the big lap

Several hours into a tour to Venezuela´s anaconda-infested savanna our tour guide turned down the Manu Chau and asked over his shoulder: "so when are you going to ask me about Chavez?" the lack of response made him clarify his request "everyone always asks me about Chavez at some point."

I had in fact decided to leave the potentially delicate discussion till our last day, having sensed some animosity towards El Presidente at the posada with whom we were on tour. But with the question out there, i nodded cautiously with the others "well what do you think?"

It wasn't an unusual question. Venezuelans take an interest in politics more akin to the Indian Subcontinent than Australia and Hugo Chavez Frias, with his strong anti-imperialist opinions and bombastic oratory, inspires some fairly intense views amoung his constituency. Foreigners share the fascination for the man spuriously describe as a dictator by the United States (as they describe anyone audacious enough to nationalise industries) and although some are here to watch birds, plenty of travellers are checking out this so called 21st Century Socialism in practice. Visiting worker co-operatives and entering the ´Misiones´ where the best work is happening and people are excited by the all-important "process".

Barack Obama recently suggested in a talk to Miami`s Cuban exiles that "he was elected democratically but doesn`t govern democratically", which is comically hypocritical from a country which continues to avoid the overwhelmingly popular opinions on war and healthcare. But while the US continues to manufacture an excuse for war (a la Allende`s Chile, Sandinista Nicaragua, Cuba etc), using Columbia as the front-line and funding and training opposition, Venezuela has been productively chipping away at divisions within Latin America. With such initiatives as the Bank of the South (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bank_of_the_South) and buying up Latin American debt to the IMF and World Bank, Venezuela is picking up where Simon Bolivar (who predicted as early as the 1820s that the US would bring misery to Latin America in the name of Liberty) left off almost 200 years ago.

Like many critics of Chavez, our tour guide Joelle, started with a grudging recognition of the positive changes, in this instance: the improved standard of healthcare and education and the country´s overall economic prosperity since Chavez´s 1998 election victory. He then went on to say that the universities offering free education are substandard, inflation (at 20% last year) makes it all but impossible to save and corrupt officials continue to syphon off public funds. In many ways he is right in his analysis: corruption is still rife (particularly in the police force, bureaucracies - filled with plenty of anti-chavista - and with some governors - opportunistic rather ideological chavistas) and some courses at some universities lack the necessary skills to produce the high-quality graduates that Venezuela desperately needs.

There is no national Police force, they are run at the state level and, at best, are seen as bumblingly incompetent. In the affluent areas of Caracas private militia guard the streets and prevent the police from entering whilst in the barrios Colombian organised crime groups terrorise the population. When a group of 56 delegates from Australia came to Caracas in May this year, 15 were robbed in the first three days. Of those 15, 13 were robbed by the police. Other travellers had a similar story to tell: an English couple were asked to produce their passports and when they were unable to, the police searched them and stole two hundred $US. Unfortunately i was unable to summon a first hand experience, due mostly to Gita´s refusal to spend more than the absolute minimum time in Caracas.

Speaking to people about Chavez became a major tourist activity and there were constant stories to hear. When a black-market money-changer saw i was reading a book on Eva Peron called Santa Evita he declared that in this country they had Santa (saint) Chavez. Reflecting on the conversation after he left, i believe i may have said that i wanted the president dead, in a failed attempt to explain the Vatican's canonisation policies.

A jolly self-professed fat man we met on a hike with no English and a love of everything outdoors but moving quickly, explained his admiration for Chavez but said that if anyone called him gay (as he believed people in the media were calling Chavez) he would lock them up or shoot them.

A young man who could quote J`amie from Summer Heights High with a flawless accent, said of Chavez: "yeah he`s doing some good things but we don`t have to hear about every little detail"; he much preferred the telenovellas to the chain-transmissions used to announce new initiatives or, as Fluvio would say, "to tell people he`s playing golf in Cuba or eating something different for lunch." One of our teachers described the hilarity that ensued in the country after the Spanish King, frustrated with Chavez' constant talking at an international summit, said "Why don't you just shut up?". Apparently many agreed and the jibe became a national joke for some time.

Apart from the political discussions on the tour, we rode horses, saw anteaters, birds, piranhas and most importantly got to touch a small anaconda and be within striking distance of a five meter long snake dragged unceremoniously from a pond by a local cowboy showing up the tour guide who could only find a tortoise.

Where do you vomit when you're five floors underground in an ancient city carved out of solid rock? I had a suspicion that this was one piece of knowledge the tour guide lacked and thus I was left to improvise....

We have arrived in Italy (a night in Milan then to Palermo) to the land of pizza, pasta, piazzas and gratuitous PDAs - which, for those not up with gossip-mag jargon, is the public face-sucking performance performed by young Italian couples - and we have left the land of big red flags. Unfortunately they were not the type of red rags that rouse the spirit of young socialists but the pure-and-simple nationalist white crescented flag of Turkey. As you fly into Istanbul they are one of the first things you notice and once you hit the ground they are everywhere. Hanging in shops, literally covering buildings and generally cluttering the landscape. The only thing to rival the ubiquity of the Turkish pennant is the likenesses of Mustafa Kemal who, in adopting the name Ataturk (literally "father Turk") is perhaps the worlds only self-dubbed founding father. And he is adored in a way that would make the Prophet jealous.

Sharing borders with Iran and Iraq to the east and Greece to the west, it is a country straddling two continents. Both politically and geographically on the edge of Europe, and with the Bospherous Strait connecting the Mediterranean to the Black Sea, running through Istanbul, Turkey maintains the same strategic significance today that motivated a particularly bloody invasion attempt by the ANZACs ın 1915. They also receive substantial financial and military aid from the US and (as is generally the case with countries close to the US) they have a fairly poor record on human rights. If you mention the Armenian genocide "there were deaths on both sides" and if you want to discuss the PKK you must first accept they are terrorists. After so many rave reviews, however, our familiarity with the food and our general inclination towards travelling, it is unsurprising that we enjoyed Turkey.

Turkey's people are predominantly Muslim although their country's relatively brief political history has been dominated by the fiercely secular militarism of Ataturk. There are plenty of moustaches around but not that many more than Australia and the same applies to hijabs. They also have a drinking culture (if a lack of quality beer) and Istanbul's entertainment and shopping district is full of trendy bars and cafes lining cobble-stoned lanes. And the call to prayer can prove an annoying alarm clock or mystical back drop as you explore the ancient Mosques and Churches.

The Turkish people, with very few exceptions, have been great and we regularly encountered people who were interesting, generous, approachable and polite. They seem to like Australians in a way that went beyond the normal sucking-up-to-a-tourist-who-might-buy/rent-their-goods/tour/hotel-room. Every second restaurant owner seems to have been (or be about to) visit Australia and the rest seem to have (or had had) Australian (or New Zealand) girlfriends. The frequent, and at times convincing attempts at ockerisms indicates that Turkey is well travelled by Australians, and while I might cringe at the re-enactment of our failed invasion each ANZAC day as young Australians languish in a mix of national pride and (I suspect) their own drunkeness, it actually seems to be quite the bonding point. It took a while to work out why.

The calamity that we know as Gallipoli plays a monumental part in the founding mythology of our respective countries. As the Ottoman Empire was self-destructing during the Great War, a young Mustafa Kemal (soon to become Ataturk) was bravely leading the Turkish people to victory on the front line. For Australia, the deaths at Gallipoli gave birth to the ideal of the Aussie Digger and marked a significant turning point in our relationship with England. With both countries freely able to blame the British, it is the glorified rules-of-engagement that are celebrated.

After catching up with Nick (an old school friend teaching English as a foreign language) we headed around the coast following an out-of-season tourist trail around the Mediteranean coast. We also visited the Greek island (from where Gita's Great grand parent emigrated) for a day that was picturesque despite the biting wind and rough boat ride, and had a mercifully brief and painfully cold swim at a pebble "beach" (because of a stupidly optimistic assertion that one could swim in the Mediterranean in March).

We then moved on to Cappadoccia, the heart of the country where rock formations are so phallic I would expect them to be censored rather than full of 11th Century churches. There was also a primo site for old geeks where the Sandpeople scene from Star Wars was shot.

We were rushing around the country ticking off tourist attractions and in an attempt to round off the cultural experiences, Nick, Gita and I decided to go to a Turkish Nights performance. Located in a cave outside of Goreme it was a gig aptly described by a fellow traveller as a cheesy but fun night. The dervishes whirled furiously, the belly dancer shimmied, the folk dancers pranced, the food was plentiful and the beer was dutifully brought to the table on request. Which is how I confronted something I fear more than six foot reptiles: audience participation. After dancing a public jig and pulling off a forward roll on a rock floor I had to calm my nerves which is how I ended up in an unbecoming state the following day, five floors below ground.

The solid rock was closing in, my stomach was churning and the only way out was back up the single-file flight-of-stairs which needed to be climbed in a crouch. The tour guide continued his explanation of the cruciform prayer rooms as I edged away from Nick's amused camaraderie and Gita's contemptuous glares.

The food in Turkey was great, I loved the pastries filled with cheese, the pides filled with cheese, the gozlemes filled with cheese and the often cheesy mezes (tapas or mezethes type dishes). Spinach was a great addition when it could be found but mostly, owing to a carbon-friendly practice of only eating what is in season, we missed out. I think mostly, however, I will miss the breakfasts, simple but delicious. Black tea, fetta, olives, bread and the type of delicious tomatoes you cant seem to buy in Australia. And, taking the remainder of my dignity along for the ride, that is pretty much what came wrenching from my guts and hurtled down a 900-year-old well. waiting, waiting...splash. Nick laughed while taking photos and offering water, Gita cursed and the tour guide stoically pushed on with his rehearsed lines.