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Harry Belafonte has also been here. But most visitors are like Cameron Durnsford, a year-old student from Australia who decided to study at a new government-financed university in Caracas. There's a sense that it's a moment in history. That antagonism, coupled with Mr. Evoking other cities transformed by revolutionary leaders, like Managua, Nicaragua, in , or Havana 20 years before that, Caracas is attracting students and celebrities, academics and activists, grandmothers and 's-era hippies -- a new generation of Sandalistas, as some call them.

Venezuelan chic

Venezuelan chic

Wikimedia Commons has media related to Carolina Herrera. That antagonism, coupled with Mr. Herrera in Some of Venezuelan chic people who have visited Venezuela or have moved here acknowledge having some doubts. For the Venezuelan beauty pageant and actress, see Astrid Carolina Herrera.

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Venezuela's biggest city has substance and style. I landed in Caracas some two hours before my flight took off from the United States. What I mean is that at seven o'clock in the morning, baggy-eyed and gulping coffee, I entered the check-in line for Avensa airlines and encountered, among the usual dowdy travelers, 20 or 30 of the most spectacular women I had ever seen.

Their hair, their skin, their clothes, even their shoes were beyond criticism. As soon as I established that these were not models but a random sampling of Venezuelan beauties, my admiration gave way to self-doubt. Regretting my functional American look, I dug long earrings out of my purse, found the duty-free cosmetics counter, and armed myself with bold eyeliner.

At least this morning jolt prepared me for what was to come. Every few minutes in Venezuela I was to stumble onto improbable outbursts of chic, pockets of picturesqueness.

The road into Caracas from the airport threaded briefly along a seedy stretch of the Caribbean, past ruddy pockmarked hills. Vultures circled overhead, symbolic reminders that this country, which rose to serious wealth on oil deposits discovered in the 's, had lately sunk into an economic slump. It was a dingy introduction, but once we were a few minutes into the city the pall evaporated.

Downtown, everything was modular, almost absurdly modern. My driver, who was born in Naples, Italy, told me that in its prosperous heyday two decades ago Venezuela lured thousands upon thousands of Italian and Spanish immigrants - a pretty unusual cosmopolitan recipe. Lacking a rich cultural tradition outside of music, Venezuela, suddenly swimming in money, had made grooming and sartorial splendor into serious cultural pursuits: beauty, not for posterity but for now, this instant - like a Popsicle you can either slurp or watch drip onto the pavement.

Some skyscrapers were the color of algae; others, the color of blood. My hotel, the Eurobuilding, was a giant rectangle of elegant white marble set back from the street on a hill, with one of those spare, high-ceilinged lobbies that amplify every click of every guest's heel. To get to my ninth-floor room I rode in a smooth-rising glass elevator that looked out over an odd-shaped hotel pool ringed by drowsy palms.

In the distance, 9,foot Mount Cvila presided over Caracas, lending drama to the setting. It was the kind of elevator and the kind of view, I thought, that might figure in a South American Die Hard.

Of course there were still traces of historic Venezuela, but these were surprisingly few, and their strong sensual element placed them in the present tense. I headed to the colonial downtown to see the birthplace of Simon BolIvar, who led the battle for Latin American independence in the early 19th century. The walls of his house are covered with murals depicting historical scenes and heroic battles,but what I remember is a chiaroscuro effect - stripes of white light entering through the iron-barred windows, casting patterns on furnishings of rich burgundy velvet.

Afterward I caught the subway to the Sabana Grande, a crowded boulevard lined with shops and cafes. I wandered for an hour, listening to a blind strolling guitar player and watching old men play dominoes and young women with beauty-queen hair check their images in the mirrors of their compacts.

Beneath mounted cattle horns, we ate arepitas, little disks of cornmeal served with queso de mano a wet, salty white cheese , followed by beef grilled on skewers. At the next table, a man who looked like a Venezuelan general slung his arm around a woman who didn't look like his wife. I could see a wild dog up on the roof, howling at the moon. From there, we reentered contemporary Caracas in a ritualistic round of carousing that climaxed at 90 degrees, a disco in one of South America's largest malls.

Early the next morning, while waiting to board another plane, I read that even in its geology Venezuela displays international tendencies. Around 2 billion years ago, when Africa and South America were still joined in a single massive continent, eastern Venezuela was a series of vast sandstone plateaus. As the continents split apart, rain, wind, and tectonic uplift created tepuis - mysterious flat-topped mountains that rise straight out of the rain forest.

Arriving in Canaima that afternoon, I boarded a tram to the region's centerpiece: an enormous blue lagoon, fed by several waterfalls, with Auyan Tepui, one of the grandest tepuis, as its spectacular backdrop. Eduardo, the guide I had arranged for, noted my hungover face and decided on a soothing, spa-like excursion.

We crossed the lagoon in a motor-powered canoe and took an easy hike into the rain forest, following close to shore until we finally came out on a mossy ridge sprayed with a delicious mist. It was, I realized, the underside of Ucaima, one of the waterfalls I'd seen pouring into the lagoon. Crawling along some slippery boulders, I found a safe place to let the falls cascade over me. Then I jumped into the lagoon's warm water and climbed onto a sandbar, where I soaked up the sun beneath a rainbow.

The next morning, after a deep, healing sleep in one of Canaima Camp's little thatched-roof bungalows, Eduardo drove me over dry desert land with fissures like the cracks on top of a brownie.

At a bend in the river we boarded a canoe and floated along for two hours or so, Eduardo pointing out fish, parrots, and, hanging from barely visible stems, bursts of purplish pink - Venezuela's national flower, the orchid. For lunch we stopped at a tiny camp maintained by Pemon Indians, the original inhabitants of Canaima, and Eduardo deftly prepared chicken with tomatoes and onions. He pulled out a jar filled with what looked like black jelly, which he offered as a condiment.

In case you haven't tried them, I'll tell you: Venezuelan ants are crunchy like raspberries, as tart as capers. On my last morning in Canaima, I flew in a DC-3 propeller plane up into a misty canyon, swooping close to Auyan Tepui's flat top, where strange plants and animals live, and past Angel Falls, the highest waterfall in the world.

Along the sides of the tepui were tall, skinny protrusions that looked like human designs - watchtowers from which to look out for enemies. The whole place resembled an ancient city that had been evacuated in a catastrophe. But that isn't the image I'll call up when I think of Venezuela.

What I'll remember instead is a scene - light-hearted, even bordering on silly - from the night before. I was sitting alone at a snack bar, thinking that this place would make a great setting for a Disney adventure movie. Quite suddenly, the room was dense with people. One of the Englishmen, a camera operator, told me everyone was staying in Canaima to shoot Jungle 2 Jungle - a Disney adventure film. The lights in the snack bar went down, and the music came up.

Someone pulled out a cooler filled with beer. I dug into my purse, pulled out the bold eyeliner, and joined the party. The price is per person based on double occupancy. Chic Caracas. By Sarah Kerr April 06, Pin FB ellipsis More. Close Share options. All rights reserved. Close View image.

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Venezuelan chic

Venezuelan chic

Venezuelan chic

Venezuelan chic

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Très chic Venezuelan Cappuccino - SAVOIR FAIRE by enrilemoine

Harry Belafonte has also been here. But most visitors are like Cameron Durnsford, a year-old student from Australia who decided to study at a new government-financed university in Caracas. There's a sense that it's a moment in history. That antagonism, coupled with Mr. Evoking other cities transformed by revolutionary leaders, like Managua, Nicaragua, in , or Havana 20 years before that, Caracas is attracting students and celebrities, academics and activists, grandmothers and 's-era hippies -- a new generation of Sandalistas, as some call them.

Some, including many Americans, have come to stay. But others come for a new brand of revolutionary tourism organized by the government or by private groups. Venezuela welcomes them all, but rolls out the red carpet for high-profile visitors like Mr. Belafonte, the year-old singer and activist. In January, he led an American delegation that included Mr.

Glover, Mr. West and Dolores Huerta, the farm workers' advocate. They met with Mr. Belafonte told Mr. He called President Bush, a constant target of Mr. Other recent visitors have included the Rev. For less well-known Americans, the new vacation trail no longer goes through the famed beaches of Margarita Island. The tours include visits to literacy classes, cooperatives and government-financed media outlets. Among the speakers who have met with visitors is Eva Golinger, a New York lawyer who is dedicated to unearthing what she claims is evidence of Washington's support for Venezuelan opposition groups, something the Bush administration has denied.

Golinger speak. Reva Batterman, 27, a graduate student, said she had wanted to come to Venezuela to show its people that "we're not all just Bush supporters or imperialists. Not everyone is as enamored. Julio Borges, an opposition politician, said that while Mr.

View all New York Times newsletters. Instead of lionizing him, Mr. Borges said, visitors should be aware of government ineptitude and growing abuses, like attacks on the press, charges the government denies. We want to take off the democratic veil the government uses.

Referring to American visitors, an American diplomat in Caracas, who could not speak on the record because of embassy rules, echoed the concerns, saying, "Come down here and get your consciousness raised, absolutely. Emily Kurland, a year-old social worker originally from Chicago, said that was exactly what she and the others here were getting.

Kurland, speaking in the Caracas house she shares with several foreigners. They don't trust the mainstream news. They want to see with their own eyes what's happening here. She came to Venezuela thinking she would stay just long enough to get a taste for Mr.

She has taught English in government-financed classes for the poor and talks about volunteering at a state-run microcredit bank for women. She spends most of her time, though, leading tours for Americans who flock here for a look at how Mr. There is a precedent, of course: Fidel Castro's revolution, which in its early years placed emphasis on "people to people" contacts that enhanced support among vocal members of the American body politic, while neutralizing opponents.

Activists, intellectuals and leftists have gravitated to other governments, from Allende's Socialist Chile in the early 's to Sandinista-run Nicaragua in the 's, which also declared ambitions to overturn the old order in their countries. Some of the people who have visited Venezuela or have moved here acknowledge having some doubts. Chesa Boudin, 25, a New Yorker who has worked as a volunteer here, notes that some on the left glorify Mr.

But Mr. Boudin, one of the authors of a book favorable to Venezuela's government, said many people who had been dismayed by the advance of globalization saw the possibility of a better world in Venezuela. Boudin, whose parents, Katherine Boudin and David Gilbert, were members of the 's radical group the Weathermen.

Perhaps nothing so illustrates the intertwining of Mr. Jerome Le Guinio, 23, from France, came a year ago and works in the university's administration. He lives in Catia, a poor neighborhood where support for Mr. Please upgrade your browser. See next articles. Newsletter Sign Up Continue reading the main story Please verify you're not a robot by clicking the box. Invalid email address. Please re-enter. You must select a newsletter to subscribe to. Sign Up. You will receive emails containing news content , updates and promotions from The New York Times.

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Venezuelan chic

Venezuelan chic

Venezuelan chic