socialism

Hugo Chávez frustrations

Río Caura, day 5 – the beach

We have finally arrived at the vast sandbanks of destination El Playón where this part of our river journey ends. Small wooden houses are spread on the beach, and with the evening sun sending a paradise glow down upon everything, it is hard not to feel amazed.

El Playón Hammock view #3 El Playón boat El Playón motor

After dinner Caracas man Francisco pops an expensive French red wine and offers me a glass in the dark overlooking the water. His wife is asleep in a hammock nearby. “Mmmm, this is really camping”, he says.

Dictator socialism

Francisco expresses his pride in the fact, that educated European students like me wants to come to Venezuela regardless of the political situation. He is openly frustrated by the socialist leadership of President Hugo Chávez.

– It has been 10 years now and it’s not getting any better. Chávez wants to do to Venezuela what Fidel Casto did to Cuba, and all though we should be a democracy here, that man is running the country like a dictator.

Belonging to wealthy class of Venezuelans, Francisco admits that Cháves missions have helped some poor people, but he doesn’t think he is building any foundation for the future, though he has had every opportunity with all the oil money floating in the country. And this frustrates him.

– I am a socialist too, you know. Just not this way.

The 70year-old DDR socialist

Río Caura, Day 2 (sorry the post got long and badly illustrated, but this man was really interesting :-))

After a relaxing hammock Sunday, a white car suddenly rolls into my family campsite in Las Trinchares. A man steps out. Though he is old, he looks vital and happy wearing a Hawaiian shirt and holding a big folded map in one hand. Klaus is his name. And he is traveling around Venezuela in a rented car.

– I turn 70 in a few days, and I really didn’t want to be the centre of some big party setup back home. So I decided to come here. I have travelled most of the world, actually. It’s my only hobby.

These words are all said in German, of cause – the only language Klaus knows beside Russian. Though it has been years since I learned German in school, I understand – at least better than anyone else here.

Klaus finds a bed in the nearby guesthouse, and invites me over for late night rum on his balcony with an amazing view overlooking the river. Here we small talk about everything. Studies. Woman. Politics.

Playing by the rules of socialism

As the conversation develop, it turns out Klaus is a burning socialist who share the visions of Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez, and looks back at the past times in the former DDR with great joy.

– We played by the rules of socialism and people had a direction in life. You need that. You cannot figure out everything by yourself, and from my perspective socialism leads you the right direction. Taking care of one another and sharing your life and experiences.

Sympathic ideas on a beautiful evening by the river. I tell him that Christianity to me provides that framework and he respects that, all though he is clearly an atheist. When the conversation turns to world issues regarding terrorism and Islam, and his statements are less appealing to me.

– Muslims have flooded Europe and that it is only a matter of time before towns or even nations are taken over by these violent and fanatic people.

A black and white world

The more we speak (…or drink?), the more the old DDR man seem to objectify and simplify people and cultures. Everything turns black or white in his head, in a way that to me has nothing to do with socialism, though it might be a sign of his DDR past. It is also strongly reflected in his male chauvinistic views on prostitutes and women in general. A discussion that is better not to refer here.

Klaus from DDR had strong and unappealing opinions, but a winning personality. When I wanted to leave but couldn’t find my way back in the dark, the former marine officer shook his head as he followed me along to the camp:

– [sighing] Peter aus Dänemark, der einmal stolzen Nation des Wikings, kann nicht zurück zu seiner Hängematte finden.

And so we left each other laughing into the Venezuelan night.

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