The sun rises over Caracas!
I spent 4 nights in Caracas, but it was all a bit of a blur. I actually spent a fair amount of time trying to take care of some personal business (laundry, shipping my old backpack and other superfluous stuff back to the USA, planning my next move, etc.), and all that stuff takes longer than one thinks it should. Overall, though, I really liked the city. I found myself feeling a bit angry, in fact, because so many people on travel forums and elsewhere had strongly recommended that I skip the city altogether because of how dangerous it allegedly is. Based on my observations and experience in the city, I strongly believe that the danger factor has been grossly exaggerated. (Which makes me angry because I think a lot of people wind up missing out a very cool experience because other people spread the mistaken notion that if you visit Caracas, you probably won’t leave the city without losing your wallet, your life, or at least a kidney.)
Anyways, I felt much safer in Caracas than I have felt in certain neighborhoods of some other big cities. I was prepared for the worst, and much to my amazement, there hasn’t even been a single taxi driver who has tried to take advantage of me. In fact, every time I get into a cab, it seems the taxi driver insists on giving me his cellphone and email address and wants to meet up down the road. Completely bizarre. In Puerto Ordaz, I took a taxi to the bus terminal. My driver was Carlos. First, he randomly went off on a tirade about the “huge problem” of all the “f*cking homosexuals” in Puerto Ordaz. (I sort of wish I knew what he had been talking about and maybe I would have stayed another day…) Then he told me how I definitely didn’t get to see enough of the city and that I simply had to come back for another visit and that I could stay with him and his wife, and that he would take me out to all the best places and we could share a few beers, etc. When we arrived at the bus terminal, he actually parked his taxi, got out and walked all over the terminal with me serving as translator and helping me to find the right bus to where I needed to go. He then flatly refused to accept a tip. I just don’t get it. Then I arrived in Caracas, and had to take a taxi from the bus terminal. My driver was Juan. He didn’t speak any English (but professed his love for American music). He insisted on giving me his phone number and email address, and told me he was putting me down on the VIP list at the very popular disco where he DJ’s on Saturday nights, and then begged me to call him so that we could go to the beach together on Sunday. He also made a point of saying how beautiful American women are. I really don’t get it. And these two stories are not unique.
Anyway, I skipped Juan’s disco, but I finally went out on the town on Saturday night. (It was not easy because I have stayed on a crazy early schedule ever since Roraima – in bed by 9pm and up by 5am.) I found a fantastic pocket gay named Gustavo and went out with him and his friends that night. It was great fun, except for when we were stopped by 3 machinegun-toting police officers who took all our identification papers, searched us thoroughly and then searched Gustavo’s car. Apparently, this is not an uncommon occurrence, and usually the cops are looking for drugs, which they then confiscate and demand a bribe to let the culprit off the hook. Fortunately, I had nothing more psychotropic on me than my anti-Malarial medication, and they let us go after about 20 minutes. And they looked quite good in their uniforms…
The rest of the night was a blast, though. Here are a few shots from Triskel Disco in the Altamira neighborhood of Caracas. Hitting some bars and walking around the streets confirmed for me that Venezuelans are an amazingly attractive bunch of people. Something to do with all that ethnic mixing has resulted in a wide variety of looks, but all quintessentially “Venezuelan,” and it seems that each generation benefits from the best qualities of each of their European, African and Indian backgrounds.
I spent 4 nights in Caracas, but it was all a bit of a blur. I actually spent a fair amount of time trying to take care of some personal business (laundry, shipping my old backpack and other superfluous stuff back to the USA, planning my next move, etc.), and all that stuff takes longer than one thinks it should. Overall, though, I really liked the city. I found myself feeling a bit angry, in fact, because so many people on travel forums and elsewhere had strongly recommended that I skip the city altogether because of how dangerous it allegedly is. Based on my observations and experience in the city, I strongly believe that the danger factor has been grossly exaggerated. (Which makes me angry because I think a lot of people wind up missing out a very cool experience because other people spread the mistaken notion that if you visit Caracas, you probably won’t leave the city without losing your wallet, your life, or at least a kidney.)
Anyways, I felt much safer in Caracas than I have felt in certain neighborhoods of some other big cities. I was prepared for the worst, and much to my amazement, there hasn’t even been a single taxi driver who has tried to take advantage of me. In fact, every time I get into a cab, it seems the taxi driver insists on giving me his cellphone and email address and wants to meet up down the road. Completely bizarre. In Puerto Ordaz, I took a taxi to the bus terminal. My driver was Carlos. First, he randomly went off on a tirade about the “huge problem” of all the “f*cking homosexuals” in Puerto Ordaz. (I sort of wish I knew what he had been talking about and maybe I would have stayed another day…) Then he told me how I definitely didn’t get to see enough of the city and that I simply had to come back for another visit and that I could stay with him and his wife, and that he would take me out to all the best places and we could share a few beers, etc. When we arrived at the bus terminal, he actually parked his taxi, got out and walked all over the terminal with me serving as translator and helping me to find the right bus to where I needed to go. He then flatly refused to accept a tip. I just don’t get it. Then I arrived in Caracas, and had to take a taxi from the bus terminal. My driver was Juan. He didn’t speak any English (but professed his love for American music). He insisted on giving me his phone number and email address, and told me he was putting me down on the VIP list at the very popular disco where he DJ’s on Saturday nights, and then begged me to call him so that we could go to the beach together on Sunday. He also made a point of saying how beautiful American women are. I really don’t get it. And these two stories are not unique.
Anyway, I skipped Juan’s disco, but I finally went out on the town on Saturday night. (It was not easy because I have stayed on a crazy early schedule ever since Roraima – in bed by 9pm and up by 5am.) I found a fantastic pocket gay named Gustavo and went out with him and his friends that night. It was great fun, except for when we were stopped by 3 machinegun-toting police officers who took all our identification papers, searched us thoroughly and then searched Gustavo’s car. Apparently, this is not an uncommon occurrence, and usually the cops are looking for drugs, which they then confiscate and demand a bribe to let the culprit off the hook. Fortunately, I had nothing more psychotropic on me than my anti-Malarial medication, and they let us go after about 20 minutes. And they looked quite good in their uniforms…
The rest of the night was a blast, though. Here are a few shots from Triskel Disco in the Altamira neighborhood of Caracas. Hitting some bars and walking around the streets confirmed for me that Venezuelans are an amazingly attractive bunch of people. Something to do with all that ethnic mixing has resulted in a wide variety of looks, but all quintessentially “Venezuelan,” and it seems that each generation benefits from the best qualities of each of their European, African and Indian backgrounds.
The only arena in which Caracas is especially dangerous is with respect to traffic. Gas is so cheap it´s nearly free, and people seem very attached to their cars. They drive everywhere, with no respect for traffic lights, traffic signs, pedestrians, or any other potential impediment. (This probably explains why there seemed to be a particularly large number of folks hobbling around the city missing one leg. Seriously.) I just decided to wait for a critical mass of pedestrians to assemble before attempting to cross any street, and then keep myself centered in the crowd. I figured even if we get nailed by a vehicle, at least some of the impact will be absorbed by the other bodies, and perhaps I won´t lose any limb or suffer a fatal injury. It all worked out in the end.
While in Caracas, I made plans to fly to Los Roques on Monday, December 18. I had originally planned to hit both Isla de Margarita and the area around Merida while in Venezuela, but I decided Los Roques would be a better option than Margarita, and I also decided I was running out of time to inclue Merida. The day after I bought my plane tickets for Los Roques, the NYTimes published an article about it. Do I have my finger on the pulse or not??? Tifffany (from the Roraima trek) was raving about Los Roques after having spent 10 days there. She also inspired me to think about getting certified in SCUBA while there. We shall see...
Next up, Los Roques!
2 comments:
ohhh, i'm so glad you've enjoyed caracas so much!
this is a very wired country, as you've seen so far...
caracas isn't that safe but, please tell everybody how cute are all guys here!
ohh, i'm wondering how longer are u gonna stay in venezuela and if u'll come back to caracas. if u do come back, email me!
Sorry to hear about the pack disaster. Let us know if there is anyway we can help you acquire a new one from here. We will miss you on New Year's! We rented a stone house complete with fireplaces upstate near New Paltz. Now if it would only snow . . .
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