Por Puesto Taxi from Puerto la Cruz to Ciudad Bolivar

I went to Playa el Agua on my last day on Isla de Margarita. Very beautiful beach lined with patio chairs, parasols, bars, restaurants, and palm trees. On the way back to Porlamar, I passed a Chavista rally in Plaza Bolivar. The mood was festive, but my stomache was empty, apart from the rum and Soleras, so I didn't stay long.

The next morning (yesterday) I awoke early and caught a bus and then a ferry to Puerto la Cruz. I taxi'd to the central bus station to be informed that the 16:00 bus has already been filled. I questioned the factuality of this, but checked with a few companies in the chaotic bus terminal and confirmed what I had been told. A por puesto taxi to Ciudad Bolivar for 50BsF, marginally more than the bus, leaving as soon as it found one more person, was offered to me by an agressive old man. So I went with the old guy who presented me to the driver, asked the driver to show me the other people in the group, a tired-looking old lady and a clean-cut middle-aged man, and off we went.

Traffic was heavy through Puerto la Cruz and Barcelona (which, although I have never been to its European counterpart, I am sure does not resemble in the least its Spanish namesake) and we pulled off for gas. Three Bolivar Fuerte (about CDN$1) to fill the little Fiat's tank up. The driver dodged cars, hawkers and motorcycles in the congested traffic as his played with his cell phone, trying to charge up its credit.

As we hit the highway, it became apparent that he was more than your average Venezuelan driver. I chewed my gum faster and with greater force as we made pass after courageous pass on the 2-lane barrier-less road. Then the rain started down hard. If the car in front was not doing 160km/h, it would be passed at the earliest possible moment. The compact Fiat's tachometer never dropped below 5000 RPM. My gum became plastic and my jaw started to hurt.

Sitting diagonal to the driver, in the back, I looked over at him before one particularly gutsy pre-hillcrest pass of a line of moving trucks to see him making a cross with his right hand accross his chest. It was clear that he was reassured in teh knowledge that Jesus would guide our way past the line of vehicles. I was notably less reassured. My Trident gum was a rock and I my jaw began to throb.

Eventually the rain let up and two lanes became four on the highway. The noble Fiat mangaged 190km/h downhill, and maybe 170 up.

We arrived at Ciudad Bolivar in under three hours, a trip that, for the average fearless Venezuelan driver, takes four.

I am now staying in Posada Amor Patria, the greatest and cheapest place I've stayed so far in Venezuela. Central Ciudad Bolivar is well-restored and very beautiful.

Tomorrow: Canaima and Angel Falls!