Cape Fear has veintinada years but has the visor to the bone of the nose that forces you to go straight. Skeletal brunette, shaved the neck without outstanding hairs, crossed his hands behind his uniform jacket National Guard and shouts to the queue without looking at anyone, " Sapatos , sinturones , objects, everything from the tray pockets." I know it's out because it takes a gallon on the pad and is one of hundreds who look after security in the airport boarding area Maiquetia. It is one of the zillions more security officers who have asked me the passport and have asked me what did I do in Caracas and where I have stayed. Every two steps.
the international airport of Venezuela have to go with three hours ahead, but in the end is five because the flight is delayed more than two courtesy of the National Guard, who apparently Iberia and see a place as tense, in preventing.
And seeing size police deployment in Terminal when you begin to understand why protection is deserted capital, where armed thugs roam freely BlackBerrys collecting traffic lights, traffic jams and where, with impunity. My friend, stuck with Ford and blocked by cars everywhere, and not afraid when the thug guard tapped on the glass, it teaches the pipe, forces him to roll down the window and with a professional "mistress, exprópiese the selular "invites you to submit it without the rest of drivers caught doing anything to the docking lady. Phones, in Caracas, are all BlackBerry and the black market is more than assured.
CaracasSo while still in the medal table of the most insecure parts of the world, where every weekend violent deaths than the thirty , where the Metropolitan Police detain walk more inside than outside , the bulk Homeland Security focuses on the international airport will not be that the attempt to smuggle Cáceres nun dulce de leche over the permitted.
First, it is another beardless of boinasgranates responsible for welcoming the Iberia check tail and escape the first interrogation so into his role that even guess his joy role in the affair. Step, but the next flight attendant warned me: Do you keep food in the bag? "" No ... mmm ... yes, a box of chocolates that have given me "" Then take it out and take it with you, because food is the first thing requisitioned " . I do.
The next hour was normal, nothing, three or four requests for documentation to interrogation, without more. Until entering the boarding area descálcese ritual begins, Put on your, descálcese, Put on your, one, two, one, two, and a couple of scans if the former had something blown. In the end, get you do not lose your balance while cordoned off the shoes to the mosquito while answering what has come to do here and where it has stayed.
already in the boarding gate, where it remains more uniform countrymen, the Iberia flight attendant into the air by the name of dozens of passengers to be provided urgently to counter and, as you may have guessed, included the SANCHO / FRANCISCO. With less than half an hour for takeoff expected, but who cares. The authorities require us to lower fluorescent vest to the catacombs airport to check our bags. There in the middle of an open basement and barely lit by two bulbs orphan, a trestle desk battery after it faded to become more aligned boinasgranates staff opening the bags. The soil, dirt and water to support the backpack.
Those who preceded me (have to queue, as in the supermarket with pockets) would destroy the protective plastic bag on the minutes before they had gained 30 bolivars [more than five dollars at the official rate]. A lady in front did indeed get rid of your luggage with the delicacy of Edward Scissorhands until, of course, emerge sweets and chocolates. Packages with goodies for the nephews are open to refinement, a jerk, and takes a bite boinagranate a tablet to make sure that is not chocolate The Moor. "Meta everything and leave."
my turn. My suitcase is the gray on the pond, yes, the no plastic because it is rigid. Combination and key. Opening. Allegro ma non troppo. Two blows to the tops if the double bottoms. Nothing to flush. The kit. Foam, yes. And goes for my dear and precious flask, wrapped in a cloth cover. Or take it out. Shake it like I go to prepare a cocktail to make sure it sounds nothing inside. OK. Close the bag. And I turn, confided to put both halves and finish putting clothes overflowing. Go away. Top
dungeon it's going to pass. For the finger we move into two rows obedient men glued to the left and women on the right. A fart smell donkey and Auschwitz. Caching before reaching the cabin. And here do I touch the eggs, I mean, literally, unlike the previous times. A passenger who slips out by mistake the fear he spits a "hey broder, the row" and a colleague, we know that for that time.
The plane leaves in two hours late. During all those hours I have not seen for any other airline passengers will do the same, just those in English. Anyway, to try to sleep.
to try to sleep thinking about pleasant things, for example, yes, in many Venezuelan friends that I have and those who I adore and kiss and kiss and that they are enterprising, caring and hospitable to say enough is enough and workers and love their country and culture lovers and fighters of progress and that I was treated like royalty for a week. It's so good to remember that instead of sleep, alert and remind me that when two days before I asked if anything had changed since the 2002's Venezuela I wrote about first I said no, but then looked at each other and I confessed that yes.
When I got home and opened the suitcase, the precious heat was not there.
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