La Gran Aventura, Part 1

I find the task of trying to share the details of the last several weeks with everyone somewhat overwhelming, and perhaps that’s why I haven’t done it yet. So let me just start by saying that trip I just came back from was absolutely amazing and I think that it merits more than a single blog post, but I’ll try to keep it a reasonable reading length.

So on my last day of work about 3 weeks ago, I told my classes that we were going to have parties with snacks, games, movies, etc. to celebrate. The previous day, I had told everyone that an amigo of mine was coming and we were about to embark on a grand adventure, to which they all just responded, “ooooooh profe es su novio!!!!! (your boyfriend).” I said no, that in the US it is somewhat normal to have friends of the opposite gender, and to hang out with them platonically. So when Zach arrived about a half hour before the classes started, I decided that the best thing to do would be to just bring him, and entertain the classes by letting everyone ask him whatever they wanted, given that they were already somewhat fascinated by him.

Well it turns out that Venezuelans are unbelievably gullible. When the students arrived, they had apparently forgotten about the “boyfriend” and started asking me who he was, so naturally, the answer was, “my BROTHER, of course!” Now I was shocked that they believed me for several reasons, 1) I had TOLD them the day before who he was, 2) they have seen multiple pictures of my brother and he clearly was not the same person, 3) Zach told them that he LIVES in Merida, and 4) did they really think I wouldn’t say anything beforehand if my brother was coming? Anyways, through this lie I think we both created and averted a great deal of confused chaos regarding the identity of this strange American boy, but it’s kind of sweet that they all now think that they know my brother (sorry Luke, I really wish you were here).

So 4 hours of moderately controlled chaos later, I was released from my duties at the University for 6 weeks! Zach and I got down to business organizing things for our pending departure. Several simple tasks: transfer some money, buy some bus tickets, pack, and make sure we informed the right people about where we would be when. Easy, right? Mas o menos.

Purchasing tickets for traveling here is really ridiculous for two reasons. First, people wait until the absolute last second to buy tickets, and then everyone makes a frantic, mad dash to get tickets ALL AT THE SAME TIME. This results in massive, totally unnecessary lines. Second, when you say I want a ticket to such place from such place, the person selling the tickets might say, “Ok, here’s a ticket for 10 o’clock,” and not until later do you realize that there were actually 4 or 5 different choices of tickets for different times which they most certainly never mentioned.

So we went to the bus terminal the day before our trip to buy bus tickets to Caracas, waited in line an hour or so (in the dark because the electricity went out), only to discover that we could not buy tickets until the next morning. So in the morning, Zach and I split up, I braved the line in the bank (where some crazy man sang happy birthday to the bank tellers for at least 1 hour while I was waiting) while Zach braved the one in the bus terminal. When he returned, he told me that actually we were not able to buy tickets until the bus actually arrived later that afternoon. So we went to my house to pack, to the university to put up grades, etc. etc., and returned a few hours before the bus was to leave only to discover that we were actually not allowed to buy tickets at all because there was no bus. So, royally fed up, we found some other tickets on another bus line (which were of course never mentioned by the lady we had talked to 3 times previously). Tickets in hand, we went home to get everything together and embark on our journey. To our grand surprise, when we arrived back at the terminal with our bags packed, right alongside our bus was the bus that we had planned to take. The nonexistent bus. Feeling puzzled and indifferent towards the sight, we got on the new bus and continued on our way.

The buses here are really pretty awesome. They are called “Buscamas,” Bus meaning bus and cama meaning bed. So, though these buses tend to be anywhere from about 10-14 C (aka FREEZING), they are super comfortable, with footrests and seats that recline almost horizontally. Very posh. I was somewhat puzzled when I saw people entering the bus with thick blankets and wool sweaters, beanies, scarves, maybe some mittens… but when the temperature gauge read -12 C on the last bus we were on, I felt much more envious than confused towards the people bundled up in their winter gear (this temperature reading is not a lie, though I am fairly certain that the thermometer was poorly calibrated). On the buscamas, they also tend to play either very vulgar or violent movies for your enjoyment until maybe 1 AM and then again starting at about 5 or 6 AM, but in general, the trips are quite pleasant. So we rode the night away, the first bus of many to come, and arrived in Caracas at around 6 AM.

Caracas is one of those places that is just so notoriously dangerous that I have made a point to just avoid it altogether when at all possible (note: creepy recent NYT article about grave robbers in Caracas). On our short taxi drive from the bus terminal we saw a body under a tarp, someone apparently killed in a recent car accident. The danger and political turmoil noted, I also think that it is a very dynamic, interesting city with a LOT of culture and complicated politics. In Caracas, we were fortunate to receive wonderful hospitality from a couple that works for the embassy. We rode the Teleferico, a really awesome cable car that takes you to the top of the tallest nearby mountain. At the top of the mountain you find many strange things, like people dressed as fairies, strange candies, LOTS of fruit and whipped cream, chocolate, and most importantly some stunning views of the city.
Caracas is a hugely populated city crammed into a single mountain valley, the city “planning” is absolutely horrendous, and from way up high you can just see the chaos manifested in the architecture. Buildings apparently stacked one on top of the other on top of taller buildings next to skyscrapers behind abandoned warehouses in front of mud shacks stacked 6 tall surrounded by ghettos of tin roofs. Complete disorder and poorly constructed buildings. The city is really quite a sight, the poverty is inescapably apparent, as is the fear people feel towards authorities there. On our way home, as Zach and I sat in a little restaurant on the side of the street eating bland bowls of chicken soup, every so often, someone would shout something about the police and everyone would go running behind cars, looking for shelter, or at least back up against some sort of building. A moment later, 5 or 6 motorcycles with cops on them would come zooming through the neighborhood, and once they passed everything would return to normal. Very different from the world that I am used to.

Anyways, we had a lovely night of good company, Lebanese food, and belly dancing in Caracas, and our friends very graciously took us to the airport the next morning to send us off on our next leg of the trip. We flew to Puerto Ordaz, the city where the two biggest rivers in Venezuela come together, the Orinoco River and the Caroni River. There were some spectacular waterfalls, unbelievable parks, and we had our first sighting of an animal that we had never seen before. We are still not entirely sure what it is, but definitely some sort of huge rodent capybara like thing. See for yourself…

After spending the day lounging in parks, we established with our taxi driver as a meeting place the largest centro commercial (read: mall) that I have seen to date in Venezuela. The first reason why this was a mistake: there were SO MANY PEOPLE! How does one go about finding a solitary taxi driver? The second reason: Malls are mostly just overwhelming for me, and Latin American malls even worse…. Anyways, we entertained ourselves by watching the signs that rolled independently down the hallways and people watching. After hours of entertaining ourselves, tracking down missing taxi drivers, and running around the city, we arrived at our next Buscama, where we kicked back, relaxed, and enjoyed the ride.

… Part 2, plus pictures, to come… I post this now only to satisfy my most demanding readers. Watch for the rest. I’ll try to put it up asap.