A journey on a caravan of misery
Perspective by
The bus station was like a funeral home. Families were weeping and hugging, saying their goodbyes. Everybody was sad and scared - the ones leaving because they were facing an uncertain future, and the ones staying behind because they were facing muggings, shortages of food and an even more uncertain future.
Hundreds of thousands of Venezuelans migrated elsewhere in South America last year. Reporter Alexandra Ulmer and I wanted to give names and faces to at least a few of them, so we decided to join them in a nearly 5,000-mile bus journey south to Chile.
Caracas.
Adrian Naveda, 23, car battery salesman, had been pondering whether to leave Venezuela for a while, but only decided to go when his school friend Alejandra Rodriguez told him she was emigrating too. "I sold my two motorbikes to fund the trip," Naveda said.
Alejandra Rodriguez, 23, accountant at an import company, said she had never wanted to leave Venezuela, and especially not on a bus, "I had never even thought of Chile in my entire life! But because of the situation I had to."
The night before the bus was due to leave Naveda received several calls from friends to invite him for a drink and farewell party, but he preferred to stay at home with his girlfriend. The atmosphere was melancholic. In the end the bus did not leave the next day, because the road was blocked by protests in Colombia. He had to wait four more days to start his journey to Chile.
Josmer Rivas (left) eats a Venezuelan arepa for breakfast as he and his family wait for the bus to travel from Caracas to Ecuador at the Rutas de America's bus station in Caracas. Protests about land reform in Colombia led to the Panamerican highway being blocked so the bus was cancelled that day and Rivas left a few days later.
Madelein Rosal, 28, a hotel worker, decided to emigrate after the ruling Socialist Party won the October 2017 gubernatorial elections, leaving the opposition in disarray. "I'm leaving heartbroken," said Rosal, who entrusted her eight-year-old son to the care of her mother.
Rosal speaks with another passenger.
A bus from the Rutas de America (2nd right) company stops to fill its tank at a gas station in Tocuyito.
Since 2015, vehicular traffic between Venezuela and Colombia has been restricted, so the first stage of the trip ends in the Venezuelan border city of San Antonio de Tachira. There, travellers have to leave the first bus and carry all their luggage as they cross by foot to the Colombian side, after going through several customs checkpoints and getting their passport stamped.
Federico Urquiola (2nd right), 27, a worker in a construction business who is travelling by bus from Caracas to Peru said he struggled to get contracts for his construction business and was often paid late for work, when the money had already depreciated. He hoped his wife could join him in Peru. After crossing into Colombia the first thing the travellers had to do was to change their Venezuelan bolivar notes - Cucuta was the last point on the road where they would be accepted. The exchange operations were quite informal and very fast: a cash counting machine and a calculator on a desk. The tension among the travellers was evident - they wanted the best rate possible, but didn't have many options.
For Abrahan Bastidas, 26, an I.T. specialist, the trigger to leave came mid-year when his employer, a Caracas hotel, decided it could no longer provide him with breakfast and dinner. Suddenly, all his income was going towards food. "As a professional it was impossible to continue like that," he said.
A gas station worker pumps fuel into a Rutas de America bus.
Carlos Garcia Rawlins: "Much of the journey through Colombia is on busy narrow roads in the Andean mountains, full of sharp curves. It was shocking to see how close the trucks pass by. On several occasions when we reached a curve, we had to stop and wait for another vehicle to pass before the bus could keep going."
Adrian Naveda and Natacha Rodriguez sleep sitting on the floor while they wait in line to have their passport stamped at the binational border service centre in Huaquillas, Ecuador.
Alejandra Rodriguez waits in line to have her passport stamped.
In Tumbes, the first stop after crossing from Ecuador to Peru, passengers had to transport their luggage by three-wheel moto-taxis from the arrival point to another bus station, as each company has its own terminal. When they got there, they realised that the only way to buy the tickets to continue the journey was with Peruvian soles. So they talked and agreed that one group would go to an exchange house several blocks away, carrying everyone's cash, while others waited and took care of the luggage.
The road winds around the side of a hill in Atico, Peru. Carlos Garcia Rawlins: "The view from the first row of seats on the top floor of the bus was amazing. At moments there was a feeling of emptiness as the road disappeared around a bend and mist descended and blurred the horizon."
Karelys Betancourt drinks a cup of tea while she recovers from motion sickness in Ocona, Peru. At this stage of the trip the group of Venezuelan migrants were travelling on the top floor of the bus, because it was cheaper, but the motion was stronger. When Karelys started to get sick, the bus hostess gave her tea without sugar and recommended that she should go and sit on the stairs in front of the bathroom to recover.
Alejandra Rodriguez sleeps on the bus in Iquique, Chile.
Natacha Rodriguez smokes a cigarette as she stands by her son David Vargas and her sister Alejandra Rodriguez while they wait to board the bus at a road services complex in Copiapo, Chile. Carlos Garcia Rawlins: "After seven days travelling by bus, getting out for a few minutes to stretch your legs and go to the bathroom, even if you didn't need to, was the best way to break the monotony."
Adrian Naveda went out to look for work the day after arriving in Chile and a couple of hours after distributing his resume, got a call from a pet shop in a commercial area near where he was staying. He started to work that same day.
Carlos Rivero looks at the display of products in the counter of a shop in Santiago, Chile. Due to the Venezuelan economic crisis the variety and availability of basic products has dramatically reduced in recent years. For the newly-arrived migrants to see the variety of cheeses and sausages available in a butcher's shop, or walk along the aisles of a fully-stocked supermarket to make their first purchases, could be an overwhelming experience.
Natacha Rodriguez, her son David, her sister Alejandra and Adrian (a family friend), arrived at the small apartment rented by a group of Venezuelan friends. Even though they were already living in cramped conditions, they happily offered the newcomers a place to stay while they got on their feet.
Alejandra walked several blocks during the night to a shopping mall and sat for hours in front of the closed stores, to use the free internet network and chat with her loved ones in Venezuela.
