So immediately, I struck up a conversation with the passenger
next to me, to see if he knew the airport or the city. And immediately the
conversation expanded to the passengers in front of us, and the passengers in
front of them. Before we knew it, we were getting advice from about 8-10
passengers, telling us the city isn’t safe, stay out of the center, and make
sure you get a nice, expensive, secure hotel.
When we landed we realized the airport was of the Billings,
Montana variety, and not the LAX type. Ours was the only flight that late, and
public transportation was unheard of. Fortunately, a 20-something year old
couple who were privy to our onboard conversation offered us a ride to the city
in order to find a hotel. On the way, they offered us a place for the night,
and we happily accepted.
We didn’t realize they were part of Venezuela’s elite (or
should I say, their parents are), and they pulled into a gated community, a
gated driveway (with a private security guard), only to be welcomed by their
live-in housekeeper, and we were soon escorted into a mansion overlooking a
swimming pool, golf course and the surrounding area. They offered us tostados
for dinner, then we stayed up until 2am watching Venezuelan baseball, and
talking about the worlds greatest sport: soccer, of course.
We woke at 10:30am, and Antonio offered to drive us to the
city to find a hotel, but not before feeding us more delicious tostadas for breakfast. He
also exchanged some dollars into Venezuelan bolivar’s for us. I didn’t realize
this before we came (good job on your homework, Hans), but if you withdraw
money from an ATM or bank, you’re getting the official, pegged rate of 4 Bf for
every 1 USD. However, on the street you can easily find the black market rate
of anywhere between 7.5 and 8.5 Bf for every 1 USD. In effect, if you’re using
ATMs, you’re paying double for everything. A hotel that costs 60Bf, will costs
$15 USD instead of $7.5 USD. Yikes!! Unfortunately, we only had about $190 USD
on us, so we would need to scrape by.
Antonio took us to one 4-star hotel after another (they
didn’t feel comfortable bringing us to anything less), before Abra and I
finally convinced them they had found a hotel we could afford (after they left,
we promptly exited). Instead, we decided to flee Valencia, and head for
wherever the busses would take us. Turns out we were headed to Coro.
The drive took 5 hours, and we arrived at 8pm. Perfect. We
love arriving in new cities after dark. We thought we got pretty good
directions, so we started walking. Half an hour later, and still no city center
in sight. We decided to ask again, and after another half-hour of walking back
from whence we came, we finally found the Zona Colonial.
It was 10pm, and it took us 3 hotels before one finally
answered our knock. It was the adorable Casa de los Pajaros (House of the
Birds, aka the Birdcage), and we happily took 2 beds in their dormatory-style room. I’ll have you know, it
was very clean, safe, and comfortable.
The next day we spent wandering the streets of Coro. We
didn’t realize it was Sunday, until we found every shop, restaurant and food
stand shut down, and not a person in the streets. These Catholic nations take
their seventh-day-or-rest stuff very seriously. The town was very sleepy, and
there really wasn’t much to see. It’s listed as an old colonial town, so we saw
cobble-stoned streets and colorful old houses.
For lunch we had arepas, which are corn tortillas (thick,
almost pancake like) that are stuffed with shredded meat. They’re awesome.
We also had soup, which contained some odd hairy meat... which we ate.
For dessert we treated ourselves to a delicious caramel-topped, creme-filled pastry. Kinda like an eclair without the bread.... Awesome!
It started to rain, and we quickly got bored, so we headed
for our Posada (hotel). There, we spent the evening watching Vicky Christina
Barcelona from our hotel’s movie selection, and practicing guitar, with Abra
singing along.
The next day we decided to head for the nearby sand dunes.
Unfortunately, I never learned the word ‘dunes’ in Spanish, so instead, our bus
brought us an hour out of Coro to a nearby beach town. It was quaint and
falling down, but the beach was beautiful. Sort of a Bombay Beach of Venezuela
(per Abra).
We took the first bus back to the city, this time getting
off at the right spot. I don’t think many people visit the dunes, as we were
the only ones to get off. The sand dunes were pretty cool. Though not quite as
awesome (in size, at least) to the Sahara Desert of my last trip, they were
impressive nonetheless, especially for Abra who had never seen much for sand
dunes before. The awe factor wasn’t quite there, as you could still see the
city of Coro in the backdrop, so you could never feel totally lost. We climbed
to a few peaks, got lots of sand in our shoes, and took lots of pictures.
We realized we were running out of time for our overnight
bus to Merida, so we raced back to the posada. Abra had taken a few pictures of
the Casa, and we tried to exchange them for the price of the room for the past
2 nights, but the owners didn’t bite. We knew we were low on money (only having
converted $190 USD), so instead we opted for plan B: The Casa offered that we
make a bank transfer of $200 USD into an offshore account (ok, so they had an
American bank account), then they would convert that into Bolivar for us. They
offered us a rate of 7.5 Bf for every $1 USD, so they gave us 200x7.5 = 1500Bf,
minus the cost of the room.
It was almost time for our bus, so we raced down to the bus
station, only to find out they had arbitrarily decided to cancel the bus to
Merida that morning. So instead, we opted to wait for the 9:30pm overnight bus
to Barinas, then from their find another bus for the short ride to Merida.
While waiting for the bus, we walked down the street for one
of Venezuela’s staple foods, Pabellon, for dinner. It’s the traditional rice
and beans with chicken and fried plantain, which is the staple food of every
Hispanic country. But this one was particularly delicious, and very filling.
So here we are, waiting in the over-air-conditioned bus
terminal, watching Spanish soap operas and trying to keep warm. For the first
time this entire trip, our warm layers have provided more than extra weight in
our bags.
Posted by Hans
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