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March 4th 2009

Published: March 4th 2009

Sunday 1st March
After Saturday's last minute's rush pack when I squeezed too much into my tightly packed rucksack and double checked that I wasn't forgetting anything - the 'just in case' items - I headed to Heeathrow at 3.30 am with Jennie still in her dressing gown. Got there in plenty of time as no traffic on the roads and after check-in browsed through Duty Free where I had to bin my straw hat which had already disintegrated in my rucksack. 'Had the usual problems going through security with my replacement hip - they even offered my a separate room for a full body check! Travelling on Iberian Airlines vias Madrid where I had an 1.5 hours wait for transfer, then direct to Caracas. During the previous week I had e-mailed a few Hospitality Club members in search of accommodation in Caracas for a few days. One replied late last night with an offer plus directions and travel tips. I replied accepting it.
Madrid - foggy and raining! A modern airport with lots of glass lifts, glass floors and spacious open planning. A shuttle bus took me to the transfer terminal, followed by a long walk to the departure gate. Very few transferring from the London flight to Caracas. A600 plane but I was fortunate in having two spare seats next to me, as the rest of the plane seemed full. A nine hour trip, which was tedious and bumpy, we had two films one of which I watched - Australia- good and romantic. We landed at 16.15 local time. The time difference is 4.5 hours less than GMT, Venezuela has a unique time zone.
Caracas airport is a large, bustling with many coming and going, plus many just standing around ready to 'help' or wanting to change money on the black market. The official exchange rate is about 2.8 Bolivares to the dollar - I changed some at 4 to 1. I went to the tourist office where, though they were very friendly, could only offer me a map of Venezuela. I found out later that it's almost impossible to get a map of the city. On my way to the National terminal to buy a bus ticket into the city, I was approached by another guy wanting to change money. I told him that I already had Bolivares but asked him for directions to the ticket office. He led me there and asked for a ticket to the city centre. What I didn't know was that he was in collusion with the ticket salesperson, who charged me ten times the normal fare.... a costly journey!
The first sight of the mountains with their peaks emerging from the surrounding clouds was great. The dusk ride up the steep roads through the mountains towards the city was like a Christmas fairyland with the lights of the houses on the slopes twinkling in the distance. It was a slow journey with 5 lanes of traffic jostling for position at a crawl speed. There were quite a few vehicles by the side of the road with their bonnets up - overheated? The downhill journey was somewhat faster. I got off at the last stop and made my way to the metro station. People on the bus were very helpful with directions. I bought a 'multi abono' ticket and caught a train easily. The metro system is easy to follow and efficient. Following Roy's instructions I tried to get out of the exit to 23Enero but it was closed. A lady directed me to another exit where Roy was waiting. His full name is Rohiman Diaz and he is also a member of the Hospitality Club. I joined it when I came back from my last trip to S. America, having heard about it from other fellow travellers. They found it helpful and mutually beneficial - members host each other for a very limited period, always less than a week. All members are vetted and feedback comments from both hosts and guests are published.
Roy's place was near the centre of Caracas just across the road from a metro station. He lives with his girlfriend in an apartment on the sixth floor of a block where security was high. The block was surrounded with a metal fence and locked gates and the entrance to his apartment also had a metal gate outside the main heavily secured main door. Though Dulce does not speak any English, Roy's English was fluent and he was glad of the opportunity to practise speaking it. The apartment was practical and sufficiently spacious with a separate room for me. After a long, cold and badly needed shower we chatted for a while before gong to bed. The temperature in the apartment was a stable 23/24 even without air conditioning which was very comfortable. It had been a long day and I needed a good sleep.

Monday 2.3.09
Roy was up before six and went out for a run. He told me later he runs for about an hour and ten minutes each day before going to work. He works as a communications engineer, linking up network systems for banks. I got up at about 7.15, got directions to the nearest supermercado and made my way to pick up a few things for breakfast. 'Couldn't get milk andywhere - shortage? In fact I was surprised at the sparse variety of produce on the supermarket shelves. 'Came back and had a leisurely breakfast while I planned out the day. I decided to do my own walking tour around the centre of the city and took the metro for two stops to Capitolio. 'Felt a bit lost without a map so looked round for landmarks. 'Walked towards a park which was situated on the top of a hill. It had an impressive large archway entrance with Federacion written on it, but everything else about the park was dilapidated. Even a lovely little church with a statue of Theresa Carena was almost in ruins from neglect. In the church doorway was a uniformed policeman with his girlfriend behind a parked motorcycle. When I tried to take a photo of the scene over the valley he abruptly broke away from his girlfriend and told me firmly that no photos were allowed which take in the presidential palace. It was the far side of the valley. I climbed further up the hill where there were lots more police. I went back down through the park and decided to head for the presidential palace from which I was turned away at every angle - security was high. The next building I encountered was the Concejo Municipal, an unusually styled building with a golden domed roof. This was a total contrast to the buildings in the park - neat, clean and well up-kept. Inside the was a central courtyard and a white plasterboard stand over to one side where visitors wrote their personal message on it. One read 'with Chaves we have everything, without Chaves we have nothing' - all the rest were of similar vein. However, I did notice that there were some gaps where some sections had been cut out of the board - were these messages not in support of Chaves? Some local people say that in spite of Chaves winning the last election, his popularity is beginning to wane.
As I was walking through one of the plazas I noticed many black market money changers touting for business. I asked one what exchange rate he would give. To my astonishment he said 6 to 1. I agreed and he asked me to follow him to the exchange office; I was suspicious when it led down some alleys. I refused to go any further; in the meantime his companion caught up with us and had a wadge of Bolivares. He asked to see the Dollars to check that they weren't fake. He looked at them but at the same time was slipping one of the $20 dallar bills down his sleeve.I just grabbed my money, including the one down his sleeve, and made a hasty exit. He called after me that he would give 4:1, I ignored him and continued on. I went to the main Bolivar Plaza where I found a space on a bench and had some lunch to the background of jazz music. I then visited the church of St Theresa which seemed to be made up of separate shrines. There was a constant stream of people making their way to these, praying lighting candles of just placing flowers in front of the shrine.
I was weary from all the walking and climbing earlier so went into a cafe for a rest and coffee. They found it funny when I asked for a coffee with milk; apparently there are different kinds of white coffee and each has its own name. While I was drinking my coffee I was half watching a popular Venezuelan soap programme on TV. I noticed that none of the cast in the programme was black or even half-cast; in fact it was the same for the intervening ads. Why were they not representative of the opoulation? I posed this question to Roy later in the evening. He said he had not noticed this before now and did not have an explanation for it. I went to the metro station and was about to take it but was tempted to have a look around the main commercial centre which surrounded it. The centre was on six floors with a well in the middle of it; the view from the top made a good photo shot. Many Movilstar and Movilnet shops around. I had enough for today and made my way back towards the apartment.
As soon as I got in I had a 'cap nap' for 20 minutes before Roy and Dulce arrived back from work. He made some 'arepita dulces' for tea - made from malt, flour and yeast, and served with grated salty cheese ..they tasted great. We chatted for about an hour or so and after a cool shower I had an early night.

Tuesday 3.3.09
Roy was up and out for his run at 5 this morning. Dulce called me just after 6.00 as I planned to go with Roy on his way to work and buy a coach ticket for Wednesday evening to Ciudad Bolivar as it's on the route to the Angel Falls. Unfortunately they would not issue me a ticket without my passport which I didn't carry with me, for security reasons. I would therefore have to leave that purchase until tomorrow. I made my way from there to the 'teleferico estacion' on the outskirts of the city. The cable car takes you up the mountain to Parque Nacional El Avila. The journey in the bus to the teleferico was an experience; I almost choked on the exhaust fumes as the bus struggled to climb up the steep roads. When I eventually got to the station I found it almost deserted; nobody at the ticket dest so I made my way trough the turnstyle into the departure area where I asked when I could get a cable car up to the top. He explained that it didn't open up until ten. I had just less than an hour to spare so I had a refreshment and read for a while. Ten o'clock came and went but no sign of it starting up. There were plenty of maintainance people around and lots of officials coming and going but no other visitors except me. I asked someone else the same question only to be told now the it starts at midday! Roy told me later that evening, when I related this story to him, 'in Venezuala always expect the unexpected'. It wasn't worth while going all the way back down again, so I decided to have lunch in the open air cafe there, read and watch the world go by until midday. I was amazed to see so many people in their distinctive red and red T shirts working at the station but apparently 'not working'. They chatted, read the papers, had a coffee or just stood around! At about 11:50 things came to life, people went to their stations and the place opened up. I went back through the turnstyles to the ticket kiosk outside and asked for a ticket. While she was telling me the price I noticed a sign saying free entrance for over 60s. I told her I was over 60 so she just wave me through. I shared a cable car with three other pensioners, two Venezuelan ladies and one from Colombia. After a 20 minute ride up, the views from the top were spectacular. The vegetation was very lush and colourful with lots of unusual birds and some monkeys around. There was an unusually styled hotel built by a previous dictator not far from the exit at the top; however it is not used and fairly run down. Beside the top station there was an ice rink which is popular. In fact everything around the park was kept meticuluosly clean and tidy.
I had a straightforward journey back to Roy's apartment where I caught up with my e-mails. I just got in before the rain came down / suddenly and heavy. Roy came in later, soaked, both from the rain and the humidity. When the rain died down I went out for some shopping, bought a slice of pizza, a cake and a drink from the local bakery. I also managed to get some real milk. After a bite to eat, and a chat, I planned out what to do tomorrow.

Wednesday 4.3.09
Dulce woke me up while Roy was out for his early morning run. I was going to make my second attempt to get a ticket for the coach this evening to Bolivar. I plan to catch the 8pm one and tracel through the night to arrive in Bolivar tomorrow morning. After a quick breakfast I went by metro to the coach station wher the ticket salesperson had difficulty understanding me until a peruvian guy in the queue stepped forward and translated for me. It turned out well as I got nearly 50%!r(MISSING)eduction, as a pensioner. I made my way back to the apartment where I caught up with this blog, and got used, one again, to the vagaries of layout on a Spanish keyboard.

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