The view of the first station on the line and the surrounding barrio

This weekend, I finally took a ride on the MetroCable, a rather unique mode of transportation that makes Caracas one of a growing number of cities around the world choosing to incorporate a gondola-style lift system into the general city transportation.  In the case of Caracas, the MetroCable services one of the poorest parts of the city, the barrio of San Agustín.  Apart from having a markedly higher crime rate than other parts of the city, most barrios here are built on steep hills, in ramshackle style, one concrete/cinderblock shack on top of another.

While this style increases the number of people who can live within a small area, it also makes these neighborhoods incredibly dangerous when it rains (erosion of the land during rainy season leads to homes collapsing).  Another geographical problem of the barrios is access to the ranchos (referring to the shack-style houses) at the top.  While buses and cars can access the base of the hills without problem, the only vehicles make it up the few steep and windy roads towards the top are 4×4s.  For those ranchos off the road, there is a series of never-ending staircases, with literally thousands of steps connecting the base of the barrio to the top.

The MetroCable attempts to make these isolated parts of San Agustín more accessible to residents, who represent some of the most marginalized members of the population.  The route consists of two connected lines servicing five stations which run from Parque Central in the city up the steep hill of San Agustín, and touch different parts of the barrio.  Each car holds eight passengers.  The system itself is a pioneer in lift-system technology, in that it is the first system to incorporate 90-degree turns for the cars.  The gondola cars offer a sweeping view of the city and are named either for states in Venezuela or appropriately patriotic ideas (sovereignty, humanity, liberty, etc.)  The system and its stations have been in operation for just over a year, and are a shiny new addition to an otherwise bleak landscape (San Agustín is also one of the most dangerous barrios in Caracas).

The cars each hold eight people and serve as transport from the barrio to the city below

However, the MetroCable, like everything in the city, is not without controversy.  Critics cite the astronomical cost of building the system and less-than-rapid methods of transporting people.  It certainly is an oddity, this pristine lift system costing tens of millions of dollars, in a portion of the city obviously in need of more basic necessities.  We rode the MetroCable on a Saturday, when there were few passengers; our trip was smooth and pleasant.  However, having suffered through the Caracas Metro at rush hour, the delays and virtual inability for everything to run smoothly, it’s easy to imagine how the MetroCable might suffer delays as well.  So, is the MetroCable a lifeline for some of the poorest and most geographically isolated citizens of Caracas? Or a merely a flashy way for the government to gain international attention and curry favor among their supporters?  Time will tell.

Lianne Gonsalves is currently a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant at the Centro Venezolano Americano. To hear more about her experiences, check out her blog. This is not is not an official Fulbright Program blog. The views and information presented are Lianne’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program, the U.S. Department of State, or any of its partner organizations.

A passerby stares as one of Panama City's colorful diablo rojo buses zips by

A rarely heard utterance: “My favorite thing about the city was the buses.”

A Dutch traveler said it to me about Panama City before I left. I inwardly scoffed; she must just think that because they use bikes so much in the Netherlands.

But then I got there, and she’d nailed it. Sorry, Karlijn.

Calling the buses diablos rojos is only partly accurate. Some of these second-hand U.S. school buses are red, sure, but they are also green and purple and pink. They have murals of castles or churches on the front and back. You’ll see paintings of world luminaries ranging from Jesus to Hugo Chavez, with accent designs featuring unicorns playing guitars.

Go inside, and it can be like a dance club or lounge. Samba or reggaeton will pound out of a custom stereo, while red or purple lights set the mood. Streamers are optional but encouraged.

I don’t know if each driver has his own bus customized, a la goalie masks in the NHL, or if they drive whatever bus they get that day. (Drivers aren’t the chatty sort, and it’s tough to find out if a bus is going close to your hostel, let alone delve into its aesthetics and iconography.)

Panama City can stagger the brain of a Latin American traveler. Restaurants touting Lebanese, French, and Thai food can be seen on one city block. Rush-hour traffic jams are choked with luxury cars, and rush hour itself was a concept I’d forgotten. Skyscrapers soar overheard, and where there’s not a skyscraper, there’s probably a crane building one.

In a city that is so developed and modern, it was a relief to see some of the flair and slapdash magic that has given this corner of the world so much of its charm for me.

Kent most recently left his post as an English teacher in Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica and is currently traveling. To see what he’s up to, check out his blog or follow him on Twitter. For more on transportation in Latin America, check out “Day in the Life: Morning Commute“; “An Adventurous Routine“; “Where to Get Off the Bus?“; “Good Travel Karma“; “Traffic Circle from Hell!” and “All-Female Transport in Mexico.”