Sometimes, I stumble upon photographs and other memorabilia that draws me in, reminding me of the transitory nature of culture and of travel itself. Often, what attracts us to a place isn’t the place by itself, but the place at a specific time. Timing is everything, after all. The 1970s were Venezuela’s time. With the country’s second major oil boom, money and people flowed into the capital city, Caracas, sometimes faster than the speed of sound. Air France, in fact, ran the Concorde once a week to Caracas from Paris. Wonder what kind of party favors they had floating around the cabin?
Here are a few shots of the city in the ’70s, when caraqueños rocked curly ‘fros and bell-bottoms, punching down the expressway (or stuck in traffic) in Mustangs and Camaros, Oscar d’León and Rubén Blades eight-tracks plugged into the stereo.
Now, this is music: