caracas, venezuela (finally!!!!!!)

As soon as I had my mail in hand, I tore open the envelope to see my invitation to Venezuela with my own eyes. Yahooo!

I took a shower then caught a taxi to the bus terminal, and not long afterwards I was on a bus to Maicao in Colombia. The bus was supposed to be a short and simple 3.5 hour ride, but the bus decided to break down about an hour into the trip.

Actually, the bus didn't break down at that point, but the drivers pulled over as there was clearly an issue with some aspect of the bus. The 2 drivers went to the back and spent an hour doing mechanical work. Us passengers waited on the hot bus until the drivers and their greasy white t-shirts came back to start up the engine. At that point, however, the bus wouldn't even start at all! One passenger joked that the drivers' work had actually made the condition of the bus worse.

A man passing by on a motorcycle stopped to help the bus drivers fix a part and suddenly we were on the road again! ...until an hour went by and the bus broke down and came to a complete stop this time.

There was 10-15 minutes of waiting in the heat, then all the passengers joined a passing bus headed toward Maicao.

Now I can check 'bus broke down' off the travelers' checklist.

After arriving in Maicao I went to talk with the greasy collectivo guys about taking me to the border, the place where I was to meet The Moment of Truth.

At the border I passed through Colombian immigration and got my exit stamp. This time the officer warned me that I'd need and invitation to get into Venezuela and that's when I told him that I knew about the invite and my last week had been one of waiting and troubles to get it.

I approached the Venezuelan immigration booth and handed over my passport, invitation, and all other documents. Again, the customs officer looked kind of surprised upon seeing my passport, and even more so with the invitation. I ended up explaining that I'd attempted to cross the same spot a week ago. He told me he was going to stamp my passport and then in what felt like slow-motion he put a stamp in it. I thanked him profusely and may have jumped up and down a little which must have looked really strange to all the Colombians and Venezuelans around me.

My Venezuelan friend later joked that it was a similar reaction when a Venezuelan got a visa for the States.

Before getting my stamp I'd told my story to a Venezuelan sergeant and he later asked me how my trip to immigration went. It was late afternoon by this point and getting dark. He graciously helped me get a spot on a night bus to Caracas and let me use his phone to call my friend in Caracas to let her know that I was on my way and to meet me at the bus terminal in the morning.

I say 'spot' and not 'seat' because that's how it was (not that I'm complaining! I was thrilled to be there and not spending another night in Maicao). Technically the bus was full, but they let me sit at the front on a little cushioned area with the two drivers and a friend of theirs. They were curious and friendly and they told me about some useful Venezuelan vocabulary.

Shortly after the border crossing we hit a military checkpoint. A guard examined my Canadian passport and began to search my bags and hounded me with questions. Did I have dollars? Why was I traveling alone? Why did I only have one medium-sized pink duffle bag? "That's weird," he proclaimed before finally walking away.

The drivers apologized for the guard's abrasive unwelcoming behavior but I told them it wasn't a worry and that it would be ignorant of me to judge all people in a country on the basis of one brief interaction.

There was one part of the bag search where I had to hold in my laughter because the guard took this package of tissues in hand (given to me by an Ecuadorian woman) and gazed intently at it from multiple angles, examining its exterior for a generous amount of time.

Several hours later we arrived in Maracaibo where some passengers got off the bus, therefore freeing up a seat for me on the top level to get some shut eye on our AC-less bus as it drove across Venezuela in the night.

I woke up around 5am feeling like a shower would be wonderful. My hair must have been messier than usual because one driver asked me if I'd gotten into a fight the previous night.

Initially I'd thought we were getting close to Caracas because 5am was the estimated arrival time I'd been told and the friend of the driver kept telling me we were close and that we didn't have much further to go.

In reality, at 5am we were in Valencia. For the next two hours I kept hearing that we were almost there. At least I learned quickly what 'almost there' really means.

Due to traffic made worse by an accident (the road was actually quite clear - it was a case of rubber necking), we didn't arrive at the terminal until 11am. I felt awful because my friend and her dad had been there waiting for me, and even though I'd told them not to come at 5, but to come later since buses are often delayed, I have a feeling that they were there early because they were worried about my safety. They wouldn't actually tell me what time they arrived at the terminal that morning.

So with each family member I met I greeted them, thanked them for all their help with the invitation, and apologized for all the trouble.

It felt great to see a familiar face after months of travel and introductions and strangers. Even better, it was great because my friend is such a wonderful friend and person.

My friend's mom cooked a meal, and after eating my friend and I caught the Metro to the Centro to walk around a bit.

...we came across a chocolate place...

The government district is loaded with this type of imagery:

Love the abundance of fresh fruit and natural juice available at an accessible price.

My friend said that the Centro is changing, and we saw more trendy cafes and restaurants with patios such as this one. She remarked that it reminded her of Vancouver.

piñata time

A great idea, the metro has 2 sections of seating - one area with blue seats and the other with yellow seats. One section is reserved for the elderly, pregnant women, and people with special needs.

A skate park near my friend's parent's apartment:

I was taking pictures of the park from the Metro station above when these boys motioned for me to take their picture.

Coffee with milk, an arepa, fresh cheese, and a carrot salad.

I admit that I was hoping to see some of the rioting or damage which I kept reading about online, but my friend said the riots were over in Caracas, and now they could be found in Valencia.

This is a fruit called 'níspero' and I said it tasted kind of like a sweet potato but my friend said it was different.

"There's no milk, there are bullets."

We spent the day taking the Metro, walking around central Caracas, and nibbling on things here and there.

I was a bit tired from walking around in the heat when we reached my friend's university grounds for an unforgettable stroll.

On a Saturday afternoon my friend and I were walking through the university grounds when two young men (they must have only been 19 or 20) mugged us, trying to get my friend's purse and my camera.

It happened quickly and lasted only 10-12 seconds with the two of us being confused and unsure about what was happening during the first half.  Even when you plan for these types of things and go over what you could do in that situation, when it actually happens it can feel quite strange.

The first thing I noticed was that my friend was slightly behind me and I heard her scream. I didn't panic because she's a screamer and will scream at small non-threatening situations. In this case, she had great reason to do so!

I'd heard her scream and then I realized that I was on the ground, rolling around. I don't even know how it happened, but - let's call him Goon #2 - well, he must have pushed me from behind.  Mid-roll, I saw an arm reaching to grab my small camera bag which I had with its strap around my body diagonally. And before you say anything, yes - I had my camera in an accessible place, though I was being discreet and careful when using it! 

Now back to the story. I grabbed onto the arm reaching toward my camera and I was gearing up to use my nails and dig them into his soft flesh when I felt another arm (Goon #1) pull my hair, therefore yanking my head back. In that moment I saw my camera leave its bag and sail away from me and into Goon #2's possession. 

The glorious moment of sweet victory came as I saw my camera spring back toward and then land upon my body - I was on my butt/back on the floor still. And this happened because I'd attached my camera strap to a carabiner as an added security measure for both theft and dropping instances.

The young men were unable to get my camera or my friend's purse and you can imagine how many high fives took place after the boys ran away without any booty.

When I figured out what was happening I also started screaming in order to attract attention. I'm glad my friend started screaming first because I was thinking too much about what to say or do and it was funny because my friend wanted to communicate with me and to tell me to fight, but she said she couldn't translate it into English fast enough and she wanted to say it in English to be sure I got the message quickly. For me, I wasn't sure if I should scream for help or start swearing in Mexican Spanish. But, in the end we both just screamed loudly.

A first for both of us, we concurred that we had been lucky to not have been alone and that they hadn't used any weapons. 

They were so young and skinny, we joked that it was insulting. However, they had the element of surprise which can be quite the force. Apparently it's always young men who commit this type of crime here because it's easy.

Piecing together the story, Goon #1 came up from behind my friend, trying to snatch her purse. My friend held on tight, started screaming and crouched her body toward the ground. One of them must have punched my friend because she later realized that her jaw was sore, though she doesn't actually remember it happening! Goon #2 pushed me from behind, giving me 3 scrapes and one large purple knee bruise, then tried to grab my camera. When I resisted, Goon #1 had already given up on my friend's purse and was behind me, pulling my hair. When my friend saw the goons by me, she started using her purse to hit one of them, grandma-style. And then the boys ran away. Apparently a few people at the campus started chasing after them. We didn't stick around to find out, though. Instead, we hopped into a car which had just driven by us slowly shortly before. In the car were a few Venezuelans showing their friends from Chile around the grounds. They'd had their camera phones out and ready for action, though my friend and I lamented that they hadn't been able to capture our mugging. That would have been a unique souvenir! Funnily enough, they'd heard us screaming and just thought that we were a couple fighting.

They were nice enough to take us off of the university grounds.

You can't see the bruise here much at all here. It started out the size of a loonie, but after a few days it grew to cover my whole kneecap and it lasted for about 3 weeks.

Checking out a live salsa band:

A homeless guy got into the rumba as well.

It feels strange carrying around so many paper bills and a wad of cash. This must be more of a normal thing for drug dealers.

My friend had to leave for another city for work while I was still in Caracas, but her amazing parents took care of me, which included taking me to a market higher up in the cool mountains.

Getting food in Caracas isn't as much of an issue as it is in other parts of the country. In some places, you can't get milk unless you travel to another city hours away. In others, people wait in line for hours to buy groceries. There's inflation and a dollar-hungry parallel market. Toilet paper costs one price this month, but who knows how much it will be next month. Some vendors buy basic products then sell them at much higher rates. These things further fuel crime. I met one person who lives in a building where somebody was killed over an iPhone.

Sure, Venezuela has had a turbulent history and the political situation of today continues to be a hot potato. Still, the one thing you see and hear from the people is how much they love their country, even if some want changes. I arrived and left Venezuela with a fascination for this interesting country.

We stepped into a restaurant with an imitator singing dramatic songs. It was as though we had entered a new dimension where the entertainment didn't match the setting or clientele. We didn't end up eating there, though.

In the evening my friend's parents took me to the private bus terminal where I was to catch my overnight bus to the next destination. They wouldn't let me buy them a meal and they insisted on waiting for me for part of the time before my departure. 

It has taken a lot of effort to get into Venezuela but I'm really glad that I chose to come and that my friend and her entire family were so helpful and kind. I was blown away by everything my friend did to help me get there on top of the time she took to show me around and to help me plan for other places to visit in Venezuela. Her family was incredibly welcoming and generous and they made me feel like I was at home.

It was a treat to visit my friend in her country, and the icing on the cake was everything she did for me. Knowing that you can depend upon a friend beats a whole lotta things in this universe.