saga. We've been trying to purchase a new and longer length
of anchor chain since St. Maarten, where the best-stocked
island in the Caribbean was incredibly out of Acco 3/8"
BBB. Back in November, we ordered 225-feet of new anchor chain
from Vemasca, a marine store in Puerto La Cruz (PLC). We paid
in advance and the chain shipped out of Miami to the Vemasca
store in Margarita Island, saving a 47-percent duty assessed
against products imported to the mainland. Just after Christmas,
the PLC store told us our chain had cleared customs and we
could go to Margarita and pick it up. That's how we came to
be anchored in Porlamar, Margarita the night another boat
was robbed at shotgun point.
Imagine our surprise when we arrived at the Margarita Vemasca
and learned the chain was still in customs. Apparently, new
laws have made it even more difficult to import products into
Venezuela using US dollars. Of course, this didn't explain
why we were told the chain was already out of customs. And
so began concurrent days of promises to get the chain mañana.
After a week our chain remained in the clutches of the Venezuelan
bureaucracy, so the Vemasca manager promised to deliver the
chain to PLC at no charge in the next two weeks or return
our money. Upon arrival in PLC, we contacted the local Vemasca
and were happy to hear our chain was there. We took a taxi
to Vemasca and inspected the chain. A tag on the final link
identified a length of 159 feet, not the 225 feet we ordered.
A tape measure confirmed the length to be short 66 feet. The
manager was extremely apologetic and assured us he had ordered
and paid for 225 feet. A refund is forthcoming and our quest
to increase our anchoring depth continues.
Lost passport: I can't leave and I can't stay here
At the same time the anchor chain was tied up in customs,
we were trying to track down my new passport. I had conveniently
renewed it when a US Embassy team came to town in December.
The passport was mailed on December 14th via Domesa, a Venezuelan
courier. When we left PLC on the 31st, the US Embassy was
still trying to get Domesa to find the passport. When we arrived
in Margarita, I made phone calls and learned my passport was
still missing. Venezuela grants visitors 90 days in the country
after which you must request an extension. Our time was almost
up and we were starting to get nervous. We went directly to
the immigration agent at the shorefront office in Porlamar
and he gave us a 90-day extension at no charge while we were
in Margarita. However, he couldn't stamp my old canceled passport
and he wouldn't stamp Nick's passport because "he can't
leave the country without you." Nick never could quite
grasp this concept.
Fortunately the passport was delivered to the marina before
our return to PLC. It had taken Domesa a month to deliver
it from Caracas. I'm sure I could've walked there and back
in that amount of time. Given our pleasant experience with
the Margarita immigration official, we decided to bypass the
PLC agents that charge high fees to process boater paperwork
and go directly to immigration, as we have done in every other
Caribbean country.
We hired an English-speaking taxi driver and went first to
the satellite immigration office at the ferry terminal. The
two agents there indicated they couldn't stamp a passport
and we would have to go downtown and deal with a certain female
official. It wasn't clear to us how an immigration officer
occupies himself if he can't stamp a passport.
At the downtown office, we walked past the long line of desperate
Venezuelans trying to get passports from their suspicious
government. Upstairs we found the woman who purportedly
could stamp our passports. Our taxi driver explained our situation
while she stood there arms crossed, a smirk across her thin
lips. Overstaying our 90 days didn't seem to concern her,
but she smugly explained that since we arrived in the country
at the Caracas airport (following our trip to Texas) we would
have to go back to the Caracas airport to get our 90-day extension.
Our taxi driver had no luck budging her from this ridiculous
position, even though all four of us knew she was lying. We
bit our tongues and left, not wanting to risk being thrown
out of the country.
We returned to the marina where we paid an agent $60 to take
our passports to the same immigration official, who stamped
us out and back into the country giving us another 90 days
to enjoy Venezuela. It seems not all pirates in Venezuela
wield shotguns.
Mañana or whenever
So here we are in PLC trying to tie up loose ends and head
west. The dinghy davit that was supposed to be ready this
week might be ready next week, and the refrigeration guy hasn't
shown up for several promised mañanas. The local
utility company that is replacing the marina's insufficient
Internet cable continues to promise completion of the work
mañana, mañana, mañana....
There's no flour, no sugar, and no milk in the grocery stores.
If you've managed to make it through this tedious log, your
head probably hurts and you're reaching for a stiff drink
. Now you know why sailors need their rum, and I do believe
it's happy hour.
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Sunset at Porlamar, Margarita Island
Back at El Oculto on our return trip
El Oculto
Hummingbird
Dakota swimming at El Oculto
Ciéneguita anchorage on Chimana Grande.
A police dinghy visited us here and checked on us during the
night. The bribe: ice water and chocolate chip cookies.
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