The San Fernando hill, visible from the freeway some ten kilometers away, is a promontory almost 200 m high, stretching over 26 hectares. Right from the start, the eye is struck by the planed, truncated summit. The hill, completely eroded by over 200 years of stone and gravel excavation, paid a heavy price for San Fernando's galloping urbanization in colonial times. The mound seems to carry the city in a ring. All around it, the neighborhoods form a disk, the remains of a big bang of unplanned urbanization, propelled from the slopes of the summit to spread along the coastal edge and finally come to rest on the marshes. The city is labyrinthine. If it weren't for the hill and the sea to guide you, the winding, unmarked streets, all hills and slopes, would make you lose all sense of direction. You'd think you were lost in India, so Indian is everything. The town center appears almost by chance at the end of the last meander of a winding street. As you stroll along, insensitively carried along by the curious rhythm of this city, Indian and Chinese in its population, Latino in its history and proximity to Venezuela, you plunge right into the mix, where an almost equatorial indolence counterbalances the most assertive characters. Tourism is underdeveloped here, as it is mainly visited for its oil business. Yet San Fernando is a strategic crossroads, providing access to both the Deep South and the East Coast.

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