Monday 9th October. Caracas, Venezuela.

5* Chic

I am staying in what is apparently the best hotel in Caracas and it is certainly a testimony to modernity. I always wondered what type of people stayed in a place like this. I would never consider splurging on such a hotel at home, but it certainly gives me a feeling of safety in South America.

At breakfast I realise that I must be an anathema to the assembled businessmen, and I say men because the only women in sight are the power dressed executive assistants provided by the hotel to cater to our needs.

No one speaks to me. I am not dressed in a business suit, nor the designer chic of the two executives from an ecology company. Maybe its my Bournemouth School CCF T-shirt that identifies me as a teacher and thus not in the same league as the powerbrokers. What ever it is, I bet I am the only one in this room paying my own hotel bill!

Spending the morning in the executive lounge working on the blog, I am brought drinks, cakes, pens...anything I need. Oh, and by the way, the soap in the executive bathroom smells of bubblegum and your choice of teas comes in a mahogany box.

Hitting the City...

The saga of money in South America rumbles on. Initially, as you know, I was advised to bring hard cash as traveller´s cheques are hard to exchange. Well, as you know, the money was stolen and so here I am back in South America armed with traveller´s cheques. Today, I discover that some banks will not let me access their ATM's and that no bank or hotel will cash my traveller´s cheques (apparently it is illegal to deal in foreign currencies in Venezuela?)

I am advised to try a money exchange 5 minutes away by taxi from the hotel ("but it is not safe"). I then discover from one nearby bank that I can use their ATM if I give over my passport number...with no other option this seems the way to go.

The area around the Plaza Bolivar is an oasis, if somewhat dilapidated, in a concrete jungle. One word you certainly would not use to describe Caracas is beautiful.

The downtown is a riot of people, street hawkers, workers and locals in every shape and form. I am so glad to be viewing the scene from the safety of my car.

The taxi I am travelling in is not a taxi in the traditional sense. It is a brand new top of the range American Jeep with blacked out windows. It is actually a hotel car and talk about conspicuous!

Caracas is certainly not designed for the tourist. First of all I went to the Teleférico (which my guidebook tells me is open on Monday´s) the security guard tells me Mañana.

I thus move on to the Plaza Bolivar which is thronged with people. South Americans in their droves are photographing, and being photographed, with the statue of Simón Bolívar hero of South American liberation.
The monument lies in the great European tradition of an equestrian statue. Indeed, it was infact cast in Europe and shipped in pieces to be re-assembled here. The monument was unveiled in 1874.

Across I go to Caracas Cathedral where a very unfriendly man tells me to come back at 4 o´clock. I have over three hours to kill, it is a Monday in Caracas and all the sights are closed???

As my regular travelling companion Alice would guess, I am off to examine the architectural styles on offer in downtown Caracas.

At the southwest corner of the Plaza lies the Capitolio Nacional which was built in the 1870´s in the neo-classical tradition. This is a beautiful piece of architecture and it is well preserved. Indeed, work on the buildings exterior is currently ongoing.

From here I make the very short walk around the block to the colourful complex of buildings that house the Supreme Court, the Central University and the Iglesia de San Francisco.

I have time to kill, but I am not willing to journey off the beaten track. I find a nice lady (with child, so there is less chance of her doing a runner with my camera) and join the crowds having my photo taken with Simón.

Venezuela is proving to be very expensive. On working out the exchange rate I discover that my driver charged me around £40 for the drive into town. I think that people assume that because you are staying at the Radisson you have money. Money though will become an issue again this afternoon.

After a couple of hours observing life from my seat on a kerb stone in the Plaza I am accosted by a middle-aged gent who claims to be a failed Professor and a poet and who wants me to buy his work. He proves a challenge to shake off and so I head into Wendy´s to eat.

Wendy´s just happens to be a traditional favourite of mine when I am home in New York...but in Caracas I will cause a stir.

I am attempting to pay with my credit card as I realise I will need the rest of the cash I got this morning to pay for the taxi home. First the supervisor, then the deputy manager and then the manager; no-one will accept payment without my passport. I explain that after being mugged I do not carry it, nor do I carry much cash.

You would think I was trying to buy gold and not just an extra value meal and a hamburger! They ask for my telephone number and I say that I don´t know it but I am staying at the Raddison Plaza Eurobuilding. All of a sudden smiles all round...of course my card will be accepted.

I´ll tell you something, the old wagons in all shapes and forms that they let plough the streets of these South American cities fairly pump out the pollution.

Back in the Plaza I view a quiet protest of placards against the West, specifically George Walker Bush Jr. He is described as every conceivable evil, particularly as the anti-Christ and the placards say that his name (6 letters in each section...someone cannot count as Bush is 4 and running it together with junior makes 10 not 6...sorry I used to teach mathematics and the sums just don´t add up)...anyway, the claim is that the name spells 666, the sign of the devil. I ask to take a photo, but I am firmly told NO.

Luck strikes and I meet Nadine and John in the Plaza (they are a really nice couple from Halifax and they are touring Venezuela for three weeks). They kindly invite me to join them on a walking tour and with safety in numbers we head off.

Our first stop is the Iglesia Santa Capilla which is modelled on the wonderful Sainte Chapelle (one of my favourite buildings) in Paris. From the outside the building is like a wedding cake (in the Disney mould). It was built to the order of Guzmán Blanco in 1883 and it sits on the site where mass was first celebrated on the foundation of Caracas. The altar is an elaborate stone affair, but the must see is the Multiplication of the Bread by Arturo Michelena...it is under cover at the moment...but there are always ways to get inside...trust me it is bonito.
The nave of the church is very much like Sainte Chapelle and the side isles are as one would expect of a traditional colonial church...but oh, the stained glass is stunning. Very dark in pigment, but beautiful.

From here we head up to the Panteón Nacional where the central nave is apparently dedicated to who else but Simón Bolívar. In South America, and Venezuela in particular, he is treated like a saint. This building sits on the northern edge of the old town and like everything in this city its beauty is crossed by a highway. Unfortunately it is closed today and so we head back to the Cathedral which by now should be open. Here I part company with my new friends who are off to catch a bus to the interior.

The cathedral is beautiful, but plain. I am surprised both at how small it is and by the fact that it is not at all ornate.

I head off to take advantage of the opening of the Iglesia de San Francisco home to a rich collection of baroque altarpieces. Somehow I get the feeling that the building is unfinished. The altarpieces are works of art, true enough; but they do nothing for me and leave me strangely cold. It is as if they have been assembled with no real purpose.

History, of course, tells us a different story. History celebrates the importance of this church in proclaiming the independence of Venezuela. It was here that Simón Bolívar was first proclaimed El Libertador in the year 1813. It was also here that his funeral was held in 1842, but this was 12 years after his death, when his remains returned from Columbia.

It proves very difficult to get a taxi willing to take me back to Las Mercedes and my hotel, but finally one driver agrees to take me. I was beginning to get worried as darkness was falling and I know that downtown Caracas is VERY dangerous especially at night.

My driver is a really nice guy. Royal is from the interior of Peru and he has been in Caracas for twenty years. He is quite a driver.

Driving in South America is akin to driving in France and Italy together and multiplied by 10. They seem to drive blind in the hope that they hit nothing and nothing hits them.

Royal and I have a great chat about Scotland and to cap my wonderful journey he charges me half as much as the flash hotel taxi. What makes it even cooler is that if you are of my vintage you will have been raised on Starsky and Hutch. The cab is one of those cool sedans, a bit collapsed in parts but I feel like Huggy Bear with the fuzzy dashboard and the bad 70´s car seat covers.

I get into a discussion about politics with Royal and he confirms my thoughts that Chávez is very popular in the barrio, but not with the residents of upscale neighbourhoods like Las Mercedes.

Tonight I take my rightful place in the executive lounge. There is a free bar, and more importantly free food until 8.30pm. I am currently playing a game of cat and mouse with the Maître Dia. If I play my cards right I can eat here for free all week and cut my costs...hey, we all love smoked salmon and these canapés are good.

Outside my window (shaded by the trendiest of wooden blinds by the way) there is a thunder and lightening storm. I can view the famous Caracas traffic jam. They say that the M25 is the world´s largest car park..."they" should see Caracas.

A final note to Francesca...Darling the Champers in this joint is so us!!!