The Long Road to Venezuela

I shouldn't be tired after 4 days of doing practically nothing but sitting on my tush looking out a windows, but As it turns out travel can be kind of exhausting. 

I got up at about 5am on Monday to catch a flight from Cusco to Lima at 7:45am. Unfortunately that flight was delayed, meaning when I arrived in Lima I was basically already late for my connecting flight to Caracas, Venezuela.  

Airports have always been an uncomfortable place for me. They bring out irrational fears, and I have long held a deep-seated phobia of missing a flight. As I stood stranded in a long, twisted queue waiting to go through security and realized I was supposed to be at my boarding gate 15 minutes ago,  I got that sinking feeling...the knowledge that I was going to have to face this fear.

After what felt like hours of waiting in lines, I burst through the last checkpoint. And scanned the departures board. My flight read "last call". I sprinted across the airport to the very farthest gate possible...which was completely deserted. Still hoping against all odds that I might be spared this tragedy, I gasped to the uniformed employee, "Am I too late?"

With a wry smile, he nodded, and my poor little heart stopped. I dropped all my bags and clutched the edge of the desk, probably looking more than a little bit insane. "What do I do now?!" 

Long story short, I was booked for a flight to Bogota, Colombia, for that evening. I spent the night curled up on some chairs beside Dunkin Donuts in the Bogota airport, wrapped in my new alpaca blanket, paranoid about somehow sleeping through the departure announcement. 

That didn't happen, and I departed Colombia in the morning (I'll be back someday for a proper visit!), and arrived in Caracas before noon, where the airport was practically empty and security and immigration was surprisingly quick and relaxed.

I had arranged to be picked up at the airport through a service recommended by the foundation I am staying with. "Peter", a friendly Swiss expat, happily answered all my questions, got me settled at a cute little oceanside hotel outside Caracas (much safer), changed money for me, and told me where I could get some food. The next day, he arranged for me to be picked up by an adorable little Venezuelan man named Luis, who bought my bus ticket and dropped me off at the station. He even bought me my first "arepa", a hot cornbread sandwich that is quite delicious! 

The bus was meant to depart at 3:45pm and run for 22 hours to Santa Elena. At this point, my expectations for timing are no longer to punctual North American standards, so I wasn't completely shocked when we finally rolled out at quarter after 6. 

I was also able to observe with mild amusement a very loud and dramatic argument between a man and woman about who had the Window seat. The woman vehemently insisted it was hers, but later on was kicked out by another man claiming it was rightfully his. Turned out the woman was on the wrong bus.

I was lucky enough to land a seat beside a German woman who has lived in Santa Elena for 30 years...she was the only other person on the bus who spoke English, which was very helpful! 

The big festival of Carneval is coming up this weekend, so a lot of people were taking huge boxes and bags of goods from Caracas to sell in the smaller towns. This meant there were some security checks along the way. At one point the driver came into the cabin and told everyone who had extra goods that they needed to pay off the national guard if they didn't want them to go through all the stuff. Bribery is just normal here! 

At another point we were all made to get off the bus, grab our bags, line up, and wait for the guards to go through all our stuff. They literally shook out every last sock and panty, but when they got to my German "mother" (as we began to joke, because everyone assumed that was the case), they just waved us away. It's the big innocent blue eyes.

At one of the last stops a guard with a huge gun burst onto the bus and demanded our IDs. I think I'm becoming desensitized, because this didn't phase me one bit when a month ago I would have been terrified. 

Honestly, I've been seeing some pretty bizarre stuff here, and hearing some crazy stories, but I haven't felt personally unsafe. 

I finally arrived in Santa Elena in the early evening, approx. 24 hours after departing Caracas. What a trip! 
Now I am happily tucked away at Foundation Aldeas de Paz, enjoying the delightful heat, mouthwatering mangos that drop from the mango tree beside the office, and my adorable little cabana (complete with reptilian roommate). 

I have so much to say, and not quite enough computer access to get it all down fast enough, so until next time...I´ll be swinging in my hammock...I mean, working...