I arrived in the Caracas airport just before midnight on December 15, 1999. Rumor had it the roads were closed for a few hours due to rain and would open in the morning. There were no hotels close enough to walk to, so many of us just slept on our luggage on the tile floor.
The next day, it sounded like the roads were still not open. All flights were canceled. Very little of the airport staff showed up, and I think at least one American Airlines crew took a plane and got out of there. I went to the cafeteria, which was packed. A manager told us not to worry because there was enough food and water for two days. I waited in line for four or five hours, and by the time it was my turn the only thing left were a couple of arepas, a few bottles of water, and some ice cream. I I bought two arepas and a bottle of water. They were out of food by late morning. While waiting in line, we watched the television, which cycled through the same short clips over and over - overturned cars, reporters in harnesses standing in newly-formed rivers running through Caracas, rescue operations for people trapped in buildings...
| There were no longer security guards to keep us from entering the waiting areas for the gates, so many of us went back there because there were seats and carpeting to sit and sleep on. Many of the people who stayed in the outer terminal were wrapping themselves in the shrink wrap used to protect checked luggage in order to keep warm on the cold tile floor in the drafty room. |
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That night, a staff member of the Caracas airport sort of took charge and directed us to a gate where we could board a plane to Valencia, a nearby town. We all lined up, they took a few people, giving priority to those with tickets on Avensa, one of the national carriers, and we were just left there. This sort of thing was repeated many times over the next day or so - we were asked to pack all our belongings, drag them across the terminal and down a flight of stairs, the plane would either fill up or not take off, then the rest of us would just trudge back to where we were camping in the terminal.
We were getting pretty hungry and thirsty, as there was no food in the airports, the vending machines were broken, and they shut off the water to divert it to a hospital. Of course, this also means that we didn't have bathrooms for a couple of days. I spent the bulk of my time scavenging for food and water. I broke into a KLM airline office and found a drink cart and some beverages. I loaded up the cart and tried to be funny by rolling it through the terminal shouting, "Water, cola, orange juice!" At first, I was serving little cups of juice and water, but when I saw mobs of people running towards the cart, I got out of their way and the cart was stripped bare in seconds.
Later that night I heard salsa music coming from down the hall. It was coming from an airport store selling compact discs and Cuban cigars. The store was open, and one American got bored and bought a cd. Too bad it didn't sell anything to eat. There was only one other store with people in it, a coffee shop with the front gate still securely locked. Inside, we saw three Venezuelan employees making a large pitcher of juice or iced tea. We rapped at the gate and waved dollars around, and they gave us a big bottle of tea and three little cups of potato salad. They refused to accept payment.
Many people tried taking taxis to get out of the airport. The road was open intermittently. I'd see some of these people back in the airport a few hours later, after either getting stuck on the highway somewhere or being terrified of the conditions out there. I was told that there was one big hill where traffic nearly slowed to a stop, and at the top, armed men were robbing all the vehicles one by one. I heard that the Delta flight crew was stripped to their underwear. I guess I heard a lot of things that I couldn't verify but all sounded possible.
Some people spent their time trying to call relatives and embassies. The phones gradually stopped working until finally only the cell phones were up. One American persistently tried calling the U.S. Embassy, which would not answer its phones. He called the Canadian Embassy, which was very helpful and informed us that the U.S. Embassy was in a closed-door session and was not answering its phones. A list of all Americans in the airport along with their passport numbers was collected and read over the phone to the Canadians. This is probably what eventually got us out, as no one outside really knew that we were trapped in the airport.
There wasn't much to do the following day except huddle patiently around the gate where the promised flight out would appear but never did. After a couple of hours, many of us took the promises of a flight out less seriously and went up to the terrace to get fresh air and to watch the military fly the wounded into the airport in any aircraft they could commandeer. They were using the domestic terminal as a refugee center and a place to keep the wounded. They put the dead in the smaller building between the domestic and international terminals. The international terminal just held the people who had arrived on the international flights. In the afternoon, I watched a van pull up to our terminal and a few guys in military fatigues hop out. They were the U.S. Marines from our base in Puerto Rico, just arrived on a military transport plane to assist the Venezuelans. They came to our terminal to get all Americans, but no one else, out of Venezuela. They got us onto buses and into the air force terminal just down the road. We were given "Meals Ready to Eat" and water, the first real food we'd had in two days.
The Marines told us that we'd either get flown to Puerto Rico in their C-130 transport or flown to Miami in some commercial airliner. I was rooting for Puerto Rico. After eating our MREs, we were informed that the military aircraft was needed elsewhere and we would be going to Miami. We were bused back to the terminals, and were greeted by the people from our embassy, who had some hand in getting the flight crew and plane together. They also had what appeared to be a hundred large boxes filled with junk food. We all greedily drank sodas and ate pretzels and Sun Chips. The approximately 53 Americans were then lined up outside the waiting area and our bags were x-rayed and inspected before we boarded the Miami-bound American Airlines plane around 9 p.m. Each person had a row to him or herself. All non-Americans were turned back, left among the piles of junk food.
We really had no clear sense of what was happening while we were in Venezuela. No Venezuelan officials gave us information, and the television wasn't too helpful for the couple of hours we had access to it in the cafeteria. I think the Marines were prepared to handle about 2,000 dead in the Caracas area. Then we heard rumors of higher death tolls, and when I got back to the States, I was told that there are an estimated 50,000 dead in Venezuela from the rains.
| Dennis Chao | dlchao@unm.edu |
| John Tanner | slt8z@cc.usu.edu |
February 29, 2000 - United regrets to inform me that they can not reimburse me for my hotel stay in Miami and hopes that a $100 travel certificate will suffice.