Venezuela: Getting to Canaima

The Long Journey

After a late night and early flight from Chile, I honestly don’t remember much of the trip to Venezuela. Somewhere in the middle I had to get out and transfer planes, but somewhere in my sleepwalking daze it has escaped my memory. At this point, all of the planning for this trip has gone through my friend Tracey and the only instructions I have are to be at the “Nascar themed restaurant” on the second floor of the airport. Getting through security and finding my way to the nascar bar, I grab a seat (as it seems like it’s self seating) and patiently wait for a waiter to arrive with a menu. Despite not really feeling hungry, I was going to put in a “courtesy” order for taking up their space. After a couple minutes of waiting, I flag a waiter and ask for a menu, who quickly says “one second” and proceeds to go over and hang out by the bar.. Ummmm…Ok…So I flag a second waiter and ask for a menu, and after a couple minutes she delivers one, but never comes back to take an order. At this point (probably about 15 minutes in), I give up on trying to put my courtesy order in because I don’t really care about the food, and it certainly seems like they don’t care about me taking up space. Great start.

Soon enough, I was greeted with the lovely smiling face of one Tracey Grimm! And, after plenty of hugs and greetings, we swiftly made it over to  the domestic terminal, where we are flying out of for our connection in Ciudad Bolivar. There I meet up with the rest of the crew (Ivan, Tracey’s mom Susan, and Christina, another friend). With the help of Ivan’s charm, we breeze through check-in and head off for some dinner and wait for our plane. Tracey had mentioned how cheap everything is in Venezuela, but I guess it hadn’t really sunk in, because mid way through dinner I headed off to buy a bottle of water. Entering the store, I don’t see any prices listed for the water bottles so (knowing that the Bolivar trades about 70B to 1 USD) I pull out 100B, expecting it to be about $1. But walking to the register, the attendant scan it and says, “10, please.” At this point I probably look dumbstruck like a stupid tourist, because my natural reaction was just to stare blankly in disbelief of what she just said. So, while I’m looking like I’m mildly mentally handicapped, the woman again says “10, please.” Collecting myself, and going through the shock of realizing that I’m paying  $0.14 for what usually costs 10x that in the states, I exchange bills and give her a 20B note. Walking back our dinner/waiting location, still a little dumbfounded, I’m trying to work out how it’s even possible for things to be that cheap. How does anybody make money? How do foreign companies make any money? How is this possible? It just seems way too good to be true.

Putting my dumbstruckness to the side, we head down to our gate with a  couple minutes to spare before boarding only to find that the gate that has been listed on our ticket isn’t going to Ciudad Bolivar. WTF? Really? Then where is our flight.? Of course, the other side of the airport….Sending Ivan ahead to hold the door, we scurry behind as fast as we can to make it before the scheduled departure time. When Ivan gets there, they are doing final boarding and about to close the door, but he pleads with them to hold the door and runs back to get us. As we’re hurrying down the jetway, Ivan is running ahead and I hear him “discussing” with the crew why the door is closed. Somewhere in between him asking them to wait for us, and coming back to get us, they decided that the plane was going to leave without us and closed the door for an on time departure. Those from Venezuela know this, but NOTHING leaves on time. Really, nothing. Well, I guess nothing except our flight. Racing through all of the possible options, we decide to try to hop a bus from Caracas to Ciudad Bolivar, a solid 8 hour drive, but one that will get us there before our next flight. So we hop a taxi to the bus station, but quickly come to realize that all of the bus tickets for that route are sold out. Running out of options, we head back to Ivan’s place to see if we can find a way to just drive there. Little do I know how dangerous an idea this actually is…So after some “discussion” between Ivan and his mother, they decide that the best route forward is to pay some friends to drive us there overnight and then return the cars the next day. Seems simple enough right? Now it’s 10pm and we have a 7:00am flight out of Ciudad Bolivar, and it’s an 8 hour drive…hmmmmm. Also, we learn that the discussion that Ivan and his mother were having was about the danger of driving those roads at night and the prevalence of road gangs and car jackings. Fun! Nothing better than a car full of 4 gringos to attract a little unwanted attention…but at least we have a way to get to our next flight.

Starting the driving, we all try to sleep the best that we can on bumpy roads and through a pretty serious storm, but none of us gets too much sleep. Then, about halfway through the drive, we come section of the road where the cars are stopped in both directions. Hunh. Wonder what’s happening?  The drivers get out to assess the situation and quickly come back to tell us there’s been a wreck involving a truck and a bus (Good thing we didn’t take the bus!!!) and that it may be a little bit before it’s cleared. Keeping each other awake in the car while the wreck is cleared, several ambulances pass by and even a hazmat clean-up crew (because evidently the truck is now also leaking gasoline). A car full of gringos like sitting ducks at a crash site, I can see the blood pressure of Ivan and our drivers slowly rising. To be clear, at no time did I ever actually feel in danger,  but Ivan’s concern was clear and we trusted his judgment. So, as soon as we could (and well before the wreck was cleared), we off-roaded our way through the crash site and came out on the other side to open roads. Breathing a sigh of relief to finally be on our way again, after a little conversation everybody tried, with various amounts of success to sleep again. A special treat was waking up to find our drivers making up the time we had lost by travelling at 160 to 180 kph and doing the tell-tale habits that keep you awake when driving tired. But, with clear roads on the other side of the crash, it was smooth sailing and, at increased speed, we finally made it to the Ciudad Bolivar airport at 6:30pm: just in time to check in for our next flight.

(us and the drivers after the drive)

All of us now thoroughly exhausted from not much sleep the night before we freshen up in the airport bathroom and check in to our next flight to Canaima. At least with this one we know they won’t leave us (primarily because we’re a quarter of the passengers on the flight. Finally feeling a sense of relief, Christina and I pass out at the airport, but not for long. After 30 minutes of waiting, we board our next plane, taxi out to the runway, and….turn around and head back to the gate. Evidently there was a mechanical issue with the plane. Really? Something else? Really? Fuck. So we all de-plane and wait for another 30 minutes (feels like FOREVER), while everything is sorted out. Boarding the plane for a second time, I find my seat and am asleep before we leave the ground.