I landed in Caracas in January 2005, a cold ugly month where I live, but warm and welcoming here on the northern coast of South America.  I come to Latin America a few times a year on business, but this was my first trip to Venezuela and I was looking forward to the three weeks I would be here.

Believe it or not I enjoy traveling on business almost as much as taking a vacation trip. As a tourist I have to come up with inventive ways to get into people's homes, meet their families, learn about them. When I travel on business I immediately have a group of people to get to know and with whom I have something in common: we have work to do!

As anyone who travels knows, the natives of a place are usually ready and willing to show you their country. This group was no different, but I’ll get to that in a minute. I found the business culture in Venezuela really interesting. We usually got started at 9 A.M. each morning and by 10:30 we were breaking for ‘un cafezito’. I found this extremely civilized and a lot more effective than the ‘team-building’ we suffer through at the home office.

During these coffee breaks (there was another one between lunch and quitting time) there was time to talk and exchange information about each other. Personal information. In the U.S., where I live, this kind of questioning is considered an interrogation. 

"How long have you been married?"

"Twenty-three years," I answer proudly.

"How many children do you have?"

"Oh, we don't have any children."  At this point all conversation stops, my coffee freezes in the cup and the sun hides behind a cloud. I start to calculate the distance to the door!

Actually I've had this conversation in Brazil, Mexico and Argentina. You are expected to ask the same questions of them. So if you have to work with someone who is really annoying, have some fun with it. 

"Has your nose always been that big?  Is it real?  Can I touch it?" Say it with a smile.

The Venezuelan "look" is really interesting. There are natural blondes, but they are in the minority. This is a country of color. And since I insist there is more than just Black and White in the world I use this term. Venezuelans are comfortable with people of color and the immediate affinity they expressed toward me was not only because I am Latino and speak Spanish. It was also because of my brown skin and curly hair, something familiar. I was pleased to be in a place where everyone does not aspire to be blond (that gets really tiresome) and the standard of beauty is not taken from Vogue or Marie Claire.

In Caracas you'll find intensely urban, crowded construction like you see in New York or Nairobi. Even in the wealthier districts, like Chacao where the houses are larger, more spread out, there is still that magnetic big city intensity. And people! Everywhere in Caracas there are so many people, and they're all walking the opposite direction you are! This is what gives Caracas its energy, its drive. There is an excitement about living, about moving through life you see in the way people move, their gestures and facial expressions. 

Something as simple as drinking a cup of coffee with friends becomes an event to be savored and relived. Is it the laughter? The tropical heat?

Maybe it’s the energy they put into shopping. This is a serious discipline here, like chemistry and physics in other places. The shopping malls, or Centros Comerciales, are vertical skyscrapers, instead of the sprawling one story kind we’re accustomed to elsewhere in the world. 

Sambil and San Ignacio are the two Centros Comerciales with which I became familiar. I made the mistake of entering a mall with women! All over the world this is a near fatal mistake for any man.

I was dragged helplessly from one level to the next, one store to another just like it until they all blurred into one long Liquidación (sale). 

Mercifully there are restaurants in the malls. When you enter a restaurant in one of these places you forget completely you‘re in a mall. The elevation (more than 10 stories) is taken advantage of and there is al fresco terrace dining with incredible views over the city.

I have to say that in Venezuela eating is considered an art. You don't just sit down and put food in your mouth. That's for animals. No, in Venezuela you enjoy the aroma, linger over the flavor and then go back for more! There are world class Vietnamese, (European) Spanish, Italian and Portuguese restaurants here. Try the Paella, you won’t be disappointed! 

Caracas is very cosmopolitan, so don’t expect to be stared at because you are a foreigner. Venezuela has Italian and Portuguese populations numbering in the millions, so it is common to hear these languages spoken alongside Spanish.

I always chat up the cab drivers when I travel. They know everything there is to know about their city and they’re usually great ambassadors, willing to show you the best of what’s on offer. Caraqueños are very friendly and if you speak even a little Spanish they will gladly spend time talking. If you are an English speaker, trust me, once the word is out you will become everyone’s tutor. Nearly everyone seems to be taking an English class.

Nationality is an unpredictable subject in Venezuela. On any Sunday you can stroll through the Plaza Simon Bolivar and hear President Hugo Chavez haranguing for hours on end, courtesy of the loud speakers set up almost everywhere. He rails against the Colombians and the Americans and the list goes on.

On January 22nd there was a political parade, complete with effigies of Condoleezza Rice and George Bush, slamming live salsa music and plenty of megaphone. This is the occasion of President Chavez’ coming to power and there was plenty of anti-American rhetoric to go around. Later that day people who realized I was an American turned out to be very curious about the States. They asked a thousand questions and said how glad they were that I'd come to their beautiful country. If you are Colombian, now that is another matter. There is a lot of tension between these two countries and this is the subject of some pretty heated café talk on Sunday afternoons.

José Gregório was one of the bellman at my hotel Caracas. He is studying English so that one day he can work at an international firm, where languages are important. But his motivation doesn’t stop there. José Gregório’s father is Venezuelan, but his mother is Colombian. I heard from him the trouble he experienced trying to travel with a Colombian passport, even though he was born in Venezuela and has citizenship in both countries. Now he uses only his Venezuelan passport to make life easier.

Talking with José Gregório made me reflect on the differences between the political entities known as countries and how seldom these really reflect what the people feel.

Venezuela is in fact beautiful, despite the grinding poverty in the slums above and around Caracas. This, of course is a reality the government doesn’t want to talk about.

Venezuela is rich in natural resources, especially petroleum, and quite influential in the region because of it. Driving through Caracas I saw huge office buildings with the names of U.S. companies representing every industry – except petroleum.

International news broadcasts often show the up market side of Caracas, smiling people in beautiful tower apartments. This isn’t the reality for most Caracaños.  The slums above the city as you drive out are all too familiar to anyone who has traveled in South America or the Caribbean. I’ll admit this was on my mind as we set out for our trip to El Avila.

The northern limit of the city is defined by the mountain known as El Avila. My friends were anxious to show me the recreation facilities at the top and so we planned a trip via teleférico (cable gondola). Five of us fit easily into an air conditioned cable car and we were off into the clouds.

During the ride up there is a point at which you don’t see the city below or the mountain peak above. Clouds surround you and there are glimpses of the carpet of jungle below. Until you’ve been suspended above such a place you never imagine there are so many shades of green, or the unexpected way it will affect you. It is a sight so sublime and beautiful and humbling these words fall far short of what I want to communicate. 

At the top there is an extensive entertainment complex, with restaurants, gardens, even an ice skating rink. (Go figure!)  La India, one of my favorite Salsa singers happened to be performing live that day. Venezuelans don’t miss an opportunity to dance and we all partied for a while with the rest of the crowd.

The air here is different: Thinner, cooler, refreshing. There is a fine mist in the air and people unconsciously speak in lowered voices. I found myself doing the same. Even children didn’t run, they strolled.    

The ride back down was just as hypnotic, especially when the car came out of the clouds into a brilliant tropical sun with Caracas waiting for us down below. It reminds me of what I imagine it must be like to stand under the dome of Sulemaniye Mosque in Istanbul after a summer rain and look up into the thick shafts of sunlight standing guard all around you.   

When the teleférico docks at the point of debarkation you know you’ve left one world and returned to another. Heat sweeps across you and the cable car’s air conditioning is instantly forgotten. I realize immediately why people moved more slowly up there, why they spoke more quietly.  It’s the quiet.

Caracas is a blaring urban symphony, discordant, but somehow harmonious. Its people seem to throw themselves at their lives, desperately afraid they will miss something. I imagine living here and know I would visit El Avila for what it is: An escape. Much like Petrópolis outside of Rio de Janeiro or Biloxi outside of New Orleans.

The same day we drove to another escape from the pace of Caracas: A colonial town to the east called El Hatillo.

I am NOT a shopper! But I couldn’t prove it that day when I saw everything El Hatillo has to offer. Woven grass baskets from the Amazon, pottery from Colombia, hammocks from Brazil, this place had it all. El Hatillo has been preserved from colonial times by ordinances that prohibit changing the exterior of the buildings, although every manner of business occupies the brightly painted shells.

El Hatillo is a living post card from 17^th century colonial Spain.  Like every town and city in Venezuela, El Hatillo cherishes a square named for the revolutionary hero Simón Bolivar. But here at El Hatillo there is something more. Some quality in the air, in the people, as different from Caracas as what I experienced at El Avila.

Trees that were old in El Hatillo’s far off youth shroud the square in shade. Those same trees wave errant breezes across the marble flagstones. There is a languor that steals about you and you find yourself asking ‘what’s the hurry?’ The afternoon slips away unnoticed and you are surprised when the purple light of dusk slants across the square. If you do nothing else in Caracas, get to El Avila and El Hatillo.      

Our weekend jaunts were fun, but on Monday it was back to work. Believe it or not my work provided what turned out to be among the greatest pleasures I experienced in Venezuela. 

Racing from one university to another to deliver my presentations was the most fun! We sweated in bumper to bumper traffic, ate a hurried lunch at cafes packed with office workers downtown and bought ice water from vendors on the highway (!). In short we had a typical Caracaño day, moving around and among everyday people. This is the whole point of travel for me.

Caracas is a big city, with all the problems of a big city.  But a healthy dose of common sense, an open mind and even a little Spanish will ensure a great time among these generous and big hearted people. ¡Viva!