Bogotá, Columbia

A few weeks ago Mary and I went to visit a friend from Washington D.C., Diane and her very cool cat, Miss Lily (thank you for letting us stay with you!!), in Bogotá Columbia. (link to information about Columbia) First of all, Bogotá is an absolutely beautiful city. It sits at about 8600 ft elevation on a large flat plain and is nestled up against the mountains to the east. Bogata is a city of sidewalk cafés, fine restaurants, lovely parks, wide boulevards, art galleries and museums. It is remarkably safe, considering its recent history, although it would probably not be considered truly safe by U.S. standards. But I live in one of the most dangerous cities in the Western Hemisphere, so it felt pretty safe to me. It is also a lot less expensive than Caracas. Meals at restaurants were a fraction of what they cost in Caracas and cab rides were quite affordable. The area of town we were staying in abuts the mountains and is one of the few hilly parts of the town. We were within very easy walking distance of the Zona Rosa, which is an area of bars, restaurants and nightclubs similar to Dallas’ West End.

The trip to Bogotá almost did not happen, however, due to the classic, screwed up nature of travel, and life in general, in Caracas. We got to the airport about 2.5 hours early, after encountering little or no traffic on the drive to the airport (which was a surprise given the near constant gridlock in Caracas). We parked in the “Diplomatic Lot” which is right next to the terminal (Oh, yeah…we’re in the front row). We went into the airport, found the Avianca counter with no problem, there was no line and we got checked in. The only hassle to this point is that we had to check a bag because it was too large for carry on. Then we went to the cashier to pay the “Exit Tax” and got the proper stickers. We then went to the security check point where we were screened by metal detectors and X-rays twice, once by the Guardia National (military) and once by regular airport security similar to the TSA in the U.S. This is a little weird, since we literally went through a metal detector/X-ray, walked 25 ft and repeated the process. Perhaps there is a little turf war going on over airport security in Venezuela? Then we went to Immigration. We learned about the “Exit Tax” from a previous trip, so we had that covered already. But apparently there is another tax/fee to leave the country for which we did not have the proper forms. So Mary ran off to secure the proper forms from the airline counter (the idiots did not give us the proper forms) while I waited by the Immigration booth. I should have gone with her because the people at the airline counter hassled her about giving her two forms since I was not there with her. She got the forms and made her way past the two security checks and we approached the Immigration booth again. Bear in mind that we are going to the lane for “Diplomats”. We hand the young man working at the “Diplomat” line the correct forms and our Diplomatic Passports and he asks Mary if she works at the U.S. Embassy. Then he starts asking questions about how to get a visa, what it costs, who to talk to, does she have a business card. Whoa! (sound of car brakes screeching!!!!) At that point she apologizes and says she does not have a card and her ability to comprehend Spanish suddenly dropped about 75% and we both said “no entiendo” a few times, shrugged our shoulders and finally he stamped the damn passports and we were on our way. The guy had a lot of nerve, especially after hassling us about the stupid form that I am certain he had copies of at his booth.

Oh, well. We were still two hours early for our flight, so we headed to the Duty Free shop to buy half price booze for the trip and look at all of the fine electronics and cosmetics. After securing plenty of very high quality rum (I should do a post about the rum in Venezuela…its good!) we head to our gate to wait for our flight. When we got to the gate that was noted on our boarding pass it was a ghost town. The sign over the gate said a different flight was departing from that gate. We went and checked the electronic “departures” board and it said our flight was at a different gate on the other side of the airport. Now it’s not that big of an airport, maybe the size of Love Field, or Hobby Airport, but that is still a pretty good walk. So we headed off to the new gate, no hurry, still have an hour and forty five minutes. In fact, we stopped into the McDonalds at the airport and had some dinner. We get to the new gate and it is a ghost town also, but the sign over the gate says it’s for our flight. So we sit and wait. We still have well over an hour before our flight leaves. Still a ghost town. 45 minutes until our flight. 30 minutes until our flight. No activity. The sign still says our flight number and destination. 20 minutes. Still a ghost town. At fifteen minutes before our flight I decide to walk down and check the electronic departures board again which is in a central concourse off of which both the wing in which our original gate is located and the wing we were now waiting in. When I look at the board our flight number is flashing and it says “boarding”…and the gate number is the original gate we went to! I run back to where Mary is still waiting and three quarters of the way there I hear an announcement that it is last call for our flight at the original gate. I am soon met by a panic stricken Mary who is running toward me with all of our carry on bags and we both run to the original gate waiving wildly at the gate agents as they are about to close the door to the jet way. We arrive just in time, completely out of breath, to be the last people on the plane. The door is closed behind us. We damn near missed our plane.

During the flight they served complimentary beverages, including the alcoholic variety. Not having had Scotch in about 6 months, I asked for a Scotch on the rocks. The flight attendant said that they were out so I said a rum on the rocks would be fine. There were two flight attendants working the beverage cart and they each headed out in different directions. One came back a few moments later with a drink and handed it to me. I was just beginning to enjoy my rum on the rocks (the rum is good enough to drink on the rocks) when the other flight attendant returned with a drink. I laughed, she laughed and shrugged and handed it to me. I took the drink said I already had a rum on the rocks, she shrugged and I began to pour the new drink into the same cup as the first drink, so as to not look quite so much like a two fisted drinker. Suddenly the flight attendant says “no, no, no, no, nooooo….” I had poured about two thirds of the drink into the first cup. I looked up and she said “that is scotch.” Oops. The guy sitting next to me laughs and I say “it’s a new cocktail”. This all transpired in Spanish. I drank what was left of the pure scotch, then drank the rum and scotch, which was not as bad as it sounds, but was not really good either. It had been that kind of day.

Thankfully, when we got to Bogotá we were met by our driver, who escorted us through customs and immigration (straight to the front of the line, cutting in front of everyone without so much as a “pardon me”.) Having a driver is nice, especially since the airport in Bogotá was a mad house. The driver shooed away the taxi drivers that were pestering all arriving passengers with shouts of “taxi, taxi” and led us to our van and we were on our way. He pointed out interesting sights along the way, including the U.S. Embassy. We arrived at Diane’s apartment, visited a while. After our long day we decided to go to bed early.

The next day we had a nice brunch at a wonderful café, then headed over to the Candelaria area of town which is the colonial heart of Bogotá, where the government palaces are located, the Cathedral, the Plaza and a lot of museums including the Botero Museum which I really enjoyed. For those of you not familiar with Botero here is a link. (and another link.) The museum had a pretty respectable collection of modern art in general. We had dinner at a very nice restaurant (a big, thick, juicy steak!!!) and walked to the Zona Rosa for after dinner drinks. The next day, Sunday, we went to the Ciclovia, which is one of the coolest things I have ever seen in a major city. The Ciclovia is a circuit of major roads and an autopista (freeway) which are closed to vehicles each Sunday so the denizens of Bogotá (what are they called? Bogotoans? Bogotians? Bogotaleros?) can engage in their collective obsession – bicycle riding. They are out by the thousands (perhaps millions) on bikes. Many are in serious bicycle gear (brightly colored tight bike pants and shirt, helmets, gloves, special shoes, fancy racing bikes) and others are riding whatever they have – mountain bikes, BMX bikes, old Schwins Stingrays with banana seats and sissy bars (remember those?) you name it. Some folks, like us, walked along the circuit. I propose that every city in the U.S. should close a freeway every Sunday for bicycles and joggers/walkers to use. It would cut down on gas consumption that day because it would make travel in the city more difficult thus encouraging people to stay home, or simply ride their bike. Bogotá is a city of about 7 million people so I think little ole Dallas or Houston with around 3 million each could pull it off with out the fabric of society unraveling. It might also help shrink some expanding waistlines.

We walked to an open air market a few miles from Diane’s apartment and bought all manner of cool things including a small Botero statue replica, a coffee scented candle, and local handicrafts. We had dinner at another nice restaurant the evening.

Diane had to go to work the following day, so Mary and I went to see the church at Montserrat which is at the top of a mountain and has a commanding view of the city. It is really beautiful, but somewhat commercialized. They sell beer at little stands on the church grounds, as well as religious trinkets of every size and description and general tourist souvenir junk (like “Columbia” shot glasses, T-shirts and baseball caps.) From there we went to the Leather District, where Mary purchased a couple of new purses. For people that live in Bogotá the Leather District is really cool because you can get a custom fitted and tailor made leather garments for a fraction of what it would cost off the rack in the U.S. After the Leather expedition, we ate crepes and waffles at a restaurant called Crepes and Waffles then headed over to a store that specializes in emeralds (something for which Columbia is famous, by the way) and looked at both the loose stones and set stones they have for sale. We decided that we need to learn more about emeralds before making any major purchases, but Mary did get a nice charm for her charm bracelet. We walked around the nearby University district before heading back to Diane’s apartment. It had been a long day and we were pretty tuckered out.

The one downside to Bogotá for me was that I suffered from altitude sickness the whole time we were there. It was a strange sensation of being “out of it”. I was a little woozy and light headed the whole time we were there, and had a mild headache. Any physical exertion would exacerbate the problem. After sitting for any period of time, when I stood up I got a head rush. It affected my appetite somewhat but I did manage to eat some very enjoyable meals. It was unsettling because I have been in high altitude environments many times before, like ski areas, and even engage in strenuous physical activity, like skiing. Some thing about the altitude in Bogotá just got to me.

We arrived back and all was well. We got some cheddar cheese at the Embassy Commissary (Diane got it for us along with a whole passel of other groceries – thank you Diane!!!) which we brought back to Caracas. So now we have Velveeta, Cheddar cheese, real bacon, good coffee (Juan Valdez) and other American delicacies.

Thank you again Diane and Miss Lily for letting us stay with you.

It was a very good trip and I highly recommend a visit to Bogotá.

Up next: The Great Venezuelan Road Trip.

Office Space....

Just so you don’t think my life here in Venezuela is all fun and games, here is a glimpse of my average day:

The scene: Inside the CAC (I don’t know what that stands for) a concrete room, with bullet proof windows that features a door in on one side of the room and a door out on the other. Think of the DMV Driver’s License Office. There is a metal detector and X-ray machine like they have at airports and about five armed security guards milling around. The guards are not at all menacing, in fact they are quite jovial and show people which line to stand in. Along one wall are five windows like they have at a 24 hour gas station, with bullet proof glass, a tray under the window and a counter on which sits a box with a glowing green glass top – the finger print scanner. I am sitting at one of the windows. The room is crowded with people waiting to be fingerprinted.

Me: Buena (Venezuelans rarely say the entire phrase “buenas dias”. Saying “buena” is like saying “morning” or “afternoon” as a greeting. See the note below on not saying the last letter of a word.)
Applicant: Buena
Me: Necesito su pasaporte y su planilla (I need your passport and your form)
(Applicant places passport and form in tray under window, but out of my reach)
Me: Por favor, empujelo por la ventana. (Please, push it through the window)
Me: (look at form, enter batch number, pull up case on computer, confirm passport number, e.g. “D1234567”, confirm date of issuance and date of expiration)
Me: Cual es su nombre completo? (What is your full name? Actually, literally it means “which is your full name” but that is how it is asked.)
Applicant: Angel
Me: Su nombre completo.
Applicant: Angel Enrique
Me: Y su apellido? (I have to ask for the last name because they still don’t understand that I want the same name that appears on the passport)
Applicant: Coromoto Rangel del Valle
Me: Y su fecha nacimiento? (and your date of birth)
Applicant: (mumbles something I can’t understand)
Me: Como? (literally means “how?” But this is how you say “what?” when you don’t understand something.)
Applicant: (deliberately slow) veintidós siete mil novecientos ochenta y cinco
(22-7-1985, they invert the month and date)
Me: (After confirming that the name and DOB are correct) Ponga su mano izquierda en el centro de la pantaella. (“put your left hand in the center of the screen” referring to the fingerprint scanner right in front of them)
Applicant: (holds up right thumb)
Me: Su mano izquierdia. Los cuatro dedo (“your left hand. The four fingers.” And, yes, it should be “cuatros dedos” but Venezuelans never say the last letter of a word, especially when it is plural. For example, I live in “Caraca”)
Applicant: (holds up the right hand, four fingers.)
Me: Su otro mano izquierda. (your other left hand)
Applicant: (holds up left thumb)
Me: Su mano izquierda. Los cuatro dedo.
Applicant: (holds up the four fingers of the left hand)
Me: Si, en la pantaella, presione fuerte. (yes, on the screen, press hard)
Me: Mas juntos, como muestra en el foto en la pared (“more together, as shown in the photo on the wall” meaning they need to put their fingers together. I should also mention that there are instructions on the wall immediately to the left of the applicant, complete with photographs of how to successfully complete the fingerprinting process. Really, this is not that hard.)
Me: Mas abajo. (“lower” meaning they don’t actually have their fingers on the screen, just the palm of their hand)
Me: Mas arriba. Como muestra en el foto. (“Higher. As shown in the photo.” Ok. I’m starting to get pissed off.)
Applicant: (gets it right)
Me: Mas fuerte. Presione mas fuerte. (Harder. Press harder) (they never press hard enough)
Me: Gracias. Y su otro mano igual. (Thanks, and your other hand the same)
Applicant: (holds up right hand)
Me: Si
Applicant: (puts right hand on the screen and gets it right, they have had some practice after all)
Me: Gracias, y los dos pulgares juntos asi (“And your two thumbs together like this” I hold up my thumbs together like a double Fonzi “Eeeehhhh”)
Applicant: (Tries to do it awkwardly with bent elbows. Fails.)
Me: Es mas facil con brazos rectos. (It is easier with straight arms)
Applicant: (Tries again awkwardly. Fails)
Me: Senora, mira, brazos rectos. (“Ma’am, look, arms straight” while gesturing with straight arms)
Applicant: (gets it right)
Me: Gracias. Vaya a la sala de espera por esa puerta. (Thanks, go to the waiting room through this door)
Applicant: (looks around)
Me: Hacia adentro (go inside)
Me: Pase un buen dia (have a nice day).


I do this on average 150 times a day. I am actually pretty slow. The other fingerprinters average about 250 per day. I am one of the more friendly fingerprinters. One guy barks one or two word orders at people like “right hand,”, “left hand,” “thumbs,” ”waiting room.” When the applicant has sweaty hands we have to try to get them to dry their hands with the paper towels provided. If that does not work we have alcohol wipes. When their hands are too dry, we have them rub their fingers on their forehead or face. I have seen missing fingers, missing hands, and hands that don’t work. Old people have no finger prints, they are worn off. I can tell if someone is a laborer by their fingerprints. Desk jockeys, like myself, have beautiful finger prints. People that work with their hands don’t. They have callused hands and fingers with no finger prints. The worst ones are the people who pushed their way to the front of the line to get into the fingerprinting area, hurried through the metal detector and rush up to the window still holding their wallet, belt, watch and various papers. These people are invariably in a huge rush and have not listened to any instructions and when they get to tothe window they are in such a rush that they don’t listen to me or read the sign with the color photos which explain the complicated process of placing one’s fingers on a finger print scanner. I do take some pleasure in telling the “rushers” to go get in line outside, gesturing to the huge line of people waiting to get into the waiting room for their interview that usually goes all the way to the parking lot. The process of obtaining a visa takes hours.

The management style at the State Department is very, shall we say, "Lumbergian." If you don't know what I am talking about, run, don't walk, run, out and rent the movie "Office Space" from your neighborhood video rental store.

Oh, well. It’s all in a day’s work.

Scuba Diving

As noted in previous posts, I have been doing quite a bit of scuba diving lately. For the most part I have been going to a town called Chichiriviche de la Costa which is about 80 km from Caracas, but it takes about two hours to drive there because the roads are so bad. A 4X4 is best but I have made the trip three times in a regular passenger vehicle, twice in the intrepid BMW. Here is a map. The first part of the drive is pretty easy, just shoot on down to the airport, autopista all the way. Then the road starts to get progressively worse. First it narrows to a two lane road, then it snakes up and down hills through little towns, which are really like open air markets, past a oil fired electric plant (yuck), past a cool abandoned building that looks like a castle, along the beach, up into the mountains, down through the selva (jungle), and past a posh resort at which point the pavement stops and the last 30 km or so is on dirt “road”. This last section is pretty harrowing since there are a lot of camionetas (light trucks) hauling seafood up from the town and tourists racing to the beach, many of whom are on motorcycles. The road feels like it is hung from the side of the mountain and it is about 1.5 car widths which means some maneuvering is required when there is oncoming traffic. It looks like it is about 500 ft straight down to the sea, although it is probably only about 450 ft. After a steep and winding descent into town, and a short drive down a narrow lane you are there. There is parking in some yards in the town where, for 10 BsF a guy drinking a beer will watch your car. He will also let some of the air out of one of a tire and “helpfully” offer to direct you to a shop with compressed air for a nominal fee, but I will save that story for another day. Crowds of Afro-Venezuelan children gather around offering to carry your gear for a BsF (about .30 cents) for the walk of about 300 yards to the dive shop on the beach. Once geared up, it is just a short walk across the beach and into the water.

The town from the water

Another view of the town

Completing an underwater navigation excercise

Once in the water the diving is pretty good. The visibility and range of sea life is not as great as some places I have been, but it is easy, super cheap (costs about $20 for two dives) and there are a lot of interesting things including Seahorses, Eels, schools of Squid, Octopus, and huge schools of “Silversides”, large schools of small silver fish, probably Anchovies, that are amazing to watch as they dart this way and that way, morphing in shape like a gigantic living organism. I have been diving so much I have obtained my PADI Advanced Open Water Diver certification.

Oh, and it is really beautiful there:

We also went to an area called Morrocoy further west. (map here) Morrocoy is a collection of cayos (keys) off the coast. The Cayos were beautiful with white crushed coral beaches, tall swaying palms and crystal clear turquoise water in clam lagoons. We stayed in a town called – you are going to love this – Chichiriviche. Yep, there are two of them. We took a boat out to the cayos and to go diving. Unfortunately the diving is not so great. Apparently, in the late 1990’s there was a chemical spill from a plant not too far away that killed most of the coral. Now it is like a coral ghost town, but it does show some signs that it is making a slow recovery. Since it is about 4-5 hours away, and not as good a dive site as the closer Chichiriviche, we probably will not go back. But, like I said, the beaches were very nice. The pictures I took were not as good as the ones at the link above. Check it out.

Up next: Our trip to Bogota, Columbia.