Ode to the people of Caracas
Sunday, October 14, 2007 | 2:18 pm
Say what you will about safety in Venezuela's capital, but the people here more than enough reason to venture out into the city streets. In fact, they're often the reason I CAN venture out.
In the week I've been here, strangers have helped me in minor and major ways too many times to count.
There was the moment in which I was trapped inside the ATM office. No, I'm not joking. The cubicle was clear plexiglass, so when I tried to open the door that wouldn't budge, everyone waiting in line could see me. I keep trying and began to feel wildly overcome by claustrophobia when a man on the other side pointed to the (somewhat hidden) button required to press for exit.
During the torrential downpour that floods the city each afternoon (I should have known), I was caught outside, in the middle of a narrow, cobbled street. A cafe owner ushered me into her shop and served me creamy hot chocolate.
A grocery store clerk collected my produce and showed me how to enter the codes for the correct price.
Then, there are the taxis. Not the taxis themselves, but the people who have helped me find them.
A woman in Altamira Plaza, a concrete square studded with greenery, walked with me for a half hour to make sure I found a reputable taxi. She flagged them down and haggled over the price until she was satisfied.
On Friday, after doing some reporting on a march that led thousands of people through the city streets for more than two hours, I ended up in unfamiliar territory, and it was getting dark. A couple and their son insisted I walk with them until I found a taxi. It wasn't safe otherwise, they said.
Today, after conducting interviews at the largest church in Caracas, several church members accompanied me outside. The neighborhood is too dangerous for someone who is obviously American, they said. When no reputable taxi could be found, a woman insisted on driving me to my destination.
Caracas may be a dangerous city, but wherever I go, people stop to make sure I'm okay. I don't want to take advantage of their kindness, but they sure make a person feel welcome.
In the week I've been here, strangers have helped me in minor and major ways too many times to count.
There was the moment in which I was trapped inside the ATM office. No, I'm not joking. The cubicle was clear plexiglass, so when I tried to open the door that wouldn't budge, everyone waiting in line could see me. I keep trying and began to feel wildly overcome by claustrophobia when a man on the other side pointed to the (somewhat hidden) button required to press for exit.
During the torrential downpour that floods the city each afternoon (I should have known), I was caught outside, in the middle of a narrow, cobbled street. A cafe owner ushered me into her shop and served me creamy hot chocolate.
A grocery store clerk collected my produce and showed me how to enter the codes for the correct price.
Then, there are the taxis. Not the taxis themselves, but the people who have helped me find them.
A woman in Altamira Plaza, a concrete square studded with greenery, walked with me for a half hour to make sure I found a reputable taxi. She flagged them down and haggled over the price until she was satisfied.
On Friday, after doing some reporting on a march that led thousands of people through the city streets for more than two hours, I ended up in unfamiliar territory, and it was getting dark. A couple and their son insisted I walk with them until I found a taxi. It wasn't safe otherwise, they said.
Today, after conducting interviews at the largest church in Caracas, several church members accompanied me outside. The neighborhood is too dangerous for someone who is obviously American, they said. When no reputable taxi could be found, a woman insisted on driving me to my destination.
Caracas may be a dangerous city, but wherever I go, people stop to make sure I'm okay. I don't want to take advantage of their kindness, but they sure make a person feel welcome.
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