|
8
July 2004 Caracas
Dear Family and
Friends,
For
the last five years another teacher friend, Matt, and I
have been talking about buying motorcycles and traveling
around South America. Now, here we are in Caracas
taking care of last minute details before we head for
the Brazilian border. Our departure date has been
repeatedly pushed back due to the “manana” philosophy of
getting things done here but in a metal works lab at the
University of Simon Bolivar
aluminum boxes are being constructed to mount on the
sides of the bike. As soon as they are ready and
tested, we are set to go.
In the meantime we took the bikes on
a weekend test through a nearby rainforest in Guatopo
National Park. Coming out of the mountains the steep
downhills burned up my brakes causing a moment of panic,
but once cooled they were back in action. The ride
through the park at parts was like shooting through a
tunnel of forest with growth completely enclosing the
road. We heard there was a hotel in Altagracia de
Orituco, a pueblo just past the park. A group of locals
got us to the hotel after a 10 minute debate between
four guys unable to agree on how far away and what route
we should take. It was four blocks away. Walking
around town we soon realized by all the looks that we
were no longer in the first world Mercedes area of
Caracas. Altagracia has the highest beauty parlor per
capita I’ve ever seen. We stopped for a Polar Ice and
asked the store owner about the town. He was a little
embarrassed of the fact that the town’s disco had been
closed down because of too many fights, but he boasted
the town did have a pizzeria. He also told us to head
out to the outskirts of town to see the “toros” and
walked us out to get a taxi, although there were
specific rules here – only the white ones and even then
it took about 20 minutes because he let several cabs go
by because he didn’t like the look on the driver’s
face.
Out at the “toros” there was no place to sit so
we side saddled the fence with everyone else. This was
no bullfight, more like a Venezuelan rodeo. A cow was
thrown into a long chute and four guys on horseback had
three minutes to grab it’s tale and spin it into a 180.
They scored points every time the cow fell down. I
couldn’t figure out what the other 30 people were doing
in the chute except selling snacks and passing beers
from one side to the other. Music from this region was
blaring, something like a fast country song played on a
harp. The announcer screaming, “Toro, toro…” into the
mike every time the cow decided to get back up. After a
few rounds of cow torture we cabbed (white only of
course) back into town for pizza. Definitely the place
to be on a Saturday night with live music, two guys with
a microphone and keyboard belting out ballads at a
piercing volume. After a sauceless pizza and a few
guest performances from a ten year old performing “Mi
Patria Venezuela”, we walked back to the hotel.
Next
morning, we rode to a smaller pueblo, Carmen de Cura
where we found the ruins of an old church. The locals
said it had just fallen down from neglect years ago.
Not much to do on a Sunday here except get out of the
sun and play some dominos. Driving back to Caracas we
were caught by more rain and the mayhem of traffic
entering Caracas up winding slopes, and tunnels. The
contrasts of the day were overwhelming going from slow
pueblo pace hot llanos terrain to cold mountain rain and
urban sprawl of Caracas.
Caracas is gearing up for the August 15th
presidential referendum. Marches and caravans for or
against President Chavez are common. The poor love
him. The opposition, more or less the rich, want him
out. One friend of Matt’s keeps a water bottle and
jogging shoes in her car trunk just in case she happens
across an anti-Chavez march.
But
for or against Chavez, this is a city with its share of
problems, violence and crime being first on the list. Gabbi, one of Matt’s girlfriend’s roommates (confused?),
came home yesterday and told us all she had just been
robbed. She had been in traffic and a motorcycle pulled
up, banged a pistol on her window, and told her to hand
over her watch or he’d shoot. He took her glasses, too,
but then returned them saying that weren’t so nice.
This all happened in plain view of two police too busy
talking or not wanting to notice. Moments later, she
turned on the radio and heard the announcer warning
everyone to watch out in traffic for a gang of guys on
motorcycles robbing people.
Going into a “Chavez” neighborhood to
get a yellow fever shot at a clinic, we definitely felt
the hostility of the looks. Grafitti read, “Don’t watch
T.V. They lie.” The owners of the media are definitely
anti-Chavez. Across town grafitti reads, “Chavez lies
and lies and lies…” Anyway, the clinic hours read 12 to
3. Around 1:20 the nurse showed up and told everyone to
line up in order of arrival. The usual chaos ensued.
One hapless gringo inadvertently cut the line. More
dirty looks. I asked the nurse if they gave yellow
fever shots and was told to come back after 3. I
decided to try a different clinic. Warning to all
travelers, don’t loose that health card that no one ever
checks. After five years of never needing it, outbreaks
of yellow fever have made it a requirement for certain
areas, and Brazil won’t let you in without it.
Hopefully, just another week of “mananas” from Ramiro
the metal worker and we’re off. Our goal is to travel
into the interior of Brazil by motorcycle where roads
allow, put the bikes on river boats where they don’t.
We have contacted schools along the route to volunteer
for a few days at a time. We’ll also try to visit
schools in rural areas where we are invited. Our
travels will take us through some incredible natural
preserves.
For
those that I haven’t been in touch with, I’ve been in
South America for the last five years teaching in
international schools. One year in Bolivia, one in
Ecuador, and the last three in Colombia. This
sabbatical
year will serve as a chance to travel though Brazil, the
final frontier in South America, visit schools, and plan
what to do from there. I met my friend Matt working in
Bolivia where we rented motorbikes a few times to drive
up into the mountains. It was there that one of us
said, “How great would it be to take a year off a drive
all over the place…” He has also been in South America
for the last six years in international schools. We’ve
both saved for this year but we are going to need some
help along the way.
If
you want to help out...
Un abrazo.
chao, Chris
back to journal menu
contact us:
chris@isabm.com
- matt@isabm.com |
