I was sitting on the starboard side of a P & O ferry, between Dover and Calais, minding my own business, enjoying the sunlight and wind of the English Channel, admiring the constant flow of people and goods, watching the white cliffs of Dover fade into the distance, thinking about how well the entire system works, when a drunk Polish man plopped down right next to me. The conversation went something like this:
– Polish guy: how’s your trip, by coach or car?
– Me: car.
– Polish guy: I’m traveling back to Poland, by coach, 15 hours, it sucks…
– Me: I can imagine…
– Polish guy: so where are you going?
– Me: to Normandy with some friends and family…
– Polish guy: where are you from?
– Me: Venezuela.
– Polish guy: Venezuela? Isn’t that where Chávez came from?
– Me: yes.
– Polish guy: that son of a bitch… He kept saying he built a healthcare system worth its name for the first time in Venezuela, and when he gets sick, he goes to Cuba? What the hell is all that about?
– Me: brother, you’re hitting the nail on the head…
Needless to say, the Polish guy made my day. There was a time when Europeans, in general, spoke highly of Chávez. Now, even drunk Poles, working in construction with little education, can see through the chavista nonsense.