My backpack arrived.
Nobody's storming the stores due to the devaluation situation, that we've seen. (Danielle, my sister who lives in Chile, reports that it's going on elsewhere, according to the Chilean news.)
We broke the rules (and the hearts of our hotel clerks) and walked 3 miles to the airport (and back) from the hotel to retrieve my lost luggage and buy tickets to Ciudad Bolivar, and the following happened:
-We didn't get mugged
-We encountered at least 3 random people on the streets who beamed and said, in English, "Welcome!"
-We took baby steps in learning to operate on the black market when changing dollars (the more you change the better rate you get, and the guys are quite friendly and helpful with misc info like restaurant recommendations, so long as you step behind a post to conduct your transaction, even though we met our first black market guy through the customs official!!!!)
-We got really hot and sweaty
-People stared at Ken's bare, bright white knees a lot.
So we've concluded:
It's friggin' hot and humid in Venezuela
Men don't wear shorts in Venezuela
Venezuelans are warm, gregarious people.
My Spanish is lousy.