T-Shirts and Reflections
A little taste of Venezuela, dashboard style.
Follow our 2007 Dream Trip Contest winner through South America and Antarctica. And don't forget to enter our 2008 Dream Trip Contest. The prize? A $25,000 trip (designed by Wendy) to the destination(s) of your dreams.
After a quick swim in the Caribbean, I say good-bye to Santa Fe and head down the coast of Venezuela. The bus to Puerto de la Cruz is driven by a guy sporting a yellow Magnum, P.I., T-shirt.
I see this kind of thing often around the world, especially in Africa. Basically, the shirts that the U.S. no longer wants get sent to poorer places. This is supposed to make us feel like we are doing something good, I guess, but in reality it usually destroys the local textile industries. It also provides a lot of entertainment when I'm on the road.
I remember having words with a Zambian cop wearing the legendary "I'm With Stupid" T-shirt. I also remember meeting his confused partner a while later and thinking how appropriate the attire was. I've seen 80-year-old women in "ALF" shirts lug firewood down from mountains and three-year-old boys ask me for pens in tops that stated "It's Better in Sycamaugus, Alabama" (which may be true, depending on what is meant by "it").
Anyway, Magnum gets me back to town safely just in time to hop on yet another bus, this one bound for the capital city of Caracas. The trip takes about five hours. I then hop into a cab, which gets me to the Altamira neighborhood and my hotel, La Floresta--but not before the cabbie hits a guy on a motorcycle and gets into a small fight with other motorcycle people in a very impressive display of solidarity.
(Everyone was fine. Thanks for asking.)
I have a cool room with some decent views. I walk around a bit and have some drinks at an odd Venezuelan bar done up like a British pub, where the only music is American blues. I savor some Gran Reserva rum while B.B. King sings about getting help he doesn't need. I move on to a place called La Fogata del Pollo and have a tasty dinner of chicken, plantains with cheese, yucca, manioc, salad, and various hot sauces.
View of Caracas from a balcony of La Floresta hotel.
I then hit a small shop, buy some sangria, and sit on my balcony, enjoying the night breeze and the views of Caracas while music floats up from a nearby bar. It's the last night of my dream trip. Did I reflect enough? How much ground have I covered? How much fun did Arlene and I have--how much did we learn? How lucky were we? How bad is my sunburn? How horrible is this sangria?
Yes, I think about all of these things and much more. Images and thoughts swirl through my mind in such a whirlwind it is too much for me to record them. I polish off the sangria, smoke a Cuban cigar, wish the city a good night and go to bed.
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