A 600ml bottle of Coca-Cola costs B $12.
Filling my 'becca's tank with 20 litres of gas costs B $2. To each other, Venezuelans sell the locally produced oil very cheaply. On the world markets, it has a much higher price. I wish the Canadian government could understand the inherent benefits of using national resources to improve the national standard of living...
I'm happy to report that the roads improved immeasurably East of Lago Maracaibo. Once I passed through that hot city, we were onto paved, divided highways with 2-lanes in each direction.
Random thoughts on the road:
- The highways can be signed with different speed limits for different lanes.
- The collection of tolls has been discontinued. The toll booths remain, but are "staffed" only by local folks hawking everything from toilet brushes to cellphone chargers.
- Just beyond each toll booth, one or more police officers, backed by soldiers clad in fatigues, rifles and bandoliers stop vehicles seemingly randomly for spot checks. I've been told they're looking for stolen vehicles, contraband goods and illegal drugs.
- All of the regional roads, aside from the major highways, have countless topes (aka "sleeping policemen" or speed bumps). The majority of the ones I encountered are not marked. Their presence can be determined by looking for the random child selling bags of plantain chips, or old men selling rubber slippers.
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My second night in the country was spent at a no-tell motel... and that's all I'm saying.
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Confusing Caracas traffic got the better of me. I did manage to find and checkout 3 different hotels, each with a price tag more shocking than the last.
Finally after fatigue had set in, I stumbled across the Hotel Las Americas. Again, it was ultra expensive, but by then my resolve was shot. At least they had Internet en la habitacion, y agua calor.
Saturday morning I met with Roberto and his girlfriend Maybi.
A quick stroll through a nearby square on the way to breakfast had us pass a statute to the only Black Admiral (the Navy equivalent of a General) in Simon Bolivar's revolutionary forces.
We spent the afternoon looking at condo units for Maybi and Roberto to buy.
Lunch was a lovely garlic fish
with rice at Laguna Beach. The midday views from the beach next to the restaurant were stunning. I can only imagine the sunset...
Roberto is still working hard to help me sort out how 'becca will get to Trinidad. In the meantime it was decided I would spend at least tonight, and perhaps the next few days as well at his home. It's up in hills west of Caracas.
Getting through the city to the base of the hill was simple enough - even though it involved several of my least favourite moto situations: driving on a big highway at night, while lane splitting through mad traffic.
Bonus: how many things wrong can you spot in the previous sentence?
Half-way up the hill we pulled over to buy some drinks. I had to shake Roberto's hand and acknowledge he had far more guts than I. Even though he's only been riding for 2 years, tackling that hill, in that traffic, with those potholes as part of his daily commute ... I'd say the man has a pair of brass ones, size extra large.
Following him up the hill we passed on curves, lane split between giant busses and sheer drops. I suggested that simply waiting in the line behind the other vehicles might be easier (to reduce the little-girlish shrieks inside my helmet).
That idea went over like a lead zeppelin. So off we went!
But we made it. Through all the craziness I still didn't Troy my shorts, so that's a good thing.
Sunday will be a day of rest (for Rebecca) and a day of code writing for me.
Still Goin' Toco...
Location:Carretera El Junquito
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