It was my first trip to Caracas in more than twenty years, but the beauty of the setting was unchanged.
Nestling in the mountains, Caracas is obviously a city that has benefited from unimaginable amounts of petro-money:
Not all of it was frittered on concrete mega-structures -- some went into starting a nifty Metro system (which, alas, remains largely incomplete):
The view from my hotel (the appalling Eurobuilding) across the old airport (now a military strip) towards Las Mercedes and the Avila mountain beyond. Wonderful:
But Caracas has -- has always had -- vast sprawling areas of favella slums:
For mile after mile, seemingly endlessly, these self-build properties cling precariously to whatever wasteland (usually hilly) can be found:
For a country that has had so much cash, the squalor is doubly appalling and, perhaps, goes some way to explaining the popularity of the looney quasi-dictator Chavez, at least some of whose efforts have been directed towards land reform and redistribution of wealth from the incredibly rich middle classes to the impoverished slum-dwellers (some of his efforts have been bonkers, some mismanaged, one or two have worked, and all have attracted the squealing ire of the richest).
Caracas is now apparently the single most dangerous city in the world other than those in war zones. The levels of corruption and crime are equally staggering. The roads are near-deserted at night, an eerie contrast to the overwhelming traffic levels during the day, because levels of express kidnapping (often by the police themselves, administering on-the-spot "fines") are so high.
The British Embassy had moved since my last visit, to a part of the city where the local police were considered to have a reputation as reasonably straight, unlike almost every other district. The middle classes seem to be constantly changing their address as the fortunes of districts alter.
Caracas is, for me, a strangely compelling city, one I really do love despite its almost overwhelming problems.
