Extreme Hitchhiking

I was getting desperate for a plane flight back to mainland from Margarita Island so that I could catch my place back to the states. Saturday was full, Sunday was full and Monday would be too late. I was going to take the ferry as I had on other occasions but this trip usually cost me a full day and with so few days in Venezuela, I was not too eager to spend one traveling from Margarita to the Caracas. On Thursday morning I woke up and was going to go to Porlamar (the big city on the island) to try and find a way to fly to Caracas. Consuelo stopped me in the morning and said, “Chama! Don’t by your ticket yet… I have a friend who works at the airport who might be able to get us a free flight.” I thought, you’re kidding, right? You can’t possibly hitch a ride on an airplane, could you? But then again anything is possible in Venezuela! I didn’t quite believe it was possible, so I went to Porlamar in hopes of finding a flight… My friend, Alan, called a friend of his who works in tourism and he found a flight for more than twice as much as it should be, but I told Alan to go ahead a reserve it anyway. Before going to buy the ticket in person (which you must do to ensure you actually get on the plane), I gave Consuelo and Jose Manuel a call to see what their plans were and Consuelo said that her friend had found them a flight to Maracay which is only about an hour and half by bus from my final destination in the Caracas area. I still didn’t quite believe her, but I told her to sign me up anyway. Good thing I got my name on that list, because I spoke with Alan right after that and he said that my reservation had been taken. I was still unclear as to how one hitches a ride on an airplane (the image I had in my head was of me standing on the runway with all my bags, my thumb up, waiting for a plane to stop grab my hand and pull me up into the cabin) but I decided to go with the flow. All this planning took place on Thursday. I didn’t worry about it for the rest of the day and instead dragged Francis and Alan to the beach, where we ate 4 plate of oysters, drank beers and had a large lunch of grilled fish, arepas and platanos. YUM!!

At 7am Friday morning, after spending the night in “La Chica,” the field site for Provita (the environmental organization with which I worked for a year), Jose Manuel, Consuelo and I take off on a bus to the airport to catch a flight that supposedly leaves at 9am. We arrive at the airport at 8am. It turns out that the plane we will ride on is not a private airline, but the “Fuerza Venezolana Aerea:” the airplane of the Venezuelan military! When we got to the airport, the airplane had just arrived from Maracay, a military center of Venezuela, and a ribbon of red was pouring out the airplane; a loud ribbon of red. Chavistas. They were chanting, singing, they had speakers playing “pro-Chavez remixes” of popular meringue and salsa songs, they had Venezuelan flags waving and smiles. They flowed like water into all crevices of the airport, spreading their pro-Chavez message and bright red colors. Large trucks and jeeps equipped with huge speakers came to pick them up and the demonstration began. I have to say, Venezuelans know how to make politics fun. The music was enticing, the people were having a grand old time and the beer was flowing, as is customary on Margarita.

While we waited for the word from Consuelo’s friend, Tuco, I was busy observing and filming the demonstration. The Chavistas took off for another area to demonstrate (the elections are coming up on December 4) and Tuco appeared and told us to head over to the international terminal to wait for the place to take off. This was at 9:30am. Tuco told us that a man named William would come and look for us to check us into the flight and that we would leave at 10am. We waited and waited and Consuelo started to get very nervous, so of course, she just walked up and asked to speak with William. He appeared in full military uniform and red Chavez hat. Consuelo, the ultimate schmoozer, spoke with him and he came over and wrote down our names and our identification numbers and disappeared. We waited for another hour. 11:30am. (I kind of guessed that the plane would not leave at 9am!!) Finally, people in military uniform started to appear in the waiting area and we guessed that they must be on the plane. There were families of the miliary, a basketball team with a Cuban coach (Fidel and Hugo have an agreement where Venezuela exchanges oil for Cuban professionals and athletes), young military men, older executives in the government, Consuelo, Jose Manuel and the only “estadounidense”, ME.

Everyone gathered around the entrance to the plane and another man in military uniform called out names. At the very end of a list of about 100 names were ours and we passed through the first entrance into another waiting room. Finally at noon, we walked out to the airplane, put our bags under the plane ourselves and boarded the huge jet of the Venezuelan military. The seats were large with plenty of legroom, but Consuelo nor I had a seat belt. A nice lady walked by to get our names and check us off the list, they closed the door and without any mention of emergency plans or security, they closed the door and we were in the air. The plane ride was only about 45 minutes and we arrived in the military base of Maracay safely. A bus took us out of the base and we got a taxi to Jose Manuel’s mom’s house around 2pm where we were greeted by a huge traditional Venezuelan lunch: shredded beef, plantains, rice and black beans. YUUUUM.

Who would have thought that I could hitch a ride on the Venezuelan military airplane??!!