I swear the bus journey's are getting progressively colder. On this one, I resorted to turning on my laptop just for the heat. However this time we were only rudely awoken twice for the pointless army passport controls. Swings and roundabouts.
Puerto Ordaz is the nicer part of a city which lies on the Orinoco called Ciudad Guyana (which is really a name for 2 cities mushed together, the other part being San Felix which is supposed to be a bit dodgy). Arriving into the bus terminal at 6am I decided to walk to the town centre but not before I'd had a chicha and an empanada (pastry stuffed with various fillings; I usually opt for chicken). Tiredness kicked in en route so after a nap in a nearby park, I stumbled into one of the many gigantic shopping malls I'd come across in Puerto Ordaz. Glitzy and containing every shop you'd find in a UK shopping centre, the only thing that reminded me I was in Venezuela was the random power cut which occurred while I was browsing for a new camera. The shop assistants seemed to know very little about the cameras they sold and their recommendations seemed to be based solely on the writing on the cameras themselves. Fortunately one of the shops I looked in had internet access, so I spent some time researching on the net and in the end bought one from a completely different place. The equivalent would have cost me considerably less in the UK but I really couldn't face 4 months of travelling without a camera. Plus I my loyal readers deserve some pretty pictures (but will be unsurprised to learn that I forgot to take any in Puerto Ordaz).
After a hefty walk through several neighbourhoods, some of which again reminded me of Kiev, I arrived at a hostel with tiny rooms and a hefty price tag. Still it was nice to have a shower and watch some tv, even if it was only to find that both manchester teams were out of the Champions league. As I set about trying to book a tour to the Orinoco it became apparent that Puerto Ordaz was a very expensive place, and I was better off heading back to Ciudad Bolivar. However I was here now so I decided to make the most of it and headed into the rainy evening to find food. The guy at the hostel told me the central area begins to wind down around 6pm but after a bit of wandering I came across a small, more or less empty little delicatessen. Fumbling my way in out of the rain and asking if they had a dinner menu I was greeted with a warm welcome and a towel. I had a chat with the owner, a nice lady in her 40s, who asked if I wanted to try some traditional Venezuelan food, to which there was only ever going to be one answer. Shortly, I was brought a plate of “Tekenos” which were tasty little pastries with a variety of fillings (the usual suspects: cheese, ham, meat, chicken) which I consumed while chatting to her niece who had been forced/invited to join me (one of the first questions I was asked was whether I had a girlfriend or not). As I made to pay and leave I was told the food was free and the niece recommended I check out a bar in another part of town to which I was given a free lift by the daughter of the owner of the restaurant. No complaints there.
The bar, called “Crash”, had some really friendly bar staff and regulars who looked a little downcast when at the end of the night I said I wouldn't be around on Friday for a fiesta. I arrived back at the hostel knackered but really content. Its interesting to compare tonight's experience with my first couple of days in Caracas when I was fearful of even going out near my hotel after dark. Now, having some Spanish under my belt and being able to speak to locals has allowed me to move a little beyond the “this place is really dangerous, everyone is out to get you” mentality which I think its all too easy to fall into. This place is still really dangerous, but there are a lot of very friendly people around who will try and make it a little less so by helping you out.
No comments:
Post a Comment