It’s OK to Travel with a Bathrobe #19: Los Roques II – Caracas

Los Roques II

Gran Roque
Although I hardly knew the skipper I was about to cruise with, I had the feeling that we were gonna get along just fine. He seemed ok, and I was right. The evening we spent in Caracas was fantastic, we found a small hotel in a neighbourhood, el Bulevar, that used to flourish with terraces and shops during the 60’s and had slowly decayed as all sorts of gangs took over the streets. Now it’s gaining a good reputation again and some trendy night clubs are opening in the area, the streets boost with life at night.

Everybody warned us about walking alone, about looking suspiciously foreign and, especially, about the night, the dreadful night. Like in a werewolf movie. Caracas is one of the most dangerous places to stroll about. But, we HAD to go out, we were in Caracas, the real thing. How many times had I seen it on TV? On those horrible soaps that are worse than any wolf. And I was gonna stay in the hotel for fear of being robbed? And, anyway, I never had a problem before in my life, I’m a world traveller, I know how to behave… (it’s more reassuring than thinking you’d just been lucky so far, isn’t it?)

So, with this optimistic mood we took off and it didn’t look too bad, actually. The lady at the airport recommended that we find a room in that area, she said it would be nicer and safer and we’d have plenty of places to eat, drink and go for a dance.

Ahhhh…..dancing, That’s dancing! It was crammed with people, us two struggling to order a drink at the bar. Them, filling every corner of the tiny space to move along with their partner, all tuned perfectly to the music, as if they had been born doing it. There was not a single foreigner in sight, we seemed to be the only ones. How great! Of course, now that I come to think about it, could it be because nobody was taking chances with that political storm?

We drank, ate and walked around the numerous bars, and afterwards spent many hours in Man�, a new club, a hot spot around the corner where they had a salsa concert that to me it sounded better than any CD I ever bought, they were loud and passionate. I danced and watched them do it, and danced again…and I thought I was such a great dancer, sometimes you really have to be humble, I had to keep hyper-concentrated to be able to follow those salsa monsters!

I was thirsty to dance after all those boring evenings in Martinique where people just don’t know how to dance, except to Zouk, which I will dedicate another article, it deserves it, really. I think I must have swapped partners at Man� at least a hundred times. I fear I wasn’t at their level, especially after all those rum and cokes they kept on pouring at my table. The evening continued until we couldn’t stand on our swollen feet anymore, and still, we walked back to the hotel, at four in the morning, no casualties to report.

Of course, two hours later, when we were woken up by the taxi driver to go to the airport, life wasn’t so much fun, ay ay ay!