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Life In Caracas

There’s No Traffic or Road Rage and It’s Awful: Life in Caracas

Noisy, smoggy commutes used to grind the city to a halt. Now, that daily headache would be a sign of better times.

By 

Andrew Rosati

May 31, 2018, 3:00 AM PDT

Editors Note: There are few places as chaotic or dangerous as Venezuela. “Life in Caracas” is a series of short stories that seeks to capture the surreal quality of living in a land in total disarray.

One of the things I miss about the old days is how being 45 minutes late was so generally accepted as being on time. The traffic jams were great equalizers, preposterous messes of cars and trucks and buses going mostly nowhere that made everybody’s commutes miserable. Even if you weren’t in a vehicle, you couldn’t avoid the exhaust and the noise.

Now it can be almost serene at rush hour. And as lovely as it is to walk down Francisco de Miranda Avenue in the morning and actually hear the wild parrots squawk, I’m nostalgic for the hair-pulling gridlock. The fact that a taxi can speed me from La Castellana to the city center in under 15 minutes just reminds me of how Caracas is emptying out, how impossible it is for mechanics to find spare parts, how the world’s cheapest gasoline doesn’t matter if you don’t have a tank to pour it into.

Traffic at rush hour on Francisco Fajardo Highway in Caracas. Amid the growing crisis, fewer vehicles are seen on the streets.

Photographer: Manaure Quintero/Bloomberg

The motos are disappearing along with the bottlenecks. For me, Caracas used to be best navigated on two wheels. Barreling between lanes and against traffic—on sidewalks when necessary—motorcycle taxis were awesome alternatives. Traffic signals are mere suggestions in moto world. I loved it, for the thrill and the sometimes-successful bids for punctuality.

Now, “there’s no traffic, no cash, no nothing,” said Pastor Colmenarez, 41, the head of a moto stand in east Caracas. His outfit is another casualty of the economic meltdown. Last year, his line boasted 15 motorcyclists; there are four today. Many quit driving because they couldn’t maintain their bikes or because business went south—or they simply quit the country to emigrate to Argentina or Chile or Colombia or Peru.

Insane inflation has, oddly, made bolivars scarce commodities, so most of the moto guys I know who are still trying to make a go of it depend on bank transfers from a limited roster of regular clients. You can hail a ride and pay with packs of cigarettes or staples such as plantains and corn flour. Really, though, there’s no need to risk your life to get across town. These days, folks may still show up late, but only out of cultural habit.

Colmenarez said he’s going to stick it out, though—since someone stole his bike’s battery—he’s had to launch every trip with a running start. He’s committed but knows it can’t last.

“Soon enough,” he said, “we’ll all be walking.”