I went back to La Guaira yesterday and there was a different kind of sadness. Not the shock and panic of the first few days but almost an emptiness. It felt quieter - buildings and piles of rubble, but abandonded, now without anyone scouring through them. At other sites there were noisy diggers clearing the dusty concrete and remnants of people's lives - books, clothes, broken furniture. Most of the international rescue teams had gone, much of the press had too. I spoke to one guy who had written 'We are alive' on the outside of his house to let people know he and his mother were ok if he nipped out anywhere. But speaking to him I found out his two daughters had been killed in Catia la Mar. He was far from ok. Another guy walked out from a collapsed building that was mostly concrete slabs and told me he was picking up the remains of his brother and nephew. The remains were just bones. The earthquake had started a small fire that burned their bodies. A nun stood looking at a heap of debris. I wondered what she was thinking, trying to make sense of it all. And probably unable to.