A stroll through Caracas

Karla is my favorite shopping buddy, even though we’re in a city where a white cotton t-shirt runs about $45 minimum.

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Sambil: The place to go for grotesquely overpriced clothing.

On our way to Sambil in order to sambilear (kindof like Macy’s-ing), I asked her if it’s safe for us to walk there at dark. She assured me no hay problema--it is a nice neighborhood, but in most other places we wouldn’t be doing this.

I then told her about my gringo friend Matt, who thinks it’s safe to walk most anywhere in Caracas at night. As I blabbed on about all of the "crazy" neighborhoods in which our feet have tread the earth, Karla bowled over. She laughed in the way that sitcom actors react to the crazy neighbor's harebrained antics, turning her whole body away from me while waving her hand in disbelief.

I arrogantly concluded my stories: Y bueno en fin no estoy segura que Caracas sea tan peligrosa como se dice. (“In the end, I’m not sure Caracas is as unsafe as everyone says..”).

Karla smugly giggled at my wrap up and forced a pause.

Jajajaja pero Erin--mira esto.
("Hahahaha but Erin--look at that.")

She grabbed my shoulder and pointed ten feet behind us, to a man tapping on the window of a gridlocked car, clearly in an attempted stick up.

In my nervousness, and Karla’s lighthearted jadedness, we both threw our heads back in laughter, turned, and resumed our leisurely stroll to the mall.