After the glorious day at Playa Pantaleta, which incidentally means ladies' underwear as apparently, that's where couples came outside the city to have 'sex' and where ladies' panties used to be found the next day! Trust me to remember that. Anyhow, Teresa drove us back to the hotel, with Ramon and their beautiful children awaiting to join us for Hala's birthday dinner. Needless to say, Hala was in tears when blowing her candles.
The following morning, Teresa joined us at the end of breakfast around 8.30 am again to take us for a visit to the travel agent in the Chacaito area of town. She parked in the dark car park and we went to a small travel agent with four women working behind a desk in a small area with heavy glass doors (probably bulletproof ones) and locks and bars to be opened one by one to let us in. You would imagine entering a safe.
On the way back from the beach the previous day, we passed by the port in la Guaira and saw a cruise liner called 'Ocean Dream'.
Teresa said in excitement: "You should try the cruise. We went on one from Isla Margarita and it was amazing. They only just started this in Caracas in December."
Watching the large cruise liners unload their groups of people like sheep on the islands we had visited before was not a choice we quite fancied considering before. But... You know what they say... Never say never and this was different. A cruise with hot-blooded, warm and friendly Latinos seemed rather interesting. I was not quite convinced but the idea did excite me.
"Imagine sis," Hala tried, "No airports, no suitcases to carry, no silly immigration questioning, no packing and unpacking and all-inclusive. Can't be bad?!"
"Brilliant Sis," was my usual response, "Let's do it."
Back to the travel agent who made fast enquiries on places left on the cruise leaving six days later and she tried to find us a posada and flights to the magical Venezuelan islands in the Caribbean sea, Los Roques, before our cruise trip. But it was 'Valentine' week-end and places to stay were rare to find.
Ramon who was constantly in touch with Teresa to make sure everything went smoothly with our bookings, got in touch with their friendly, red-headed lady travel agent who was most helpful and told us to leave and go on our tour of the museums, while she continued the search and confirmations.
Teresa explained that taking the underground would be advisable to go downtown and so we did.
I never imagined taking the metro and especially in a city like Caracas but it was great. Certainly the fastest way to go around in this city of trafico.
There was a market entrance next to this wall and we entered hoping to find a Caracas t-shirt. There was finally a lady vendor who sold mainly 'Chavez' printed t-shirts. She was a firm Chavez follower and proudly boasted about so many visitors from different countries looking for this particular item.
Simon Bolivar is everywhere. So, the house he was born in was his first destination. The Casa Natal de Bolivar, reconstructed. I did wonder how the shiny white marble floor seemed so untouched by the dust of years past. Simon Bolivar 24 July 1783.
Apart from the few Venezuelans visiting this free-entry museum, we were the only foreigners there.
The murals on the high walls demonstrated the history of the place with Simon Bolivar's triumphs.
The courtyard where they washed their clothes.
And finally, his four-poster bed.
Museo Bolivarieno was next. The courtyard surrounded by the charming Venezuelan-style house was delightful. The midday sun shone through the leaves of the trees around the decorative stone fountain.
There were display glass cabinets of Bolivar's socks and tiny size boots, in which, he must have conquered many battles. And his carriage.
The rooms on the upper floors were closed for reconstruction.
We walked in the leafy Plaza Bolivar Square in downtown Caracas, where fountains were flowing in every four corners. Not a care in the world but taking in the marvel of this city.
While we posed happily for a photo climbing on the stairs next to the statue of the horse-riding Bolivar, a guard in uniform rushed towards us and uttered words in Spanish, basically, he asked us to get off!
As we apologised in English, he took a second glance at us and turned to Teresa who was trying to explain our touristic ignorance.
He then turned towards me and asked Teresa who translated his words to me as: "He's asking if you do karate... You know... Judo!"
Puzzled by the question, I decided to throw a gentle punchline and replied: "No senor. No karate. I do boxing." Throwing a punch in the air to demonstrate, "Box."
My foot was in a small bandage in flip-flops; my havainas. He imagined I had thrown my foot up in the air to hit someone; just like Bruce Lee, I can only presume.
On that note, we left towards Concejo Municipal, occupying half the Southern side of Plaza Bolivar.
When the attendant noticed me gesturing if I could take a photo, he came forward and kindly invited me in to take as many pictures as I wished.
Another magnificent courtyard.
The kind guard explained to Teresa how the first university of Caracas was established there in 1725. Plus where Simon Bolivar (yes, him again) signed Venezuela's independence agreement in 1811.
So far, the Venezuelans in Caracas have impressed me with their warmth and helpfulness.
On the drive back to our hotel Tamanaco, I pointed towards a rather strange building in white with pointed see-through domes.
"Teresa," I exclaimed, "What's that?"
"OH!" Answered Teresa, "That's the Aladin Hotel, the rooms are supposed to be decorated like Aladin's story. They say the suite at the top has a ceiling that opens above a jacuzzi. They can be booked by the hour for men taking their women for momentary pleasures."
"So, I guess this is normal as the first hotel I looked at online, my friend Isabella advised me strongly not to book it for the same reason!" I said, amused by the seedy scene.
And where do women take their men for the same reason?!
The funny story of Teresa's family travels and our visit to the teleferico to follow.
The following morning, Teresa joined us at the end of breakfast around 8.30 am again to take us for a visit to the travel agent in the Chacaito area of town. She parked in the dark car park and we went to a small travel agent with four women working behind a desk in a small area with heavy glass doors (probably bulletproof ones) and locks and bars to be opened one by one to let us in. You would imagine entering a safe.
On the way back from the beach the previous day, we passed by the port in la Guaira and saw a cruise liner called 'Ocean Dream'.
Teresa said in excitement: "You should try the cruise. We went on one from Isla Margarita and it was amazing. They only just started this in Caracas in December."
Watching the large cruise liners unload their groups of people like sheep on the islands we had visited before was not a choice we quite fancied considering before. But... You know what they say... Never say never and this was different. A cruise with hot-blooded, warm and friendly Latinos seemed rather interesting. I was not quite convinced but the idea did excite me.
"Imagine sis," Hala tried, "No airports, no suitcases to carry, no silly immigration questioning, no packing and unpacking and all-inclusive. Can't be bad?!"
"Brilliant Sis," was my usual response, "Let's do it."
Back to the travel agent who made fast enquiries on places left on the cruise leaving six days later and she tried to find us a posada and flights to the magical Venezuelan islands in the Caribbean sea, Los Roques, before our cruise trip. But it was 'Valentine' week-end and places to stay were rare to find.
Ramon who was constantly in touch with Teresa to make sure everything went smoothly with our bookings, got in touch with their friendly, red-headed lady travel agent who was most helpful and told us to leave and go on our tour of the museums, while she continued the search and confirmations.
Teresa explained that taking the underground would be advisable to go downtown and so we did.
I never imagined taking the metro and especially in a city like Caracas but it was great. Certainly the fastest way to go around in this city of trafico.
There was a market entrance next to this wall and we entered hoping to find a Caracas t-shirt. There was finally a lady vendor who sold mainly 'Chavez' printed t-shirts. She was a firm Chavez follower and proudly boasted about so many visitors from different countries looking for this particular item.
Simon Bolivar is everywhere. So, the house he was born in was his first destination. The Casa Natal de Bolivar, reconstructed. I did wonder how the shiny white marble floor seemed so untouched by the dust of years past. Simon Bolivar 24 July 1783.
Apart from the few Venezuelans visiting this free-entry museum, we were the only foreigners there.
The murals on the high walls demonstrated the history of the place with Simon Bolivar's triumphs.
The courtyard where they washed their clothes.
And finally, his four-poster bed.
Museo Bolivarieno was next. The courtyard surrounded by the charming Venezuelan-style house was delightful. The midday sun shone through the leaves of the trees around the decorative stone fountain.
There were display glass cabinets of Bolivar's socks and tiny size boots, in which, he must have conquered many battles. And his carriage.
The rooms on the upper floors were closed for reconstruction.
We walked in the leafy Plaza Bolivar Square in downtown Caracas, where fountains were flowing in every four corners. Not a care in the world but taking in the marvel of this city.
While we posed happily for a photo climbing on the stairs next to the statue of the horse-riding Bolivar, a guard in uniform rushed towards us and uttered words in Spanish, basically, he asked us to get off!
As we apologised in English, he took a second glance at us and turned to Teresa who was trying to explain our touristic ignorance.
He then turned towards me and asked Teresa who translated his words to me as: "He's asking if you do karate... You know... Judo!"
Puzzled by the question, I decided to throw a gentle punchline and replied: "No senor. No karate. I do boxing." Throwing a punch in the air to demonstrate, "Box."
My foot was in a small bandage in flip-flops; my havainas. He imagined I had thrown my foot up in the air to hit someone; just like Bruce Lee, I can only presume.
On that note, we left towards Concejo Municipal, occupying half the Southern side of Plaza Bolivar.
When the attendant noticed me gesturing if I could take a photo, he came forward and kindly invited me in to take as many pictures as I wished.
Another magnificent courtyard.
The kind guard explained to Teresa how the first university of Caracas was established there in 1725. Plus where Simon Bolivar (yes, him again) signed Venezuela's independence agreement in 1811.
So far, the Venezuelans in Caracas have impressed me with their warmth and helpfulness.
On the drive back to our hotel Tamanaco, I pointed towards a rather strange building in white with pointed see-through domes.
"Teresa," I exclaimed, "What's that?"
"OH!" Answered Teresa, "That's the Aladin Hotel, the rooms are supposed to be decorated like Aladin's story. They say the suite at the top has a ceiling that opens above a jacuzzi. They can be booked by the hour for men taking their women for momentary pleasures."
"So, I guess this is normal as the first hotel I looked at online, my friend Isabella advised me strongly not to book it for the same reason!" I said, amused by the seedy scene.
And where do women take their men for the same reason?!
The funny story of Teresa's family travels and our visit to the teleferico to follow.
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