View RSS Feed


Logbook to despair. Part X

Rate this Entry
I have to stop putting down all these negative feelings because it makes me no good. After all, I am with my family and friends for a few days, I am home.
There are more things that cradle me when I am here. The city is the place where I was born and I grew up. I know this city better than any other city in the world, better than my current Bogota or my beloved Buenos Aires. I know where things are and I know the shortcuts and the crannies well.
This is the only city in the world where I can say I am street wise. I am a man of the streets here.
Caracas is easy to navigate in one sense: the Avila Hill, topping 2,800 mts, stands north, a huge green cliff that separates the city from the coast. Because it is so tall, depending on where you are in the city the sight is different and therefore us caraqueños can tell where we are just by looking at it. Because once you know that, that will be the only logical beacon to traverse the city. Caracas has no street numbers and all streets have given names, in no alphabetical order up or down. Some streets transform from one to another with no warning (Av Urdaneta is the same as Av. Andres Bello, one just starts where the other one ends) and with no numbers for houses or buildings you can’t know where you are, or where you are going, unless you have gone through the streets many times.
It is madness. But not for me.
The city is also being overgrown with foliage and trees. Outside the windows of my home, a hill lush with vegetation houses at least three large iguanas that come out on the branches and lay there all day long when the sun is out. After a certain size they have few natural enemies, but I know the hill is teaming with snakes and cats. It is a little jungle right there in the city.
Above us, parakeets and guacamayas cross the sky frequently. Guacamayas are huge local macaws, with electric blue plumage on top and bright yellow feathers underneath. They feed on fruit but have a beak that can crack the toughest shells you can think about. Or one of your fingers.
Many other birds fly around. Vultures reach incredible heights above the city, as do toucans and many colorful creatures. In the afternoon, the cry of many of them crisscross the valleys, a reminder that night comes.
It could be such a beautiful place. Really.

Submit "Logbook to despair. Part X" to Facebook Submit "Logbook to despair. Part X" to Digg Submit "Logbook to despair. Part X" to Submit "Logbook to despair. Part X" to Google