Oh the Places You'll Go: Caracas

The FG has been thither and yon across this nation and her homeland to the north. She spent the month between final exams and graduation driving 'round Europe, and taught English in the Far East for a year. She even made it to East Africa years and years ago. But until last weekend, she'd never been to South America.

There was a wedding to attend in Caracas on a Saturday night, and we had the points to cover the tickets. I know, you've heard bad things about Caracas in general, and Hugo Chávez in particular, but the bride and groom were taking care of the details, and it meant a lot to them that we were making the trip. After a morning spent at Bliss and a casual afternoon of packing, we hopped on a Continental flight to Houston.

As you may be aware if you've ever looked at a map of the Americas, Houston is not exactly en route to Caracas from NYC. In fact, given that Caracas is east of NYC, it is well out of the way. But like I said, there were points involved. So we flew to Houston. It turns out that, while Continental serves "food" on its flights (which we guiltily consumed), you can't get dinner, or much of anything to eat, at the Houston airport after 10:00 pm. This is not helpful when one's plane lands at 9:45 pm. Fortunately, the executive lounge serves free alcohol until 11:15, and stocks ample supplies of fruit, cheese and crackers. So we nibbled, and flew again.

It's been a long time since I've flown overnight, and I've never enjoyed it. This time, at least we had three seats to the two of us, and I think I got a wink or two, but I'd kept my expectations appropriately low. One of our fellow passengers was channeling Jack Colton - open white shirt, obvious stubble, blonde streaked mane, convertible pants, Camelbak. It was sort of amazing. When we arrived at the airport, an enormous poster of President Chávez and the Venezuelan satellite greeted us. Immigration was easy, and our bags eventually showed up, intact. We went through a final round of security, emerging in the meet and greet area, where our driver would be waiting for us.

Except that he wasn't.

Ways I wanted to start my first experience in South America, with very limited Spanish, definitely included being met by my driver at the airport on arrival. Especially after a night on an airplane, landing at 5:15 am.

We stood about, fending off offers of rides, currency exchange, and who knows what else, waiting for the guy with the secret letters on the sign (not our names, I think for safety reasons). While I can't recommend it, the slightly tense waiting time definitely banished any remaining sleepiness. The driver eventually showed up, citing bad traffic, and we were off.

The traffic was bad, and we were stuck in a tunnel for a good 10 minutes, which didn't help our nerves. While the airport is on the Caribbean coast, Caracas itself is inland, over a mountain range, Cerro Ávila. As you cross over, impossibly balanced, brightly coloured houses begin to cover the hillsides. Called barrios, they pile one atop the other on steep slopes. Most seemed to have electricity, but we couldn't see real roads of any kind and one wonders how people get to and from the city (never mind what devastation would occur in the event of a mudslide). Apparently 50% of the population of Caracas lives in the barrios.

We arrived at the hotel safe and sound after about 45 minutes, and immediately crashed. The afternoon was spent by the pool, resting up for the wedding that night.