A Postcard from Caracas
Sometimes this trip is like being Clive James without the dry sardonic wit.
Without the camera crew.
Without the budget.
Having survived Sabana Grande and now being comfortably installed in the slightly more salubrious surroundings of Altamira, I´m able to take in Caracas a little bit more at my own pace.
Yeah, they have it all here in Altamira, valet parking, cops in abundance and no kids smoking crack opposite the Hotel.
I´m going to get into my sight seeing tomorrow, if I can get the balls together to actually drag the camera out. All of the main sights, all the Simon Bolivar related stuff, is in the absolute center and of course is a haven for thieves and bag snatchers.
In other news, pub culture does not exist in Caracas, in fact, it´s damn near impossible to get a decent beer around here. They only sell little ones, 220ml, on the basis that the beer will get too warm in another larger measure. Well, it sure is warm but at the same time!
On Tuesday night, myself, Serge and another Christophe ventured into the night, actually walking to the Metro at Plaza Venezuela in Sabana Grande. We made it and proceeded to Las Mercedes to sample the cafes. Serge claims to have been a hotshot private tour operator on the Isla Margarita with a sideline in providing working girls from the University as escorts for paying clients.
"I had alot of good clients" he says...
No shit Sherlock. That´s why you´re staying in this dive in Sabana Grande and working as a labourer. The complete bullshit artist.
The other Christophe is apparently working in Caracas and is steadily working his way around the low budget haunts and attempting to get an apartment.
Good luck with that.
Anything else to report?
Nope.
Nada.
The culture shock goes on.
Without the camera crew.
Without the budget.
Having survived Sabana Grande and now being comfortably installed in the slightly more salubrious surroundings of Altamira, I´m able to take in Caracas a little bit more at my own pace.
Yeah, they have it all here in Altamira, valet parking, cops in abundance and no kids smoking crack opposite the Hotel.
I´m going to get into my sight seeing tomorrow, if I can get the balls together to actually drag the camera out. All of the main sights, all the Simon Bolivar related stuff, is in the absolute center and of course is a haven for thieves and bag snatchers.
In other news, pub culture does not exist in Caracas, in fact, it´s damn near impossible to get a decent beer around here. They only sell little ones, 220ml, on the basis that the beer will get too warm in another larger measure. Well, it sure is warm but at the same time!
On Tuesday night, myself, Serge and another Christophe ventured into the night, actually walking to the Metro at Plaza Venezuela in Sabana Grande. We made it and proceeded to Las Mercedes to sample the cafes. Serge claims to have been a hotshot private tour operator on the Isla Margarita with a sideline in providing working girls from the University as escorts for paying clients.
"I had alot of good clients" he says...
No shit Sherlock. That´s why you´re staying in this dive in Sabana Grande and working as a labourer. The complete bullshit artist.
The other Christophe is apparently working in Caracas and is steadily working his way around the low budget haunts and attempting to get an apartment.
Good luck with that.
Anything else to report?
Nope.
Nada.
The culture shock goes on.
posted by Christophe at 6:32 p.m.
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