In a development that has sent shivers down the spines of holidaymakers and seismologists alike, the British Foreign Office has issued a stern warning of travel disruption after a modest tremor rattled the Luis Muñoz Marín International Airport in Caracas. The quake, registering a magnitude of 4.2 on the Richter scale, was strong enough to jostle the ice in my G&T here in the newsroom but not quite powerful enough to topple the regime.
Witnesses described the scene as ‘briefly alarming but ultimately anticlimactic’, which is also the subtitle of my autobiography. Passengers were evacuated from the terminal, many clutching duty-free bags as if they were life rafts. One businessman was reportedly seen weeping over a spilled espresso, but that may have been the exchange rate.
The FCDO, in its infinite wisdom, advised travellers to ‘monitor local news and follow the instructions of local authorities’. This is unquestionably sound advice, though one does wonder how many of those same authorities have been instructed by the instructions of the instructions. It is the transitive property of bureaucracy.
Meanwhile, the Venezuelan government, ever keen to deflect from its crumbling infrastructure, has accused the earthquake of being ‘a CIA plot conducted by British lizard people’. This was not confirmed by Downing Street, though Number 10 did issue a terse statement clarifying that lizards remain, for the moment, non-political creatures.
As I sit here, pen in hand and gin in glass, I am reminded of the sheer absurdity of it all. An earthquake that rattled an airport, a government that rattled its sabres, and a travelling public that rattled its credit cards. The earth moved, but the world stayed the same.
If you are planning a trip to Venezuela, my advice is simple: pack light, pack patience, and pack a seismograph. You will need all three. And for heaven’s sake, avoid the local gin. It tastes like hubris.
