Aló Presidente!
It was up at 3:45am, Monday morning, for some quick abolutions and then the taxi ride to the International Airport, Buenos Aires. LAN had me in the air for most of the day, via Santiago and then onto Caracas.
Despite some farting about with arrangements, all passed off relatively well in terms of the flights, and Fred (my rucksack), even managed to turn up on time. I can´t think how many flights that is now, and maybe it´s tempting the Gods of International Air Transportation but he sure is beating the odds as far as I´m concerned.
After my arrival in Santiago a month ago and that initial taxi driver melée, I thought I would be well able to deal with the BASTARDS this time. However, the Lonely Planet forewarns you with all sorts of messages about not stepping past the taxi rank at Caracas as you will be shot, etc. Not really putting you in the best head space for the coming onslaught.
Immigration and Customs successfully vaulted ("Is this your first time in Venezuela?" - No, I vacation here every weekend... What do you think!?!?!?!), we emerge into the Arrivals Hall to be grabbed by a man dressed as a policeman who begins to drag you away from Tourist Information and the Bureau de Change and all your grand plans.
Some minutes and some confusion later, having successfully disentangled yourself from this character and his taxi-driving amigo, you finally make it out to the registered boys and still get charged a whole wack.
120,000 Bolivares, which is roughly worth 45 euros. Still, they did ask for 150,000 to begin with, which the taxi-driving amigo assured me was a very good price for me.
Exactly. For me.
Are you getting that 2-tier sensation yet?
Caracas itself?
Imagine the problems of every major world city.
Then multiply by a million every single one of them and you still don´t even come close.
Ferrer, the driver from The Backpackers Hostel, who was supposed to pick me up, greeted me with the following:
"At least you are alive."
Simple as that.
On going out in the general neighbourhood of Sabana Grande.
"There are many robbers and you must also watch out for the police. This is the truth."
I kinda hunkered down with the French ex-pat community whom are making the Hostel their home for some reason and went to bed early, speculating as to the origin of the various suspicious noises that rang through the building throughout the night.
Today, Tuesday, I´ve already spent the morning in Alta Mira booking supposedly more secure accommodation for the rest of the week, a trip down South without my yellow fever shot seems pretty out of the question and I don´t think I could be bothered with going to the Caribbean island of Margarita and getting ripped off there aswell.
I´m pretty unimpressed with all of President Hugo Chavez´s rhetoric and posturing now. It probably emanates from the machismo of the Venezuelan culture and picking fights with George Bush and offering aid to the people of New Orleans is obviously a damn sight easier than alleviating the crippling poverty of Caracas and the Venezuelan people themselves. I´m not saying it could be easily done but the man´s been in power for close on 8 years and things do not look like improving in the near future.
There´s beautiful cars and beautiful people in the street but it´s the poverty and desperation of the majority on the outskirts and in places like Sabana Grande that really catches your attention.
Or does it?
Aló Presidente!
Despite some farting about with arrangements, all passed off relatively well in terms of the flights, and Fred (my rucksack), even managed to turn up on time. I can´t think how many flights that is now, and maybe it´s tempting the Gods of International Air Transportation but he sure is beating the odds as far as I´m concerned.
After my arrival in Santiago a month ago and that initial taxi driver melée, I thought I would be well able to deal with the BASTARDS this time. However, the Lonely Planet forewarns you with all sorts of messages about not stepping past the taxi rank at Caracas as you will be shot, etc. Not really putting you in the best head space for the coming onslaught.
Immigration and Customs successfully vaulted ("Is this your first time in Venezuela?" - No, I vacation here every weekend... What do you think!?!?!?!), we emerge into the Arrivals Hall to be grabbed by a man dressed as a policeman who begins to drag you away from Tourist Information and the Bureau de Change and all your grand plans.
Some minutes and some confusion later, having successfully disentangled yourself from this character and his taxi-driving amigo, you finally make it out to the registered boys and still get charged a whole wack.
120,000 Bolivares, which is roughly worth 45 euros. Still, they did ask for 150,000 to begin with, which the taxi-driving amigo assured me was a very good price for me.
Exactly. For me.
Are you getting that 2-tier sensation yet?
Caracas itself?
Imagine the problems of every major world city.
Then multiply by a million every single one of them and you still don´t even come close.
Ferrer, the driver from The Backpackers Hostel, who was supposed to pick me up, greeted me with the following:
"At least you are alive."
Simple as that.
On going out in the general neighbourhood of Sabana Grande.
"There are many robbers and you must also watch out for the police. This is the truth."
I kinda hunkered down with the French ex-pat community whom are making the Hostel their home for some reason and went to bed early, speculating as to the origin of the various suspicious noises that rang through the building throughout the night.
Today, Tuesday, I´ve already spent the morning in Alta Mira booking supposedly more secure accommodation for the rest of the week, a trip down South without my yellow fever shot seems pretty out of the question and I don´t think I could be bothered with going to the Caribbean island of Margarita and getting ripped off there aswell.
I´m pretty unimpressed with all of President Hugo Chavez´s rhetoric and posturing now. It probably emanates from the machismo of the Venezuelan culture and picking fights with George Bush and offering aid to the people of New Orleans is obviously a damn sight easier than alleviating the crippling poverty of Caracas and the Venezuelan people themselves. I´m not saying it could be easily done but the man´s been in power for close on 8 years and things do not look like improving in the near future.
There´s beautiful cars and beautiful people in the street but it´s the poverty and desperation of the majority on the outskirts and in places like Sabana Grande that really catches your attention.
Or does it?
Aló Presidente!
posted by Christophe at 6:41 p.m.
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