Our trip in Venezuela took a rather unexpected turn when we found out that we were in fact illegal immigrants, according to our guide in Los Llanos, because we had not been given a special tourist card crossing the border. He derived a certain pleasure (I recon) on seing our faces when he described how the last gringo to be caught without one was deported after being in the country 3 days!

So after getting back we had some serious thinking to do about how to outsmart the law. Problem being, in Venezuela you have to carry your documents with you at all times and police can check them at any time. Luckily for us, we figured the absolute stench of anaconda poop coming from Jack would keep away any self respecting official type for the next few days, and we were right.

We spent the night as fugitives in the city of Barquisimeto, laying low and living off Pringles and lollypops from the hotel shop. The next day we headed over to Maracaibo, near to the Colombian border, in the hope of clearing our names with the local authorities. After searching in vain for the immigration office we finally found it in none other than the local bullring, a place known for violence and bloodshed, an apt location for the message it sends to lawbreakers such as ourselves I suppose.

Anyway, I attempt to explain our situation the the guy at the desk, who says if we want to stay another 3 months we have to go to the airport. No, I tell him, we want to leave tomorrow but don't want to have any trouble at the border, and he just smiles back at me like I'm a bit simple or something. So we leave feeling just as confused as before, but feeling slightly better because we hadn't been taken into custody there and then.

Cut to next day, we're in a taxi with three others heading towards the border. We've calculated the money required to leave the country and have left a bit spare to do a little bribing if necessary, so all we've got to figure out now is how the hell one goes about bribing in the first place. But our meditations were interrupted by an arguement breaking out in the back, the taxi suddenly doing a 180 and pulling up on the opposite curb. From what I could gather from the babble, the road to the border was closed, and upon asking the driver why, he answered ominously "for your own protection". Was this a sign warning us not to continue with our journey? There was only one way to find out. Pay the guy an extra 10 each to go the long way round and say bye bye to Plan Bribery.

After a nail biting three hour journey with six police stops on the way (one of the other passengers took the heat off us by having packets of powdered milk hidden in the trunk, at least that's what she claimed) we made it to the border. Walking timidly up to immigration we gave him our passports, waiting for the sound of marching feet and sirens to come. Instead, however, to our delight he merrily stamped away and we were finally OFFICIALLY out of Venezuela. Turns out they just don't care all that much!!

Still, it was kinda fun being an outlaw for a while!