On the road again...this time to Caracas.

Let's get the bad stuff over early. The one thing I promised myself when I came to South America was that I was going no where near Colombia. As you know when my Ecuador tour was re-directed close to Colombia look how that turned out!

After the assault I knew that I did not want to stay in Ecuador any longer than I needed to on this return visit. I have a week to kill until I can join our partner school in Lima and get back to my original route. I am thus off to Venezuela to explore its oil wealthy capital Caracas.

The flight unfortunately is via Bogota Colombia both outward and return journey's but there was no other option.

To add to my dismay two seperate people on my Galapagos tour have been relaying horror stories of Caracas as a violent city where gun crime is rife and the police corrupt in the extreme. Surely I can't be so unlucky as to be attacked again?

Here goes, once more into the breach dear friends...

The morning of Sunday 8th October 2006.

This morning at Quito airport I meet a delightful young lady by the name of Tatiana. She is an engineer travelling to Bogota and she is fascinated by my project. We decide to go for breakfast together before the flight and during the enlightening conversation that ensues I discover that she is from Esmeraldas, the province where I was attacked.

My travel companion to Bogota is a German executive whose daughter is employed promoting Ecuadorian tourism in Europe. He is President of flower company and our conversation evokes memories of my visit to Mitad del Mundo and my learning of the importance of the flower exports (particularly roses) to the Ecuadorian economy.

On this flight I enjoyed my first ever Colombian coffee in Colombia. From the air Colombia is not dis-similar to Ecuador and as we appraoch Bogota the scene could be the Netherlands with greenhouse after greenhouse and the green fields of agriculture.

The 'excitement' on the flight comes when the plane hits an unexpected bout of turbulence with quite a bump.

It is hard to imagine when we land that this is a country ripped apart by civil war. Everything looks so peaceful from the air. The only note I get of the internal strife is the somewhat constant buzzing of the airport by military helicopters. The airport terminal itself is a throw back to 70's concrete chic.

Leaving Bogota the sight is typical of those I have witnessed on the continent with the airport surrounded by shanty-towns. However, the scene quickly changes to upscale neighbourhoods even golf courses. Bogota is apparently doing very well economically and it shows!, but I imagine that in common with most of South America, wealth is concentrated in the hands of the very few.

It seems to me that everyone in South America has a story. At the airport I meet a lady enroute from Rio to her home in Caracas. I am very glad that I have spoken with her as she gives me some very sound advice on safety in her home city (which she believes to be less safe than Bogota).

She is busy telling me all about the time five years ago when as a customer in a bank she was held up at gun-point (something she believes she will never get over). The basis of the story is that whilst inside the bank to make a withdrawal three masked men entered with guns, one of whom took her as a hostage with his gun placed firmly against her neck. The thieves proceeded to rob all those in the bank before turning their attentions on the contents of the bank vaults.

Our conversation makes it clear to me that Caracas is Not Safe. From the airport, I am warned, you must ONLY take a licensed taxi. These are Black Ford Explorers. In town she warns me to take a taxi everywhere even if you are only going one block and make sure it is a white cab with a taxi sign. Rosita informs me that armed assaults are common even during the day and that it is not unknown for a taxi driver to hold up their passangers at gun-point, rob them and then dump them in an unknown part of the city.

On the flight I am in the disposable seat. The cushion won't stay attached to the seat and the back is broken such that I am unable to stay unpright for anything, let alone take-off and landing.

I realise now that I am doing South America from top to bottom. This is brought home to me as we spend an inordinate amount of time over the water coming in to land at Caracas. The appraoch brings home that this is an oil rich nation with the conspicuous wealth of gin palaces all too evident in the harbour.

On landing the guard directs me to a rather dodgy guy to be my taxi to the city. He offers to drive me for $60 US (which seems rather steep). I am unsure about him and it takes a good ten minutes to shake him off.

Taking Rosita's advice I head outside and take a licensed Ford Explorer. This driver wants $100 US, but at least I feel I will be safe...that is until we vere off the road sign-posted Caracas and head up into the hills through a barrio (shantytown).

It is impossible to imagine that people live like this unless you see it with your own eyes. There is a guy serving from the local shop through the barred entrance (for his own safety). All around there is filth and squaler and people without hope. Some drunk, some probably on drugs? others who seem resigned to their fate sitting on old sofas in the street.

I feel conspicuous as the only white face in this scene and it is now nightfall and very dark. Suddenly we are boxed in by cars all around us. I am c******* myself. The van to the side of us lets people out, they stare into the Explorer and then depart. We move off slowly and climb deeper into the hills.

This continent is so frightening. The cars in the barrio are from a bye-gone age of Americana. Rusting hulks that seem to symbolise the fate of their owners.

I can't imagine that this old single road is the main route to the city. The lights of the barrio have faded and we are on the road by ourselves. Maybe this is a short-cut?

Now as the only car on the road in the pitch black climbing higher into the hills I am really not sure about this. Is he going to rob me?, or even worse is he going to kill me? God, I followed the guidebook and Rosita's advice; I took the Ford Explorer and now I am terrified.

It is such a wierd feeling. In part I hate this and yet I am excited by the challenge of the threat.

As a writer I am scribbling my feelings furiously in the dark. I don't want to forget this feeling.

I try to engage the driver in conversation thinking this will build a link between us. He says his name is Jose. You know I've seen the movies, but you can't make this stuff up.

It is dark, I am alone, locked into the car by the driver (who has all the controls and thus the power with him up-front). We are travelling along deserted roads that are unknown to me...who would know if anything happened? I would not be missed for days, maybe even not until I am due to arrive in Lima next week? Who would know where to look for me?

The sense of adventure I had on that magical mystery day tour of Quito in August has evaporated...God, I want so much to be safe.

I am growing happier again when Jose explains that Caracas is 50KM from the airport and it will be a long journey.

Suddenly there are headlights behind us. The car gets so close it is almost touching our bumper. I am beginning to fear that this is a sting. The headlights flash. I am now S******* myself!

Never before have I been so glad to look like a poor student. The car seems to realise that I am not a rich Westerner and draws back. Then suddenly it flies past and brakes, we vere around it and keep going. Jose tells me Caracas is not very safe. The car disappears and Jose and I get into greater conversation.

My faith is restored when he asks me to look down on the valley below where I see miles of traffic jammed and un-moving. Jose explains that he has chosen his route to avoid the traffic.

As our conversation evolves it becomes clear that the language barrier is greater than I thought. Jose has been asking me about why I am here and then about my time in South America.

He misunderstands when I explain about the robbery and he thinks I want to rob him. He becomes very defensive and promises to take me to the hotel as quickly as he can.
I find it very amusing that he is frightened of me when he holds all the cards.

As we near Caracas we enter another barrio and I get my first sight of what makes Venezuela so wealthy as we pass an oil depot. Everything is going well until Jose decides to head off again into the hills. We somehow emerge in a warehouse district that is like something from a Hollywood set...stagnant water, a few bums in the street, dim lighting and delapidated buildings.

The city is dominated by one major flood-lit sign. VOTA POR CHAVEZ.

Hugo Chavez, the country's President was the leader of the first of two coups d'etat in 1992. This failed attempt to overthrow the government of President Carlos Andres Perez claimed more than twenty lives; the government though retained control and Chavez (a paratroop Colonel) was sentenced to prison.

Venezuela had a turbulent 1990's to say the least with Perez charged with embezzlement and placed under house arrest in 1993; bank failures; currency devaluation and even gas price increases (in this oil rich nation) of 500%.

With growing violence, drug-trafficking and the push of Colombian guerrillas into Venezuela; by 1998 2/3 of the population were living below the poverty line.

Chavez was elected President in 1998. He had been pardoned by Perez successor Caldera in 1994.

Chavez is hugely popular in the country (particularly amongst the poor). He is a populist who bases his popularity on rhetoric based around Simon Bolivar; the country's and Latin America's greatest hero.

An enemy of the Bush White House, Chavez is anti-privatisation, anti-free market economics and proposes a "peaceful and democratic social revolution".

A left-wing politician he set about re-writing the country's constitution almost immediately upon taking power. Following a referendum which approved a constituent assembly to rewrite the existing constitution, the new document was approved by a further referendum and by December 1999 it was enforce.

Naturally, the new constitution embedded sweeping powers for the countries Chief Executive...Chavez. Interestingly though, the changes were so sweeping that a new general election had to be held in July 2000, which Chavez (on a backdrop of popular support) won.

The peace has not always been peaceful.

New Decree laws in 2001 brought angry protests and April 2002 saw a mass strike which turned violent and led to a coup d'etat. Chavez was forced to resign by the military leaders of the coup (who had been supported by the business lobby); however, two days later he was back in power. All of this brought both social and more importantly economic tension.

December 2002 saw a general strike called by the opposition in an attempt to remove Chavez from power. Yet after the 63 day strike and further economic devastation, the Teflon-President remained in power (he even claimed victory!).

Politics here remains on a knife edge and just this weekend there were protests in Caracas against Chavez...but no-one should under-estimate his staying ability and popular support in the wider nation.

As we approach my hotel which is in the upscale, and supposedly safer, Las Mercedes neighbourhood the whole area gets distinctly affluent.

I am booked into the 5* Radisson Eurobuilding Caracas (which I later discover is the top hotel in the city).

I knew on my return too South America that I could not stay in Ecuador any longer than my Galapagos trip. I simply did not feel safe in the country. As such I had to find something to do in the week before joining Markham College in Lima...if things had gone according to plan I would be hiking to Machu Picchu this week.

Well, Caracas is not on the tourist trail and so hotels are not cheap. I came here because it houses many interesting historical sites; excellent museums and galleries; and a plethora of learning opportunities for us all. The hotels available on the internet were all business hotels and this was the best deal.

To my surprise, and that of the desk clerk I can see, when I arrive I am told that I have been given a complimentary upgrade to Business Class. I don't quite think they expected the 'nutty professor' standing in the ornate lobby with two back-packs wearing hiking boots, shorts, a hawaiian shirt, topped off with a beanie and willimg to carry his own bags (because I simply can't afford such luxuries as a porter).

The hotel is stunning, in a modern executive way. It is state of the art and filled to bursting with business executives and high-fliers.

My friends will testify to the fact that I lead a life that goes from the sublime to the ridiculous. For the next week I can raise the Japanese shade adorning my whirlpool bath and massage jet shower and bathe naked whilst watching the city scape unfold through the plate glass window across my room if I like...I won't, as I am not sure Caracas could take the shock! Caraqueños (the cities inhabitants) can sleep easy in their beds...I am keeping the shade down, but how cool to be able to choose to shower overlooking a city!

I am reminded as I journey, with all the highs and lows, of St Augustine who noted that "the world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page".