No hablo espanol

After months of planning I arrived into a warm, sunny Caracas and a warm welcome first from El Presidente Hugo Chavez whose face, in at least 20 times life size, adorns the aeropeurto internacional de Maiquetia de Simon Bolivar to give it its full name, and then my friends, in human size.

Caracas has been a pleasant surprise. To date, I have avoided the Caracas of 15 murders a day, being drugged by impregnated leaflets and kidnapped by an unscrupulous taxi driver. The later could be down the fact that I haven't yet ridden in a taxi or taken the cable car into the mountainside barrios. I have however, negotiated the camionetas and the Metro all without incident. I've listened to a free salsa concert in a restored hacienda, appropriated by Hugo for the people. The local Plaza is the place to enjoy watching capoeira practice and someone take his hamster for a walk (in a plastic ball made just for the purpose).

I appreciate the Avila mountain range which dominates the city to the south or is it the north – it reminds me of Belfast and therefore, of home. Thoughts of home were also brought to the fore when I came across a man selling puppies from the back of a van in an underpass near Centro Venezolano Americano where I attend Spanish class. I've taken in the ranchos but only from a distance. One day I'll take those cable cars Chavez installed to take los pueblos to the barrios in the Avila mountain range. I feel comfortable here in this city – and I don't generally like cities.

Spanish classes have started, some at 7am! I wake early here, in this pleasant climate, and go to bed early too. Being surrounded by Spanish does not seem to help my learning and shop assistants and such like aren't too bothered to attempt to figure out what I'm trying to say. For now, yo no hablo espanol, but I am trying hard to ensure that one day I do.