Pilot Report: Aeropostal Flight VH344, Caracas to Puerto Ordaz

Class: Economy
Length of flight: 60 minutes
Fare paid: $50

The best thing about the Caracas airport is that it's not the Lima airport. Then again, that's giving Lima, one of my least favorite places and least favorite airports, too much credit.

The terminal at Caracas is a cheerless structure overhung by fat, gray beams of naked concrete. But it's clean, spacious and surprisingly unchaotic. On arrival from the States, it was less than 10 minutes from jetway to curbside -- a curbside that is free, mind you, of the anticipated gauntlet of taxi hawkers and black-market money changers. At the eastern end of the domestic wing, a floor-to-ceiling panel of multicolored stained glass imports a bit of atmosphere. Past security, where a man will eagerly confiscate your nail clippers, travelers partake of such Latin specialties as a Cinnabon franchise, a Burger King and a Benihana steak house.

The shape and layout of the check-in zone -- basically a long, three-story rectangular box -- are reminiscent of the main hall at Johannesburg. The whole airport, for that matter, is a long, skinny rectangle -- laid east-to-west on a sliver of flatland between the Caribbean Sea and a clutch of mountains. The control tower is set back from the rest of the complex, built directly into the skirt of a soaring green hill -- something I've never seen before.

Technically, this is Simon Bolivar International. As with everything else in northern South America, it honors the famous Gen. Bolivar, Venezuelan-born hero who liberated the region from Spain. But much like Narita in Japan (Tokyo), or Keflavik in Iceland (Reykjavik), the airport is commonly referred to neither by its official moniker nor by the city it serves. Savvy travelers and industry folk call it Maiquetía (My-kuh-TEA-uh), after the lively coastal neighborhood in which it rests. Caracas itself is 25 kilometers away.

The city of Caracas, by the way, despite a dramatic setting in a bowl of towering hills (green I suppose, but yellow-gray through the smog), is one of the most oppressive cities I've ever visited -- a withering metropolis fringed with dangerous and filthy slums. It's an unsavory blend of Mexico City and Bangkok: the Latin verve and ugly sprawl of the former, the traffic jams of the latter, and the noise and squalor of both.

Out on the Maiquetía tarmac, it's a rainbow array of hometown carriers -- Aeropostal, Aserca, Laser, Rutaca -- most of which appear to have a strange fixation with the McDonnell Douglas DC-9. Guatemala is sometimes described as the place where American school buses go to die. (Those who've sampled that country's public transport will know what I mean.) Caracas seems to be where DC-9s go to die. Even in Lima you'll see a fairly spiffy lineup of later-model 737s and A320s. For whatever reason, Caracas is stuck a generation or two behind.

My flight this morning, VH344, is itself a DC-9, and I watch for the doorframe plaque as I step aboard, informing me of the jet's construction date: 1978. Not bad, really, when you consider many Northwest Airlines DC-9s are Summer of Love vintage or older. Minneapolis, maybe, is where DC-9s really go to die.

The difference is that Northwest upgrades the cabins and keeps its planes superficially modern (no wisecrack e-mails, please). The interior of YV-32C did not appear to have been refitted anytime lately, if ever. Aeropostal might have seven storied decades under its belt, but it can't match the style of more serious Latin contenders like TACA or LAN, progressives with state-of-the-art planes and swanky in-flight perks. Just the same, the antique -9 was immaculately clean -- not a crumb on the carpet or a tear in the upholstery. A sidewall panel, I saw, had been carefully repainted by hand. The jet had an heirloom feel: timeworn and distinctly oldfangled, but affectionately cared for.

It was quite the opposite, really, from the plane I'd arrived in the previous day. That one, a new-generation Boeing belonging to a Certain U.S. Airline that I'm forced to keep anonymous, looked about 50 years older than it actually was. The cabin was so unkempt and dirty that I needed a wet napkin to rub the grease from my armrest. My tray was broken, the headrest was broken, the cushions were coming apart and the moldings were smeared with pen marks. And this was first class (though the crew, I have to admit, was exceedingly gracious and the meals quite tasty).

The hop to Puerto Ordaz takes roughly an hour. Soft drinks, coffee and a small box breakfast were dispensed by the more or less cordial Aeropostal attendants. The crew made announcements in Spanish and English.

We landed just after noon. Abandoned in the grass off the side of the runway, like an abandoned car on blocks, sat a weather-beaten 727 in the colors of AVENSA.

Check-in and boarding: D-plus
(No announcements and disordered queues at counter and gate)

Punctuality: C
(Departure 20 minutes late; no announcements or apology)

Aircraft cleanliness and decor: C-plus
(Give them credit for caring)

Food and service: A-minus
(Coffee and a scrawny sandwich? More than you'll get in the States on any 60-minute domestic ride.)

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