By Alejandra Garcia on February 4, 2026, from Caracas
El Aliva, foto: Alejandra Garcia.
One month after the early hours of January 3, eyes return to El Avila, Venezuela. From its hillsides, the Caracas valley opens up in full: in the distance, the strip of the Caribbean Sea; closer in, the sprawling city; and between them, the mountain as a line of separation and shelter. The park, declared in 1958 and officially called Waraira Repano in its indigenous language, “Sierra Grande” -Large Mountain Range- functions as a green lung and a natural border between the capital and the coast.
That same terrain that usually offers respite from the bustling city, that night, turned into a pivotal vantage point from which to witness the start of an imperialist offensive that combined bombings of military facilities, low-altitude flyovers, and an operation that ended with the kidnapping of President Nicolas Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores. One month later, people here are still demanding for the safe their save return in the streets.
According to journalistic reconstructs, the first detonations were reported around 2:00 a.m. local time, accompanied by aircraft flyovers and targeted power outages in parts of the capital. The military objectives was, Fuerte Tiuna, Caracas’s main military complex, and La Carlota Air Base, as well as the port of La Guaira and Higuerote, along the coast and the outskirts of Caracas. In parallel, citizen videos and reports circulated on social media showing explosions and columns of smoke in different areas of the capital.
El Avila as Witness: Campers Recorded the Blasts
The attack viewed from El Aliva
One of the most repeated images after that dawn did not come from the city center, but from above. Hikers who had spent the night in the high zones of Waraira Repano managed to film the flashes and explosions from a theri position on the mountain.
From the park, Caracas could be seen in fragments: isolated points of light amid blackouts, while the sound of explosions ricocheted through the valley. In several chronicles, the Humboldt Hotel, visible on the summit, appears as a nighttime reference point for many witnesses of the unprecedented attack on Caracas. The assault left hundreds of victims, including 32 Cuban soldiers who were part of the first ring of protection for President Maduro and his wife, Cilia.
In the Waraira Repano region, routine does not come to a complete halt. In the mountain towns and agricultural areas, crops and small-scale sales continue: flowers, fruit, weekend markets. The mountain is both landscape and archive: it holds the memory of walks, fires, rains, and also nights like that of January 3, when its height became an involuntary grandstand for a crisis.
“Help Me Look”: Galeano’s Story
Galeano’s view, foto: Alejandra Garcia
From that height, between the Caribbean and the valley, Eduardo Galeano’s phrase takes on a different meaning. In The Book of Embraces, Diego sees the sea for the first time and, overwhelmed by its immensity, asks his father: “Help me look!”
One month after that dawn of explosions, that request stops being only an image of beauty: it also sounds like a journalistic and human tool. Looking is not merely watching flashes in the distance; it is understanding what the country and its people have just lived through. From El Avila, all of Caracas fits into a single gaze. And it’s hard to look at it alone.
Source: Resumen Latinoamericano -English