Gun Fight in Santa Fe

Paul Odders (A.K.A. Plodders, or el Guapo) and I took a three week trip to Venezuela this January. The main goal was to get off the continent, and with tickets being $375 and the exchange rate once we got there being excellent, Venezuela was the destination we selected. It's a beautiful country, going from flat, hot plains, to snow capped mountains, to white sandy beaches and coral reefs.



We traveled all around the country doing different things: hiking, paragliding, backpacking, swimming, snorkeling, anaconda hunting, and just chilling. During a backpacking trip in the Andes we got to thinking about coral reefs and how nice it would be to go snorkeling. Then next day we got up, broke camp, and after 27 hours of constant travel we reached our destination.

So there we were, in the fishing village of Santa fe. It was a beautiful place, like something from The Old Man and the Sea. We were staying in a guest house that was right on the beach. We hired people in fishing boats to take us snorkeling every day. There were coral reefs in a perfect blue sea broken up by rocky desert islands. One night we were sitting on the roof, watching the full moon rise over the ocean and soaking up the amazing sea breeze. It would have been romantic, except that it was me and Paul, what can I say, there is just no spark there. Romance or not, we were having a good time. We had just eaten a pot of spaghetti that we cooked on a camp stove (we were a little low on cash and couldn't afford a $2 dinner) and Paul was trying to convince me that I was "macho" (which I fiercely argued for a while, but it was hopeless). Someone walked up the steps and stood there, blocking the only way off of the roof. (At this point in the story, it should be noted that this guest house had no official security guards). Suddenly I heard the distinct sound or metal on metal, soft but definitely there. "Shink, Shink." I looked up and saw the glint of the moon bouncing off a revolver. It was like something from a movie, all there was a silhouette of a man, loading a gun one bullet at a time. You could see straight through the holes in the cylinder until a shot was dropped into it.

"Holy Crap, Paul, that guy's got a gun!" We sat still for a minute as he finished loading, blocking the only way of escape from the roof. Presently he turned and walked down the steps. We gave him a bit of a head start, then went down the stairs and locked ourselves in our room.

About the room... it's not the safe kind of room that you would want to be in with bullets flying all around. The door was glass, facing out onto a central courtyard, and my bed was right in front of this door. In a town like Santa fe, it felt about as safe as sleeping in the middle of a road.

The night passed with no problems and we spent the nest day snorkeling again. Paul dared me to try to swim through a really sharp fire coral tunnel. Being totally unmacho, I easily refused the dare... till he did it, then we were both bleeding and our clothes were torn up. We started to feel safe again.

That night I went up on the roof, and saw our old gun toting friend. He looked nervous, running from one side of the roof to the other, looking over the side. It was pretty plane to see that something wasn't right. Maybe our feeling of safety was a bit premature.

The next day we went snorkeling again. We found a huge ray buried in the sand underneath the water. Both of us being totally unmacho we definitely weren't going to bother him and risk getting stung, or rayed, or flayed, or whatever those things do to annoying gringos. We weren't going to... but then I swam down and picked up a little rock and swam right over him and tried to drop it on him. I missed, so Paul tried. He hit the poor thing, but it still thought it was hiding. Well, it took forever to bother this thing enough to get it to move, but in the end we accomplished our goal (I think you could still find our pile of rocks we tried to drop on him) and it was worth the effort.



That night we were in pretty high spirits, joking about all sorts of things but especially gunmen. It was really nice outside, and I wanted to hang up my nasty towel and watch the moon rise. Paul was busy doing something (most likely writing a love letter) so I headed up to the roof. As I left, I turned to Paul and laughingly crossed myself. Halfway through the cross I got a terrified feeling in the pit of my stomach. Right then and there I crossed myself, and I meant it. I prayed an earnest prayer, "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, please keep me safe!" And stepped out the door.

I wasn't two steps from the door when gunfire broke out. I could hear it coming from right outside our compound, and apparently from the roof of our building. I rushed back into the room, closed the door, and turned the lights out. The two of us sat in our darkened room and listened as shots rang out over and over. We could hear them coming from several places right in our vicinity. There were men shouting right outside our door. Peeking around the curtain we saw five men meet and run out into the dark. We could see several more guys up on the roof. The gunfire died down after 5 or 10 minutes, but people were still running around shouting in front of our door. Every few minutes someone would pound on the door next to ours and they would have a hurried conversation and leave again. Someone came running, pushing a hand truck loaded with boxes and delivered them to our next door neighbors. I dragged my mattress onto the floor, behind a concrete wall and went to sleep.

The next day we woke up, happy to be alive. We belted out "Hero" by Enrique Egleisias at the top of our voices for no particular reason. It was a horribly off key duet, and the way it bounced off the concrete walls was just extraordinary. It was a fine time.

We moved that night. We stayed in a basement room inside a walled compound. All the windows were bared, our door had several locks and an iron portcullis to really lock people out.