The first thing that people ask me here invariably ask me, after inquiring as to how long I have been in the country, is what I think about Chavez? More often then not, it’s an excuse for them to get on their soapbox for or against the man and his policies, but occasionally people are interested in hearing what I have to say. After six days, my answer has remained the same: I really don’t know.
From where I stand, Chavez is not popular, but then, I am staying in a middle-class section of the city and I spend much of my time around people who are middle to upper class Venezuelans in the country’s largest city. They grumble about everything from the recent name change of the Altamira station to the Miranda station (literally overnight) to the crime to the rising prices for staples. Chavez takes the blame for all of this, but plenty of people who criticize Chavez bemoan the Opposition with a similar fury. I have encountered two rabid Chavistas, both old men who had had too much to drink and spent the “conversation” (not with me, mind you) reciting what amounted to propaganda about how great Chavismo is yet being unable to fully engage questions regarding how it affected them. As my friend Amy said after one of these encounters on the metro, “He kept telling me how great such-and-such thing that Chavez had done abroad, but nothing about how this affected him or why it mattered.” My experiences in American politics has been no different, with rabid Democratic and Republican partisans talking my ear off, citing talking point after talking point and failing to fully engage in any dialogue. It’s disheartening, but as far as I can tell, that is democratic politics.
To be honest, most of what I’ve seen here relating to Chavez is the ubiquitous signage and the television advertising. El presidente himself spends hours each week speaking on the television about efforts he’s making to improve the lives of the people and there are multiple ads running daily reciting statistics such as improved literacy and access to health care. To be fair, I’ve been here less then a week and I have probably seen about 2% of Caracas and less then a tenth of a percent of the country as a whole. I still have a lot of sympathy for Chavismo and the fundamental shift it represents away from the close relationship with the United States, but the cracks in the system appear to be widening every day. Chavez’s initial support, the middle class, has all but abandoned him as far as I can tell, and it’s really the poor of the barrios that make up his base today.
The event on Sunday in the Barrio Petare was typical democratic politics. The people who were targeted were quite happy for the entertainment and the gifts, but whether they will vote for Ocariz is something we will find out in the fall. Simultaneously, I wonder if the general feeling on the street is indicative of the state of the nation. I’m reminded of the 1990s in the United States where crime, according to the FBI, decreased every year for 7 or 8 consecutive years. At the same time, coverage of crime on the news and in the media increased dramatically such that people consistently cited “crime” as one of their biggest worries in polls. Clinton responded by increasingly draconian crime bills and, consequently, the United States now has a higher percentage of its population in prison then any other nation in the world. The daily repetition of crime footage on the television was more powerful then people’s own lived experiences creating a bizarre notion of a threat where there was really no threat.
I know I say this a lot, but in politics perception is more important then truth. The zeitgeist of Venezuelan politics is far more important then any statistics and facts. Chavez is a smart man and an astute politician so I know he understands this. I am really curious to see what else he has up his sleeve. This whole Fourth Fleet fracas is a good first step, but unless those ships bombard Choroni or Isla Margarita, it’s going to fizzle before it catches fire.
I spent today in the largest barrio in Latin America. To be honest, I was rather worried this morning when we departed La California metro stop in a jacked up 4×4 driven by our driver, the son of an officer in the Venezeulan Intelligence Services. Displayed prominently over the steering wheel was a jacket with that very insignia like a talisman for his car, which probably cost more then most Venezuelans make in a year. Our driver was quite scared when we drove over the filthy, trash-strewn stream into the barrio despite the caravan of cars that was ahead of us. After all, early morning is when those men who have been up all night drinking are good and hammered and the rest of the barrio stays indoors.
The Crew:
It was well after 10am when we entered the barrio, however, and I saw only a few curious faces and scowls as this group of kids from the rich neighborhood descended upon this organic mass of houses, stone, and poorly-mixed concrete that housed upwards of 2 million people.
“There was a moment,” our driver said, “When they lost compassion. Now they just shoot you and rob you first instead of just robbing you.”
The trip to the top of the barrio was winding and fraught with hairpin turns. Most of the houses looked as if a stiff wind would bring them down and I shudder to think of the death toll even a moderate earthquake would bring. We removed our sunglasses and hid our cameras which, considering the amount of chrome and after-market accessories on the car, seemed rather absurd. But, we didn’t want to attract any more attention, he said.
I’m not sure how long it took to get to the top, but all of the sudden the houses began to thin and the next thing I knew, we were approaching the top of a hill that had been flattened and a huge cross erected. From there, we could look down and see the seething mass of houses through which we had just driven, it was a heady feeling. I specifically took my camera that day (but not my cell phone) in order to capture as much of the event as I could, but I was thwarted by a dead battery despite having charged it beforehand. Apparently, one of my batteries doesn’t hold a charge any longer and I was without a camera all day. Fortunately, our flatmate Naomi had her phone which managed to take some excellent pictures of which some will be posted here.
After admiring the view of the barrio and Avila (the highest mountain in Caracas), we got to work blowing up balloons and setting up for the event. It was the Dia del Nino in Venezuela and a candidate for the Opposition Party Primero Justica was paying to bring food, music, and a crate of cheap plastic kites to the barrio. The kids began to trickle in after about an hour, but it wasn’t until about 2pm that things really got going. To be honest, I talked with much fewer people then I had hoped. My Spanish really wasn’t that good and people didn’t seem too interested in being patient with the gringo. Some people wanted to practice their English so I made out ok. All-in-all, the kids were a lot of fun. They were so excited to get their little kites and fly them and most of them were very nice about the whole thing. There were some that were persistent and less then polite, but I think you’re going to get that anywhere.
The kids looked fairly well-fed and well dressed, but many of them were keen on taking as many of the junk food provided as they could, suggesting that they were hungry or at least starved of processed junk food. Coming down the streets of the barrio on the way out was a much more relaxed experience, the streets were teaming with cars and people and the little compact car we were in blended very well with the other cars. By the time I had a chance to really look around, we were back in Petare proper headed for the Metro stop.
Today, Saturday, was beach day. We were originally supposed to meet at Plaza Venezuela at 9am to catch the autobus to Playa Grande, but fortunately our connection, Karla, was hungover. Our respite was brief, however, and Naomi, Amy and I set out from the apartment around 9:30. Greg was looking even worse and we ended up going to the pharmacy to pick up some drugs for him. I suspect he has a parasite, but he might have some kind of infection.
I had changed trains at Plaza Venezuela several times since coming here, but this was the first time I had been above-ground. The area around the metro station is full of empty buildings that are apparently full of squatters. It was exceeding seedy and dirty, even in the daytime, and I was more nervous there then my neighborhood at night. Fortunately, we managed to meet Karla without any incident and take the metro again to Gato Negro. Once there, we haggled with several bus drivers until we found one that was headed our way and waited for it to fill up. The fumes were awful as all of the bus drivers let their busses idle rather then crank them up and turning them off…I guess that’s what you get with 10-cent/gallon gas. The trip down the mountain was quick and I was struck by the immense natural beauty juxtaposed with the crushing poverty of Latin America. The houses were clustered along the hillsides and near the road, using found materials and the ubiquitous red brick for their structure.
The road down was brief, but once we passed the airport the traffic was bad and we were subjected to half an hour of bad house music and stop-and-go traffic. Finally, we hopped off the bus and headed into a liquor store for supplies. A bottle of Venezuelan rum, pepsi, water, and assorted snacks were accompanied by a bag of ice. With that, we caught another bus and headed to the beach. It wasn’t the nicest beach I had ever seen, but since it was private, we were able to leave our stuff without worrying about it being guarded. It was also clear of trash and was not too crowded. The sun was relentless and I probably re-applied sunscreen three or four times to avoid being burned, but the water was cool and the surf was gentle thanks to the seawall protecting us from the rough surf.
Karla’s friend later joined us with more rum and pepsi and we drank until well after dark on the beach. The sunset was impressive, as you can see below, and the pool that was near the beach was fantastic. We caught a cab back to the area around the airport and then managed to catch the same autobus back to Gato Negro. A quick metro ride to Ciudad Universitie and we grabbed arepas and then beers at some local haunts. The Saturday night crowd was particularly obnoxious to the women I was sitting with so we ended up making it an early night, arriving back home by 11 or so. Amazingly, even with the beers and dinner, I didn’t spend more then BsF40 (about $20). That’s what I call a day at the beach.
Amy’s collection:
I fell asleep last night to the cacophony that is Caracas at night and I woke up to this:
I must say, it’s nice being on the 12th floor.
Here’s another shot:
My roommates, Amy, Greg and Naomi, were very helpful this morning in helping me get to Chacao to my language class and showing me around.
First impressions of Caracas: noisy, dirty, and the air is atrocious. The cambionettas (small buses) spew diesel fumes into the air like confetti at a parade. The people generally keep to themselves, but they are often friendly when approached. Everyone seems to be on their guard here, watching everyone else and keeping tabs on them. The language class was challenging, but they were very understanding of my situation and helped me get started.
Overwhelming is probably not the right word, but things here move very fast and everything is quite challenging. Accents are different, people are brusque, and the city moves at a very fast pace. Thus far, I like it, but it has been a long day.
Here are some shots of me in my room and my other roommate:
Well, I’m off to take a quick shower and then eat dinner before going out for some salsa dancing.
After an uneventful flight to Caracas I was greeted by a rather long wait for immigration and baggage claim. My pack was on the very last load of luggage and took nearly two hours to get it. In the meantime I was trying to arrange a ride and dodge the gypsy cab drivers who kept offering their services. When I finally figured out that I was no going to be picked up I started to really worry as the sun was setting. The mood of the airport changed as the sun went down and there were a new crowd of people who appeared who looked a bit more ragged and desperate then the last. Fortunately I managed to find a helpful and honest cab driver who got me to where I needed to go. Luis was frustrated with me and my poor Spanish, but managed to help me find my apartment with only minimal difficulty (and B150). I´ve only seen the city at night thus far but it looks like a crazy/busy place. I´m already regretting having forgotten my earplugs.
Tomorrow I start class but in the meantime (my apologies for the poor grammar as I can´t seem to get the comma key working) I´m staying in a rather crowded apartment. The woman with whom I am staying–Señora Sanchez-lives here with her teenage daughter and mother. Currently staying here are another American guy an American girl two Venezulean women and a young boy who belongs to one of them. Thus far everyone has been very nice but the little boy like to cheat at cards. The best part is that the American guy has been extremely helpful with advice and recommendations for getting around and other niceties.
I´m staying in Santa Monica-which is near the University-but tomorrow I have to trek up to Chacao to go to language school. The American girl that´s staying here (Amy?) is headed the same way so I won´t be completely on my own. More tomorrow but for the moment I´m going to watch some Telenovella and then go to bed.
Here I sit all broken-hearted,
Ready to fly but not yet departed.
I saw the gray wall dominating the skyline as we made our approached. I was optimistic, since I had to walk briskly to catch my flight, that we would be on the runway before it hit. A bad hydraulic line nipped that in the bud.
So, here I sit, taking silly pictures of myself with photobooth, hoping that my ride in Caracas will be there when I arrive.
At least the internets here run a bit faster…
I never sleep before a trip. I always intend to. I’ve even attempted to deprive myself of sleep beforehand in order to sleep better the night before, but it never works. So, last night I just stayed up chatting and finishing up packing until past 2am. Two hours of fitful sleep and I still managed to awake before my alarm went off and managed to get to MARTA by 5:15 (thanks Megan!).
Now I sit here at the gate–two hours early–avoiding the sunrise so that I can siphon power from the only available outlet. One of these days, I’m going to start traveling with a power strip so I stop getting dirty looks when I hog a power outlet, not today, though.
Oh, right. For those of you who don’t know, I was awarded a research travel grant this Spring by the Caribbean and Latin American Studies group at NYU. My travel grant covers airfare to and from Caracas so that I can get a better idea of what archival resources are available for my eventual Master’s Thesis. Basically, I’m going to march into each archive and ask what I’m allowed to look at. Since I could conceivably spend a great deal of time in Venezuela over the next 5-7 years finishing my dissertation, I decided that a trip that included familiarization with the country would be a good idea. I’m spending the first two weeks in an immersion program. I’ll be staying with a family in Santa Monica which is in the South of Caracas. The third week I am working on finding alternate accommodations and during this time I will aim to hit all the major archives that I can find.
After that it’s Mexico and Cuba, but I’ll write more about that later. For now, I’m going to dodge the rising sun and try to tune out the chatter of AirportCNN while I read “Middlesex.”
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