Caracas: A Vintage Picker's Sticky Paradise

so you’re thinking about caracas? buckle up. i just checked the weather app and it’s currently clinging to 24.5°C with humidity that feels like you’re swimming through warm tea, hope you enjoy that kind of thing. perfect for rummaging through piles of polyester without breaking a sweat. literally.

*el centro is where the magic happens, but don’t wander off alone at dusk unless you want a story that ends with 'i swear i heard gunshots'. stick to the vintage alleys near plaza bolívar during daylight hours. someone told me this one vendor near mercado concha y toro tries to pass off 90s mall finds as 'authentic 70s disco wear'-keep your eyes peeled and your bargaining voice ready.

when you’ve haggled yourself into a frenzy, la candelaria’s street art is a five-minute stumble away. i heard from a local bartender that the real gems are hidden behind the teatro teresa carreño-just follow the smell of arepas.

if the vintage vibe gets stale, los teques and valencia are just a quick van ride away for mountain air or factory outlets. perfect for escaping the humidity and finding that perfect denim jacket.

pro tip: sunday mornings at mercados libres are chaotic goldmines. arrive by 7am or you’ll only find cheap knockoffs and confused tourists. also, never pay full price-locals laugh at suckers who do.

for sustenance, hit el menu for arepas that’ll make you question life choices. yelp says their pabellón is fire, but i’d trust the guy selling coffee from a cardboard box more.

someone warned me the police might shake down gringos in el valle, so flash that vintage denim like armor. also, don’t wear white near plaza venezuela-trust me on this.

‘if you see a vendor selling ‘gucci’ for $5, run. unless you want a belt that dissolves in rain.’

pro survival move: carry water. the humidity is no joke, and dehydration turns vintage hunting into a blurry nightmare. also, ignore* the ‘best vintage in caracas!’ google reviews-most are written by people who never left the hotel.

real talk: caracas smells like diesel, fried dough, and possibility. embrace the chaos, and you might leave with a killer jacket and a story that starts with ‘so i was in this alley…’