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In the days before on-demand movies one was forced to watch whatever was playing. On the Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt to Caracas it was 'Welcome to Mooseport' I soon tuned out. Next to me a young man listened to German pop on his discman, it was 2002 and I was heading to my first teaching gig. Eventually my lonely planet was failing to keep my attention and the young man took off his headphones. "Why are you going to Venezuela?". It was a fair question. Nowadays few would dare bother but I was after adventure and the TESOL agency had made it sound so exotic. On that plane I was beginning to regret not going to South Korea or Japan like my peers. The charming young man was called Simon and he lived in the city, Merida, I was going to. Very kindly he invited me to have dinner with him when I arrived. Hurrah, an instant social circle. Caracas was an experience and not one I ever wanted to repeat so I emailed Simon to say I would be there on the Wednesday. On arrival an email pinged back telling me to come to his house high in the hills around Merida. It was a charming town and full of character and I felt reassured in the little minivan trundling up the roads into the lush mountains. Simon greeted me at the little plaza and took me to his home. A hacienda, a ranch, they were rich. The little bottle of Baileys I had brought felt inadequate. A family BBQ was underway and I met his parents, his friends and a bizarre exchange student from Berlin called Anna. I was served whiskey which I had no taste for but wanted to show willing. His large father in stature and personality gave me a cuban cigar to smoke and we wandered around the farm as the main dish was being prepared. I liked Venezuela at once, so welcoming and inclusive to all. As we sat at the tables in the garden hunk upon hunk of beef was slapped down in front of me. Being vegetarian I simply looked for the salads or potatoes as I always did but there were none. There was literally only beef and whiskey. Expectant faces looked to me to begin. I whispered to Simon that I was vegetarian and his face dropped. "This party is for you, they have killed a cow for you". I felt very cold despite the heat. I had not eaten meat for 12 years and before that I could only just about manage chicken. I was the guest of honour at a banquet and I was about to refuse to eat? No, I could not do that. I drank three shots of whiskey and put the charred corpse into my mouth. Honour restored we toasted the night away. I have never been so ill. The effects of red meat on a tofu lined stomach became apparent during the night and the lovely lady who ran the guest house ferried water and cold towels to the wretch on the bathroom floor. Three days later I ventured out into the town, tender but alive and thinking how funny but me and meat would return to distant cousins again. That was until I entered plaza de las heroinas. What was that delicious smell? It led me by the nose to a small restaurant and through the window I could see the menu. Chicken and rice. Damn it. Venezuela broke my vegetarianism but it allowed me to see a culture and a people before their said political decline. Some of the best experiences of my life happened in that country and I hope to see it rise again. I urge you to visit that most captivating of lands. Just avoid the beef.