During my stopover in Miami the previous day, I had called Andre, one of the guys I was meeting in Maracaibo to share a hotel room, to tell him I would be a day late. I woke up Thursday morning to the sound of a rooster crowing. This thing would crow every 20 seconds or so. I assumed it was dawn, so I laid in bed for a while contemplating my next move. I would get a taxi back to the airport and get on the first plane to Maracaibo. Then I would take another taxi to Gran Hotel Delicias, where Wes Brown, another of the travel companions I had met on Bigsoccer.com, had reserved a room for us.

The rooster was relentlessly trying to get me out of bed with his crowing, so I finally gave in and got up. I looked at my watch and it was already 9:30. I showered and got my things together, then had a look outside. The beach I had seen in the dark was in fact a concrete wall at the back of a yard next to the hotel. There was trash in the yard and the area looked run down. Not quite the sandy beach I thought I had made out in the darkness.

I took a taxi back to the airport and was again greeted by a policeman offering to help me on my way. Thinking I would be more in control this time, I told him I was looking for a flight to Maracaibo and walked up to the Aeropostal counter to buy a ticket. He followed and spoke to the woman there in Spanish. The next flight to Maracaibo was taking off in 15 minutes. Better to try another line, he told me. So we walked over to Aserca and repeated the process. This time they had a flight in 45 minutes, so I gave the woman my credit card and passport and she charged me about $65 for a ticket.

The flight was to depart at 10:30, but at 10:15 there was no plane in sight. People were lining up at the gate, so I got in line too. At 10:30 a plane landed, and another half hour later we walked out on the tarmac and boarded through a stairway on the side of the plane. As I would find throughout my trip, nothing departs on time in Venezuela.

The flight took an hour, so I landed in Maracaibo around noon. The Lonely Planet book was right, Maracaibo is as hot as hell. A week of humid 90+ degree days back in Minneapolis had prepared me for it, so I didn't mind it. Energy is cheap in Venezuela, so every indoor space is air conditioned almost to the point of being too cold. The Maracaibo airport is much smaller than the one in Caracas, and there was a small staff of people welcoming travelers and handing out Copa America materials. One of them directed me to the taxi line, and I got in the first available taxi. I told the driver, "Gran Hotel Delicias," and we were off.

Fifteen minutes later, we were at the hotel. They drive fast in Venezuela, ignoring speed limits and right of way rules. Gas is cheap and cars are the preferred mode of transport. I saw old Camaros, LTDs, and Malibus as well as new Chinese and Indian cars and Renaults, Fiats, and Chevys. The smell of exhaust in the hot air felt like a headache pressing on my head.

I only had 40,000 Bs. but the fare was 60,000, so I asked the taxi driver to change money. He offered 3,000/dollar by writing on a piece of paper, but I gestured upward with my thumb and said "more." He wrote 3,500 and I agreed. I gave him $40 and took whatever cash he gave me without counting it.

Things had gone well. I had made it through the night without getting robbed or kidnapped. Inside the hotel, all I needed to do was find the other guys. I had never met any of them and I didn't know what they looked like. I tried phoning their room, but there was no answer. So I waited in the lobby for anyone who looked American. After only ten minutes, Rishi and his group showed up, all sweaty from the heat (Rishi has a blog at American Fooligan). Rishi was another person I met through Bigsoccer.com, although I think I had met him in Germany at the 2006 World Cup too. He was traveling with three friends, all of who came from different parts of the US. After you travel to soccer matches in other countries, you tend to make friends who you meet up with on subsequent trips. The other three, Roger, Mike, and Luis, had all met Rishi on some other trip. The five of us sat in the hotel bar and had a few beers while waiting for my group.

The first USA match was at 6:30 that day. It must have been around 1:00 PM that I finally found Patrick, who with Wes and Andre and me made up the group of four that would be sharing rooms for most of the trip. It wasn't much longer that the other two showed up and we exchanged greetings. They had gotten match tickets the night before, so we were all set with that.

Two more Americans, Brian and Dante, had met Patrick or Wes or Andre, I can't remember which, on a plane into Maracaibo. I had met Brian in Ulsan, South Korea at a small bar after the USA-Germany match. He and Dante ended up crashing in our hotel room, which was fine with me. We would have six people in there, but there were only four beds. We'd figure that one out later.

Before heading off to the stadium in taxis, the ten of us walked to a wall outside the hotel where someone had spray painted "gringo go home" and we took pictures with everyone standing in front of it. Cars were honking as they drove by. I love it when people have a sense of humor!

We packed three or four to a taxi, so three taxis dropped us off at the stadium in different places. I walked around with Andre and Patrick looking for the others. Several news crews approached us to interview us, but mostly they spoke with Andre, who is fluent in Spanish. The only one I recognized was from Univision. The others were from Venezuelan news stations, and I guess they were asking Andre what he thought of Hugo Chavez. He told us later that he chose to play it safe and just said something like, "he's ok I guess. I don't really get much into politics."

I'm going to put all the match reports on BlueSkySoccer.com, so a report of the first match should be available at this link within a day.