Blueberry Jam

I started a rock band here at the embassy in Caracas with a couple of other people a little over a year ago. The original idea was to get together, have some fun and jam a little. But, we sounded good. At first I could see the potential even though we were no very tight and I thought that with some practice we could be really good. To make a long story short, we got better with each "gig" culminating with being asked to play at the Annual U.S. Embassy Independence Day Celebration, which is one of the biggest parties of the year with about 3500 people, 30-40 vendor/exhibitors (Churche's Chicken, Jack Daniels, Finlandia Vodka, Pizza Hut, Out Back Steakhouse, Polar Beer, Cacique Rum, TGI Friday's, Gillette, Motorola, to name a few). The vendors provide free food, drink or "schwag". Coca-Cola sponsored the stage, lights and sound system which were outstanding. The Blueberry Jam played 12 song set to wild applause. Now, we have been offered a spot in the lineup for a big Embassy event in Maricaibo, Venezuela. Of five bands we would be the fourth to go on, the Headliner will be a band they are flying in from Miami (not sure of the name yet).

So here I am living out my Rock 'n Roll fantasy.

Fishing at Lake Guri

As mentioned in the previous post, I recently went fishing for Peacock Bass at Lake Guri which is only about 70-80 miles north of Angel Falls. This was my second journey into the heart of the Gran Sabana. I checked in on the website of the fishing camp, The Headwaters Fishing Club, (look at the "fishing report") and lo and behold there was a post about our fishing trip written by the proprietor of the fishing camp, Steve Shoulders. Now steve is a good ole boy from East Texas, and he can tell a story, but his account of the fishing trip is pretty straight up accurate...well as accurate as fish stories go anyway. I am not sure what prompted the first part of the post, about grammer and bodily functions, but it made for some entertaining reading. So, without further adieu, I will let Steve tell you all about our fishing trip:

It has been brought to my attention by a very good friend of mine, who for the sake of continuing that friendship, will be referred to as Mr. Word Perfect or Mr. Fishing Report Censor, depending upon which hat he wishes to wear while harassing me. Mr. WP told me that my reports were chocked full of spelling and grammatical errors, and I should do something to correct the mistakes prior to sending it out worldwide. He also continued his critique of my writing by saying certain subject matter such as bowel movements, farting, and erectile dysfunction should be left for the locker room.Well Mr. WP, I am proud to announce to the world that I have taken your advice, and corrections have been made. Although you probably won't know it since I took you off my mailing list. Now that I'm free of such unnecessary restraints, I shall forge ahead with my ever so enlightening report.Although the water level in Lake Guri continues to hold much higher than normal for this time of the year, the fish are beginning to start acting like they are supposed to in January. By that I mean they are moving into the shallows to feed, and for us that means good topwater action for some really big peacock bass.This past Monday and Tuesday, it was my pleasure to get a chance to fish with David Brown, Mike Siemer, and Dave Smith, who, and I'm not making this up, is of Hawaiian, Mexican, German, Polish, French, and Dutch ancestry. I told Dave that it must be difficult to choose who to root for at the Olympic Games.Mike and I started the trip out fishing together, and in the first hour we had already boated four peacock bass from 10-13 lbs. Yozuri Minnows and Bomber Long A's were our best big fish producers. But being a true sportsman, I tied on a Norman Bait Co. Little N in a perch pattern, and caught numerous other fish up to 9 lbs. It became quite apparent to Mike and I that every time David and Dave's boat got near us, we always hooked a big fish right in front of them. Their guide, Angel, also noticed this, and he did everything in his power not to be within the same time zone as us after the first three or four big fish. Don't you just hate an uncooperative guide, not to mention one being downright unfriendly. Irregardless (This is a nonexistent word Mr. WP need only see me use for it to cause him to fart loudly, followed by watery bowels, which in turn cause erectile dysfunction), Mike and I had a great morning fishing together, as we boated eighteen fish with nine if them over 8 lbs.That afternoon, I joined up with my new multinational friend, Dave, and we went after him a big'un to brag about. As luck would have it, fishing had slowed down considerably from the morning session, but at HFC there is no such thing as a bad session, just less than one would desire sessions. We were fishing with HFC guide, Santos, and I don't think there was a lure left in my tackle box Santos didn't tie on and try, unfortunately with little success. As the sun was just about to wish us goodbye for the day, we rounded a rocky point, and 'Shazaaam', Dave tied into a big fish on a large minnow bait. Soon Dave had his big fish in the boat, and Santos and I breathed a sign of relief. As Yogi Berra said, "It ain't over until it's over." Dave's fish was a big, beautiful female peacock bass, but you will just have to take my word for it since he hasn't sent me the photo. The last session on Tuesday, I fished with repeat client and friend, David Brown, who until that point on this trip had not been able to land anything over 9 lbs. All that was about to change, and change dramatically. Our guide, Angel, suggested David use a red headed/white bodied Chug Bug of his, and within minutes of starting, David had his first 10 lb fish in the boat. Then David proceeded to land one fish after another, while your truly turned fishing into a spectator sport. When the score reached david 7, Steve 0, I finally managed to land an 8 lb fish, which was my only fish of the afternoon. David continued landing fish, and after a few bad luck battles with some huge fish, he boated the 12 lb fish shown in the attached photo. Even though I should have been happy my client had such a great afternoon of fishing, I could only sit there watching the sun go down thinking what might have happened if I would have had a similar bait as the one Angel had loaned David. I mentioned this to Angel, and with a look on his face that only a diabolical guide could muster, he informed me that in one of my boxes there was a brand new one just like it. Since it hasn't rained more than a little sprinkle here and there, I am going to officially declare dry season upon us. This also means the super sized peacock bass are feeding heavily in the shallows, and they are suckers for baits thrown anywhere in their vicinity. Why don't you give me a call, and that bait could be yours. There are some weekday openings for groups, and only limited openings on weekends all the way into March. You do not have to be an expert fisherman to catch these fish, because my guides and I will assist you in learning all the techniques necessary to make your dream a reality. We have been doing just this thing for many, many others over the years, and I believe we are pretty darn good at it, as our record of having over 90 % of all fishermen that come to HFC catch at least a 10 lb peacock bass each and every trip. Ask any other camp to match or even come close to that. Ya'll have a GREAT week!!!!

Wow! Well said, Steve. Another fish that inhabit the waters of Lake Guri, and rivers in Venezuela in general, is the Payara. These fish look psychotic! look at the one Dave caught. Although we were not really fishing for Payara, a few jumped onto the hook. Unfortunately, I did not catch one.

Dave Brown and his Payara. Check out the teeth on that bad boy!!!

The drive out to Guri was quite arduous. It was twelve hours from Caracas. We drove through mountains near Caracas, then jungle banana plantations to the east of Caracas, then along the arid Caribbean coast, then south through the semi arid plains of the Orinoco River Valley, which is one of the big oil producing regions of Venezuela, and, interestingly, looks a lot like Texas and finally into the Sabana. Our trip included a 2.5 hour drive on a dirt road that deteriorated into waht I would charitably call a path. We were officially in the middle of nowhere. The terrain around Guri alternates between the grasslands of the Sabana and jungle. There wer times while fishing that flocks of Blur Macaws flew overhead, parrots played in the trees and Red Howler Monkeys could be heard roaring in the jungle. It was quite amazing.

The jungle along the shore of Guri.

Moriche Palms growing in the water.

Moriche Palms at sunset.

There is So Much to Write About

It seems like I never have enough time to post new entries. There are so many things we have done that I still need to post. We have been to Mochima, Coro, Puerto Cabello and I recently went fishing at Lake Guri (caught a thirteen pound Peacock Bass!). The little rock band has become quite popular, it seems like we are always in demand. My job as the CLO is great and I have signed up to be an election monitor for the up comming constitutional referendum.

I have not given up on the blog...

Angel Falls, Day 2: Part One - The Flight to Kavak

The first line of my journal entry for July 25, 2008 reads: “As I write this we are flying over the State of Bolivar in Venezuela in a single engine, six seat Cessna airplane with the wings on top. It is about the size of a VW Van with wings.” I knew we would be flying in a single engine plane on this trip, but the reality of it did not hit me until we arrived at the airport in Ciudad Bolivar, which was a most appropriate place to begin the trip to Angel Falls, being that Jimmy Angel’s airplane, the one he discovered Angel Falls while flying, is located there. This is our airplane.

I was so impressed (and by that I mean terrified) that I took about a dozen pictures of it, mainly as evidence that I actually flew in a single engine airplane. Many of you know that I am not a comfortable flier. In fact you could characterize me as a “white knuckle” flier. Nevertheless, we stuffed all of our things into the plane, behind the last row of seats, and squeezed into our seats, which afforded about as much leg room as the back seat of a sports car. In the two seats behind us were two Pemon women headed back to their village with bags full of goods, mostly groceries, recently purchased in Ciudad Bolivar. We taxied out to the runway, then the pilot latched down the small window on his left, said something in Spanish into his headset and gunned the engine. The noise was deafening and the rush of wind from the propeller blew the little window open again. The pilot latched it shut again, took a bite of the pastry he was eating for breakfast, adjusted some type of instrument and let go of the brake. Little planes do not take long to get airborne, and as we careened down the runway, bouncing up and down like we were in a dune buggy, we were suddenly airborne. The words that kept running through my head were: oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Little by little I calmed down once I realized that we were not going to fall out of the sky. I could not hear anything over the engine. We banked, climbed more and before I knew it we were underway to Angel Falls.

Once we were pointed in the right direction, due south, the pilot picked up a huge wad of money and started to count it (perhaps the revenue for the day?) Then he took a newspaper he had on the dashboard, pulled out the sports section, handed the rest to our guide who was riding shotgun (and presumably co-pilot) and they both settled in and began to read the newspaper. Apparently airplanes fly themselves. We continued to gradually gain altitude (I know because I was watching the altimeter) until we reached about 9700 ft. The pilot was navigating using a Garmin GPS just like mine. We flew over a series of hills that were like huge rocks sitting on plains and then over Lake Guri, a huge man made lake. Gradually the lake became more and more like a series of rivers, almost like a river delta, until I noticed a set of rapids, first one then more and more until there seemed to be river channels and rapids everywhere. We were over the Coroni River and were entering Tepui country. Up ahead were ominous banks of clouds which we flew straight into. We were immediately pummeled by strong winds and the little airplane was thrown about. One thing I did not realize until we were in the storm clouds was that small planes “yaw” which means the tail is pushed from side to side and the plane actually slides sideways through the air. We hit air pockets that pushed us down several hundred feet at a time (remember, I was fixated on the altimeter). Then we would hit another and bounce up a few hundred feet. We continued to bounce, drop, rise, and yaw, all the while the pilot was reading the paper and occasionally talking with our guide about something he read. Finally, he put the paper away, checked the GPS, turned on the windshield wipers (it was raining) said something into the radio and took manual control of the plane. The clouds began to break a little and I suddenly caught sight of tepuis to our left and right. Then we went back into a cloud bank. A few minutes later I saw the ground about 500 feet below us through a break in the clouds. Remember, we had been at 9700 feet. We were over Auyan Tepui.

Auyan-Tepui shrouded in mist.

The surface of the tepui is like a maze of crevasses and amazing rock formations. Eventually the maze formed into a main channel full of water. Our guide informed us that was the river from which Angel Falls gets its water. We followed the river until suddenly we flew over the edge of the tepui. Our guide turned to us and yelled “Angel Falls” and there it was we had flown right over it. The pilot executed a 90 degree banked turn, that normally would have sent me into a panic, but I was so thrilled at seeing Angel Falls, that I forgot to panic. Instead I just started firing away with the camera, shot after shot as we again approached the falls and then as we flew away from the falls. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen.

Angel Falls from the airplane.

We turned back to the south, went back into the clouds and after about ten minutes began a gradual descent. When we got below the cloud cover I could see that we were over a green plain dotted with clumps of plam trees. We got lower and lower, but there was no runway in sight. It finally dawned on me that we were not landing on a runway, we were going to land on the grass. We touched down, bounced a few times and rolled to a gentle stop in a light drizzle. We were in Kavak.

The little Cessna on the "landing strip" in Kavak.

Kavak

Angel Falls Trip - Day One - Ciudad Bolivar

Day 1: Ciudad Bolivar

We got off to a late start, since we had only gone to bed a few hours earlier, but fortunately, at the uncivilized hour of 5:30 am, there is not a lot of traffic, even in Caracas. As usual, the airport experience was quite confusing. For some reason Venezuelans do not find it necessary to have a sign or other indication of which flight will be leaving from which gate. There are just a bunch of gates, no signs, no gate numbers. Apparently the preferred method is to ask others until the crowd forms a consensus as to which gate the flight will leave from. After asking around, we found our flight which was pretty uneventful. Upon arriving at Puerto Ordaz we were met by our guide and driver, Jorge, and we set out for Ciudad Bolivar. But first, we stopped by the local shopping mall to pickup Jorge’s wife and daughter. Although Jorge assured us that his wife and daughter spoke English, they mostly just sat there and smiled the whole trip. Jorge, however, was quite the chatterbox. He talked about anything and everything. I was in the front seat so I had to pretend to be interested. Greg, who was in the back seat with the smiling women, got to look out the window and nap during the hour long drive.

The bridge over the Rio Orinoco

Both Puerto Ordaz and Ciudad Bolivar are on the Orinoco River in Central Venezuela. (See the map below). The land in that area is flat with low scrub brush, much like Texas. In fact, there was a thunderstorm in the distance and the whole effect really did remind me of the area between Austin and Houston. We got to Ciudad Bolivar and had a tasty lunch of Pernil (roasted pork) and then went to a museum dedicated to the works of a famous Venezuelan artist, Jesus Soto. He is a primarily a sculptor, who has a keen interest in optical illusions. Learn more about the Jesus Soto museum here. Here is a link about Jesus Soto.

Goofing around at the Museo Jesus Soto

Sitting on the wall of El Zamuro

From there we went to the Museo San Isidro, which was a house that El Libertador stayed in while he was in Angostura (later renamed in honor of Bolivar). There was an important battle that took place near there. We then went to visit El Zamuro, a fortress used by Bolivar’s army to hold off the Royalists, then Plaza Bolivar, the Parochial House, House of Congress of Angostura and the Cathedral. The Cathedral is famous as the place where one of Bolivar’s top generals, Manuel Piar, was executed for treason. We spent the night at a very nice hotel, the Hotel La Cumbre, which had a very interesting collection of “dada” art. The proprietor of the hotel seemed to have a particular interest in old cash registers that he made into “art” apparently with a sledgehammer. We had a good meal in the restaurant and were entertained by a group of people singing traditional Venezuelan songs. The people were sitting around a table and among them had several guitars. Others at the table kept the rhythm by drumming on the table. The group included several children. A microphone was passed from person to person, each taking a turn at singing. One of the children even sang a very cute song. After dinner we sat by the pool for a while enjoying the cool evening breeze and then settled in for a much needed night’s rest after a very long day.

Greg and I at the Museo Jesus Soto

Election Results...It's a Mudslide!

No, this is not the continuation of the Angel Falls epic. You are going to have to be patient. I thought I would try more frequent, but shorter, posts. I think the scope of some of the previous posts was intimidating. Some were getting pretty involved.

Venezuela held its mid-term elections yesterday (Sunday). This election cycle was for governors of the states, and mayors of municipal districts. Venezuela is divided into 23 States plus the Federal District of Caracas. Each (except Caracas) has a governor. There are also 335 municipal districts. These were all up for election. Politics is an interesting and colorful process here. Leading up the the election thousands of signs are posted all over the country advertising the various candidates. All of the signs are color coded with the party's color. PSUV (Partido Socialista Unido de Venezuela) which is Chavez's party, is red. How surprising, right? Other parties are yellow, blue, purple, green...about the only color not used is white. So when you look at a sign and see the photo of the candidate in a yellow shirt you know his or her party. Venezuelans love political parades and send long processions of vehicles festooned with the party's colors all over the city. These parades usually feature at least two flat bed trucks with loud speaker systems. One is blaring salsa music, the other is blaring political slogans. These processions of as many as 50 cars at a time are all over the city tying up traffic. It is a bad idea to interrupt one of the parades. It is best to let it go and follow behind, but not close enough to appear to be in the parade. The other thing about politics here is that it is often a contact sport. The winners often have a big demonstration, where they are met by the losing party supporters and rioting ensues. I have not heard of any of this happening during this election cycle, but we were warned to be aware of the possibility. Venezuela closes down for elections. Sales of alcoholic beverages were cutoff at 2:00 pm on Friday. No alcohol could be sold anywhere in Venezuela preceding the election. Chavez wants sober voters, I guess. Schools closed down last Wednesday and will be closed until tomorrow. All businesses were closed on Sunday. They are very serious about elections here.

Chavez's party won 17 of the state governor elections, but opposition parties won the other governor races, picking up about 4 new spots. Notably, opposition party candidates won in the most populous areas. Also, an opposition candidate won the race for mayor of Caracas. Chavez is still firmly in control and his party still has an overwhelming majority, but this election continues the downward slide. He cannot characterize this election as a mandate from the people when his party lost the most populous areas and the Federal District. On the other hand, The opposition did not ring up a resounding victory either. But, as with everything here, poco a poco (little by little.)

The other big recent event was the mudslides. We had about a week of rain, capped off by a real gully washer Thursday night that literally brought down the hillsides here in Caracas and the surrounding areas. Mary and I left the embassy about 5:30 pm and I am glad we did. I was supposed to have band practice Thursday night and would have been there after hours, which would have been very bad because some time around 6:00 pm there was a large mudslide above the embassy that completely blocked the road to our apartment, and another below the embassy that cut off the alternate route. Embassy personnel still at the embassy at 6:00 were stuck there until almost midnight, and some didn't get home until well after 2:00 am. As we drove home there was literally a river of muddy water racing down the steep streets. It was like driving a boat over a lake the way the water sprayed around the cars including ours. We found out later that hillsides all over Caracas had collapsed. A few buildings came down, a few lives were lost, but in terms of third world disasters it did not even register as a blip on the radar screen. Mostly it messed up traffic. The main autopista through our part of town was buried in mud, as were many streets. By the next day however, most of the streets had been cleared somewhat, enough to get to work.

Angel Falls: Introduction

This is the long overdue report about my thrilling visit to Angel Falls, the highest water fall in the world. I am breaking this up into multiple posts (1) to spread out the fun and (2) because the download times for photos over my lame “high speed” internet connection is quite long.

To prepare you for this adventure, I have put together some background information that you might find interesting. Here are links about Angel Falls:



Canaima and Angel Falls
Venezuela Tuya – Angel Falls
Google Map Auyan Tepui and Angel Falls

Here are some maps to get oriented ("waterfall" in Spanish is "salto" thus Salto Angel)

Angel Falls is located in Parque National Canaima. It was discovered by Jimmy Angel. It is located on a Tepui (sometimes spelled “tepuy”) called Auyan Tepui. Tepuis are table top mountains, much like the mesas of the Southwest U.S., only much larger.

My good friend, Greg Weiss, joined me on this trip. The night before we set out I picked up Greg at the Caracas Airport. Of course his flight was about two hours late and it took him over an hour to get through customs so we got home from the airport after midnight. As an interesting side note, the trip home from the airport requires passing through one of the worst areas in Caracas, called 23 de Enero (23 of January). It is common for thieves to setup roadblocks on the autopista to rob people. I was a little nervous, driving a BMW and all, but the trip home from the airport was quite uneventful. Our journey the next morning was to begin at about 5:00 am, and I wondered if it was even worth the effort to leave and return to the airport. Obviously we had to go pick up my luggage at home so that was not really an option. We were going to be operating on very little sleep.

The travel agency we used was Akanan Travel. This was our itinerary:

Day 1: Fly to Puerto Ordaz, drive to Ciudad Bolivar and spend the day touring Ciudad Bolivar.
Day 2: Fly from Ciudad Bolivar to Kavak deep in the Gran Sabana on the southern side of Auyan Tepui.
Day 3: Travel by boat on the Rio Akanan to campsite 1
Day 4: Travel by boat on the Rio Carrao to campsite 2
Day 5: Travel by boat on the Rio Churun to campsite 3 at the base of Angel Falls
Day 6: Travel by Boat to Canaima and fly to Ciudad Bolivar, drive to Puerto Ordaz and then to Caracas

I will begin the journey with the next post. Today just sets the stage.

Big Post Comming...Stay Tuned

Hola Amigos! I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I got a lot on my plate these days (Are there any "Onion" readers out there? Jim Anchower?) I have been really busy. Seriously. Full time work, being a rock star, traveling, parties, happy hours, diving...there just is not enough time in a day. Since my last post I have been diving several more times at Chichiriviche, got my PADI Advanced Scuba Diver Certification, started working on my PADI Rescue Diver Certification (course work is complete, I just have to finish the in-water training) went on several wreck dives in Puerto Cabello (road trip!), our band,The Blueberry Jam (I did not choose the name), played two more gigs (another happy hour and at the Marine House Halloween Party in front of a very lively crowd of about 400). I went to see R.E. M. and Travis at an outdoor music festival at Universidad Simon Bolivar (a beautiful campus nestled high in the mountains surrounded by pine trees full of parrots and macaws), hosted a dinner attended by the charge d' affairs, went scuba diving in Parque National Mochima (another road trip!), took the Foreign Service Exam, hung out at a rehearsal with some guys in a Venezuelan band that I met, started taking Spanish classes again, and got a new job (I am going to be the new Community Liaison Officer...yeah! no more fingerprinting).

But...the Angel Falls post is almost finished. To set the stage I am recycling something I put together for the embassy newsletter back when I was the editor. The following article is about the origin of the word "Canaima". Angel Falls is located in Parque National Canaima, so this will serve as a bit of background on the subject.

Canaima

To the Pemon Indians of the Gran Sabana, “Canaima” is the name of an evil spirit which lurks in wait for them in the dense forest. Canaima, the Indians say, takes many forms. He is a jaguar in the forest, or a spirit who passes through their huts at night. Every mishap that ends in cuts and bruises is laid at his door. Canaima is the poisonous snake in the underbrush, or the sharp branch that catches them in the eye. According to Venezuelan writer Jose Berti, the Pemon, "like most pre-Colombian tribes don't believe in a natural death; and in order to explain their eternal disappearance from this world, they have created a symbolic character, Canaima, who pursues them without rest and who in the end defeats and kills them. If an Indian suffers from pneumonia, they say that Canaima has blown on his chest, if he has a stomach ache, it is put down to the evil work of Canaima, so that Canaima, or Death, is his implacable and eternal enemy."

For those who need up to the minute news about my life, join Facebook and search for me using my Hotmail e-mail address. I will add you as a friend muy pronto.

I Live in the World's Most Dangerous City!

I don't usually get too political here, but today I am going to vent a bit. First, check out this recent article:
http://www.foreignpolicy.com/story/cms.php?story_id=4480

Caracas tops the list of the world's most dangerous cities. New Orleans makes a respectable showing for the U.S. It is good to know that I live in a city that is considered more dangerous than Port-Au-Prince Haiti, or Johannesburg South Africa, just to name two notoriously dangerous cities.

As noted in the article "El Presidente" is a big part of the problem. Frankly, he is equal parts idiot and a**hole. He spends most of his time trying to provoke the U.S. He recently expelled the Ambassador, called the Venezuelan Ambassador home, welcomed a Russian long range bomber, held joint naval excercises with the Russian navy in the Caribbean, and made deals with the Russians to buy weapons and nuclear technology. I guess he figured that being pals with the Russians is good policy. After all, look how well that worked out for Cuba. And Viet Nam. And Eastern Europe. And, for that matter, Russia. Perhaps the Venezuelans will now head to Moscow instead of Miami to buy their iPods, Lacoste shirts, and Louis Vitton hand bags. Rather than try to help the people of Venezuela, Chavez spends money abroad like a drunken sailor in an effort to increase his influence in other countries. He sends free gasoline to Equador, Nicaraugua and the Dominican Republic, sent free heating oil to low income families in New England and sent free high efficiency light bulbs to the poor of Houston Texas. (The press has, until now, completely ignored the plight of the poor of Houston who are struggling to get by with their inferior incadesent light bulbs. Thank you, Hugo, for providing them with highly efficient sources of light.) Meanwhile, there are as many poor in Caracas as ever. Drug smuggling is flourishing here and gangs rule the "ranchitos". The streets are in such deplorable condition that it is actually a bragging point that the roads in the area where I live are "82% free of potholes". That means almost 20% of the roads are not free of potholes. Inflation is hovering at about 30%. Banks pay interest of 23%. The smartest thing a person can do as a hedge against inflation is spend every penny of their paycheck each week on durable goods and foods that have a long shelf life. As a consequence, no one here has any savings. There are chronic food shortages. Staples like beans, chicken, milk, eggs, rice and cooking oil are frequently in short supply. The shortages hit the poor areas first. I know this because our maid always tips us off on what will not be available in the stores next week, because in her neighborhood it is already not available. One thing that he really excells at is insulting world leaders. He famously called G.W. Bush "The Devil", provoked the King of Spain into saying "why don't you shut up" during an economic summit meeting of Latin Countries, and refered to the U.S. as "sh*tty yankies" while throwing the U.S. Ambassador out of the country. Actually, he gave the Ambassador seventy two hours to leave the country, while dramatically holding up a watch in front of a crowd and noting the time. One of his advisors should have told him that the U.S. Ambassador was actually in the U.S. at the time. El Presidente is so small and petty that he won't let the Ambassador's wife return to collect their belongings and their dog. Nice touch, Hugo! That will show the "sh*tty Yankies" .

When I first heard of Chavez, I wanted to like him. I wanted believe that he would give the poor a break so that they could enjoy a slice of the economic prosperity that comes with being oil rich. I hoped that he would improve living conditions and offer economic opportunities to the poor. Instead, about all I can see that he has done is paint a bunch of slogans on the walls, surround himself with cronies, try to amend the constitution to give himself absolute power and the ability to rule for life and insult world leaders in an effort to provoke them. Chavez likes to portray himself as the hero standing up to imperialism, but in reality he is little more than a loud mouth clinging to power.

The Great Venezuelan Road Trip

Map of VE

Because we had scheduled a few days off and because we wanted to see a bit of Venezuela, Mary and I decided to set out for a road trip to the Andean city of Merida. We armed ourselves with maps and guide books, we solicited directions from knowledgeable persons in the embassy, and I studied Google Earth in an attempt to memorize the route. As dedicated readers of this blog know, we have a long history of getting lost on even the simplest of road trips. This time I was bound and determined that we would be well prepared. The good news is that, except for Barquisimeto, we did not get lost. I’ll tell you about Barquisimeto later.

We set out at about 5:00 am in order to beat the ever present traffic that often extends to areas well outside of Caracas. The stretch of highway from Caracas through Maracay and then to Valencia is particularly bad for traffic since it is the main artery for truck traffic between Maricaibo, which is a big oil and manufacturing area, Puerto Cabello which is the main port facility, Valencia and Maracay (lots of manufacturing) and Caracas. Our plan worked and we sailed along finding out turn in Valencia and heading south into the region known as Los Llanos by about 8:00 am. I should also mention that I made a very important discovery on this road trip: my GPS works in Venezuela! It even has the overlay showing the principal roads in Venezuela. So not only did we not encounter any traffic to this point, we knew where we were at all times.

Heading south from Valencia the road rapidly deteriorated. Under the best of circumstances the roads in Venezuela are difficult. There are potholes in the middle of freeways, aggressive drivers, no signs and few traffic control devices. Every twenty miles or so there are toll booths, but no tolls to pay. Most of them are not even attended. The toll booths are simply relics of a bygone era when tolls were collected. Now they act as a sort of speed bump and commercial center since traffic is forced to slow down to pass through the lanes of the toll booth and all sorts of vendors gather to sell their wares to the slow moving traffic. There are also police check points at every town. These consist of a set of speed bumps, perhaps an orange cone or two and one or more police officers or Guardia National. Often the post is staffed by one person, lounging in the shade watching as traffic passes. At other posts, however, there are five or six well armed and stout looking officers aggressively inspecting vehicles. We always got waved on through, perhaps owing to the fact that we are two gringos with diplomatic license plates. But as we got farther into Los Llanos, the roads became decidedly third world. At one point, the highway disappeared altogether, becoming a dirt road that extended for several miles. In all fairness I should point out that there was some road construction involved, but in the U.S. there would have been at least some pavement on a road that is basically an interstate highway. Our traffic karma fell apart as well and we sat in a hellish traffic jam, on a dirt road, surrounded by huge dump trucks spewing out noxious black smoke for what felt like an hour or more. We were also really, really hungry. We overlooked packing food for the trip. I was so focused on not getting lost that I forgot about food. Unfortunately, there are very few places to eat along the road in Venezuela, and even fewer that you would actually want to eat at. Which brings me to a rather humorous story.

We started seeing signs for a place called Café Madrid. It appeared to be a five star rated restaurant, at least the five stars prominently displayed on the advertisements along the road seemed to indicate it was a five star establishment. As we approached each town we would see the sign advertising Café Madrid, but we never actually saw a Café Madrid. The signs often had the name of the town on them, indicating to us that there was a Café Madrid in the town we were about to enter. But, alas, our tummies continued to growl and the hunger continued unabated as we never actually saw a Café Madrid. We both wondered aloud, several times, where the elusive Café Madrid, the five star bistro advertised on so many roadside signs, might be located. They certainly did a lot of advertising for a restaurant so difficult to find. We gave up on Café Madrid and ate arepas filled with pernil (roast pork) at a very pleasant little roadside parador (that’s what they call roadside restaurants here). Later in the trip, while buying some pastries at a bakery, we discovered that Café Madrid is actually a brand of coffee. I happened to look at some items for sale on a shelf in the bakery and saw several bags Café Madrid coffee sitting on the shelf. That’s when I realized that each of the signs was really a “welcome to (name of town)” sign, sponsored by a brand of coffee much the same way that Coke-a-Cola or Pepsi might sponsor such a sign. Boy did I feel dumb!

Along the way we also saw a lot of very helpful signs in front of buildings. For example, the sign that said “No Hay Aspiradora” (there is no vacuum cleaner ) provided a vital piece of information, as did the signs informing us that there was concrete, and that there were not concrete blocks. These signs were generally in front of houses. I’m still scratching my head.

Los Llanos is a very interesting area. For about half the year, during the dry season, it is hot and dry. There are vast praries of brown grass and parched trees dot the landscape. Then the rain comes and it rains relentlessly for about 6 months and suddenly the plains turn into vast marshes of reeds and tall, lush, green grass. We were there during the rainy season. I have also been to the Llanos during the dry season (see the blog about fishing at Lake Camatagua). I liked the rainy season better. We drove along through the plains in view of the Andes mountains to our right. It was a beautiful sight. We drove on Highway 5 through Tinaquillo, Tinaco, San Carlos, Acarigua, Guanare, and finally to Barinas. We then turned onto Highway 1 in Barinas and headed up into the Andes Mountains, through Barintas, Santo Domingo, Mucuchies and finally into Merida. The Andes are stunningly beautiful. We stopped briefly at a waterfall that cascaded down the mountains, and there would be many, many more waterfalls. At first the mountains were forest, which turned into Cloud Forest, then high mountain pines and, as we went over the pass, we were above the tree line and the only plants were short scrub brush and mosses. Here are a few photos:

However, as we drove through the Andes the road got progressively worse. Worse even than what we previously encountered in Los Llanos. In fact the roads became positively dangerous. There were places where a small landslide occurred and the road was partially blocked by a large mound of dirt that had obviously been there for quite some time because it was covered with grass and weeds. The road crews decided that it would be better to just paint some stripes on the road warning of the impending obstruction than to actually remove it. We saw fallen trees in the road and even several places where a whole lane of the road was washed down the mountainside. The solution? Paint a warning stripe or two on the road and leave the road washed out. The poor condition of the roads was, however, the least of the hazards we faced. Buses and trucks raced up and down the mountain roads, driving on the wrong side of the road, passing slower traffic (including us) and generally being maniacs. Then, with no warning at all, a bus would suddenly slow down and stop to pick up a passenger. Moments later that bus would run up on our tail flash its headlights then pass us. Head light flashing is an important form of communication in Venezuela. Depending on the context it could mean “get out of the way” or “you go first, I insist” or “danger: road washed out ahead” or “get out of my lane”. You never really know for sure, but when a bus is tailgating you flashing its lights it is a safe bet he means “get out of the way”. Despite all the hazards, challenges, trials and tribulations we covered 450 miles in 11.5 hours and never got lost. We drove into Merida and literally to the front door of the posada on the first try.

Merida is a lovely town. It is a colonial city and is known as “La Cuidad de los Caballeros” (The City of Gentlemen “caballero” literally means “horseman” but also means gentleman because only the landed gentry had horses.) I was told that it derived its name from the fact that it was a very prosperous town during the colonial era. Now, it retains much of its colonial character, but, like all of Venezuela, it suffers from the plight of the Venezuelan zeal to tear down beautiful old buildings and build new, ugly ones in their place. It is also a college town, and while we were there there were riots going on about a mile away. The people at our posada (Casa Del Sol), in the restaurants and on the street seemed completely unconcerned about the student riots, so we did not concern ourselves either. It was a little weird to dine al fresco while listening to sirens and the pop, pop, pop of tear gas canisters going off.

The next day we went up the Teleferico (Cable Car) up to the snow capped peak of Pico Espejo, one of the huge mountains in near Merida which is next to Pico Bolivar, the highest peak in Venezuela. The ride up took about 1.5 hours, with three stops. Merida sits at an elevation of about 5500 ft and the top of the Teleferico is at about 15,500, giving the mountain a vertical rise of about 10,000 ft. That is bigger than most of the mountains in Colorado. It is higher than Whistler in Canada. At 15,500, that was the highest I have ever been with my feet on the ground. The top of the Mountain was shrouded in fog, but we did get to see some snow, in Venezuela, in the summer (and yes, it is technically summer here in Venezuela because we are north of the Equator).

Women in Venezuela almost always wear high heels. Watching this woman struggle through the ice and snow on the mountain peak was quite amusing. Mary was wearing a pair of "Croc" sandals in the snow which was almost as amusing.

We also met a woman named Andrea from San Francisco while waiting for the Teleferico, who we would run into several more times in the coming weeks during our various travels in Venezuela. We ate soup and arepas at a café at the top of the mountain, muffled our laughter when some guy leaned up against a freshly painted wall and came away with his backside covered in blue paint, then tried to non chalantly check to see if we too had blue paint on our butts and generally had a good time. Although the top was shrouded in fog, the next stop down was not and we were able to get out and walk around a little and see some of the amazing scenery above the tree line. Here are some of the photographs.

The next day we went to a little village high in the mountains called Jaji (pronounced “Ha-hee”) which is in a colonial village nestled in a very high mountain meadow. Along the way we stopped to take some pictures of a beautiful waterfall…and ran into Andrea. She was sitting there at the waterfall waiting for a bus to take her to Jaji. She had been on another bus but wanted to get off at the waterfall to look at it and take pictures and so she had to wait for the next bus to come to continue her journey. We offered her a ride, and set out once again. Here are photos of the waterfall.

I noticed while we were there that many of the shops sold statues of a man that looked a little like Charlie Chaplin. The statues depict a man in a black suit and hat with a moustache standing with his hand behind his back. I had also seen statues of this odd person in various roadside shrines (there are small shrines along the roads all over Venezuela and, indeed, all over Latin America) right along side statues of the Virgin Mary. The man is Dr. Jose Gregorio Hernandez, and he is part of a cult dedicated to worship of a mythical figure called Maria Lionza. More on this below.

From Jaji we continued west across the Andes toward Azulita, heading for the other side near Lake Maricaibo. As we neared the divide, at what must have been at least 10,000 ft in elevation, we started to see lots of Holstein cattle, the dairy variety, in lush green pastures of very picturesque farms. We (and by “we” I mean “I”) took lots of photos in along the way, too many to post here, and frankly, too many for Mary. The drive seemed to take forever because of the winding mountain roads. While we did not cover a great distance, it took four or five hours to do it on the narrow mountain roads. At times the roads were in even worse condition than the roads up. (Is a theme emerging here? Something about bad roads?) We also got a little lost in Azulitas, but made a good recovery. Here is a photo of a wonderful waterfall just outside Azulitas.

Before we left the posada, we asked the woman at the front desk if the road on the Maricaibo side of the mountain was good. She got a little indignant and said “claro, es una autopista” meaning “of course, it is a highway.” Well, she was wrong. Very, very wrong.

We descended down to almost sea level and got on the Autopista in Santa Elena, which was hot and humid. The Lake Maricaibo side of the Andes is what most people envision when they think of South America. In addition to the heat and humidity, there were banana trucks everywhere, the roads were lined with tropical plants, and there were pedestrians lining the road. We could not go five miles without coming to a new town, where we had to slow to a crawl behind the banana trucks. Even when we could go 50 or 60 miles per it was dangerous because of the potholes. I literally saw a car have a blowout after hitting a pothole while passing me. (Karma can be a bitch.) As the day wore on, and the miles crawled by we finally found ourselves in the mountains again as we turned back to the east, back toward Caracas. Now we were beset by a driving rain storm in addition to the trucks, pedestrians, potholes and towns. Darkness fell and we were no where near our goal of Barquisimeto. It was nearly 9:00 pm when we got to Barquisimeto, and neither of us had eaten since breakfast. Our navigational luck ran out as well and we got quite lost. Part of the problem was that we did not have a good map. After driving around in circles for nearly two hours and calling the posada several times, we finally broke down and hit a drive thru at a McDonalds. Little did we realize that we were about five blocks from our posada. We followed the directions we were given by the posada, did yet another circle around the town and finally arrived to our posada. By this point Mary and I were not speaking to each other.

Things got much better the next day. We found our way out of town with no problem (after a spirited debate between the posada manager, a cleaning lady and a grounds keeper as to which route was the “best” one to get to the Autopista). We set our sights on a small town called Chivacoa, which is home to the followers of Maria Lionza. Here are some links that explain the religion, which is a mixture of Catholicism, Voodoo, Santaria, and indigenous beliefs. Here. And Here. And Here. There is a mountain nearby (Sorte) that is said to be a place of strong magical power and is held sacred by followers of the cult. The town itself is full of “Perfumerias” which sell the necessary items for the practice of the religion, such as the statues of the various deities (The Virgin Mary, Dr. Jose Gregorio Hernandez, Simon Bolivar, Negro Pedro, Cacique, the Viking, The Ganster and, of course, Maria Lionza, who is depicted riding an animal called a tapir) as well as candles, incense, cigars, rum, playing cards, and small metal charms. Not wanting to miss out on a potential religion, we purchased a Dr. Hernandez statue and a Maria Lionza statue to go with the Virgin Mary statue we already have. After a quick lunch of pastries at a bakery (where I solved the Café Madrid mystery) we headed home to Caracas. The remaining drive was uneventful. I just zoned out and drove.

We drove over 1000 miles in four days, and spent about 30 hours in the car.

Coming up next: I become a rock star, and the Angel Falls Adventure.

The Role of Television in Venezuelan Politics.

This is an interesting news article I ran across. The road trip report is being written, and revised, so please be patient. I also have my recent trip to Angel Falls to report on, another trip to Colonia Tovar, Greg's visit, my rock band, and an upcomming fishing trip. I have been busy.

Financial Times FT.com

Venezuela’s Televised Revolution

By Benedict Mander

Published: August 7 2008 21:01 Last updated: August 7 2008 21:01
At 11am on Sundays, Venezuelans turn on their television sets to watch the most loved and hated programme in the country. Its charismatic but controversial host holds forth about politics for hours – his record exceeds eight – preaching and philosophising, telling personal anecdotes and giving history lessons. He cracks jokes at one moment and flies into a rage at another, and rails aggressively at his enemies as often as he tenderly caresses small children and old women.
The host is none other than Hugo Chávez, Venezuela’s president (pictured right), and his weekly chat show Aló Presidente (Hello President) on the main state channel, Venezolana de Television (VTV), is often the most important political event of the week. Not only is it Chávez’s tool for educating and informing the populace about the progress and aims of his so-called Bolivarian revolution (named after the 19th-century independence hero Simón Bolívar), and lecturing on the evils of capitalism and imperialism (read: the US). It is also an innovative form of government, where significant announcements are made and public policy explained, as cabinet ministers diligently take notes in the audience. Ministers are fired and scolded, companies nationalised, farms expropriated, hospitals and factories inaugurated. On TV Chávez even ordered tank battalions to the border with Colombia, leaving some fearing war.
Aló Presidente is Chávez’s direct line to the people, and the show rarely takes place in a television studio. No, Chávez and his team travel the length and breadth of the country, setting up a dais and presidential desk anywhere they will fit – on a beach, at the top of a mountain, in the shadow of a giant oil refinery or in the middle of a field with cows grazing in the background. Adoring subjects from nearby villages come to cheer their president and perhaps even get one of his generously distributed embraces.
But Chávez’s show is only one example of the use of TV for political ends. Another is the notorious "cadena", which all channels on the public airwaves are obliged to show:it consists mainly of presidential speeches, which can last several hours. There have been more than 1,600 since Chávez has been president, adding up to more than 1,000 hours of airtime.
In the past 10 years, the politicisation of the media – or the "mediatisation" of politics – has been remarkable. In fact, Chávez owes his initial rise to fame to a brief appearance on television. After a failed coup d’état in 1992 he was allowed to announce his defeat to the nation on "cadena" and urge his fellow insurrectionists to throw down their arms. The formerly unheard-of Chávez became a hero. He was democratically elected as president in 1998.
But it was not until he was on the receiving end of a coup in 2002 that the full power and potential of television became clear to him. Opposition-controlled private TV channels were accused of biased coverage and encouraging the coup, and even engineering a news black-out when it became clear there was widespread popular rejection of the coup, showing classic movies and cartoons instead.
Ever since then, Venezuela’s bombastic president has made a concerted effort to challenge the private media by setting up multiple media outlets to promote his self-styled socialist revolution. From just one state television channel before 2002 there are now six, gaining its latest addition when the government refused to renew the concession for one of the country’s most popular channels, RCTV, largely because of its alleged involvement in the 2002 coup. It was replaced with the state-funded TVes (which as pronounced in Spanish means "you see yourself"). Another includes the continent-wide Telesur, a 24-hour news channel set up to challenge the US-centric news on CNN.
According to Marcelino Bisbal, who teaches communications at the Andrés Bello Catholic University in Caracas, these public TV channels have become instruments of the government. Ina recent study of VTV, he found that news items (intended basically to inform on the government’s achievements, he says), official or party propaganda and publicity and presidential speeches made up more than 80 per cent of programming.
"It is used to further the aims of the president’s political project, and cannot be called a public service channel," says Mr Bisbal. Indeed, three high- profile prime-time presenters have recently been elected to the 14-person directorate of the government’s United Socialist party of Venezuela. Two of them are running for pivotal positions in the all-important regional elections in November, one as mayor of the capital city Caracas, another as gov- ernor of the state that contains Vene- zuela’s third-largest city, Valencia.
While there is little doubt that the state channels are highly politicised, the private TV channels, which have a far greater viewership, have traditionally hardly been free of bias – and this is the government’s main justification for the way it uses state channels. But news coverage on private channels has improved markedly. Of the "four horsemen of the apocalypse", as Chávez once described the four main private TV stations, one has since been removed from the public airwaves (RCTV), and two have significantly toned down their coverage since the 2002 coup and are now considered to be fairly balanced. Only the 24-hour news channel Globovision remains openly critical of the government – but unlike the other channels its concession is not up for renewal any time soon.
The contrast between private and state media is perhaps the most striking aspect of Venezuelan TV, evidence of how deeply polarised society has become: those in favour of the revolution, and those against it. At any given moment, while on a private channel you may find a game show or soap opera, on state TV it is more probable someone – if not the president himself – will be expounding enthusiastically on the virtues of the revolution. Certainly, in Venezuela, the revolution is being televised.
This article is part of a series on TV around the world. For earlier pieces, visit www.ft.com/arts/tv
Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2008

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.