Venezuela

Venezuela

February 2008


All our hopes of getting away in February to somewhere warm and sunny seemed to have been dashed. Airfares were rising faster than a bankers bonus and everywhere that offered even a remote chance of sun was starting to more expensive than Paris Hilton's charity bag

Then we discovered Iberia were offering cheap (well cheapish) flights to Caracus. Not somewhere we had thought of visiting before but it had something that set it apart for all other destinations - it was affordable; or so we thought. Not only that but it had Angel Falls, the Andes, the Jungle, a cranky socialist government that loved sticking two fingers up at the US. It was a poor mans' Cuba and to be fair the flight wasn't that bad, a bit like getting Easy Jet long-haul with a quick change in Lisbon.

And so we found ourselves in Caracus in early February myself a Connexions Advisor and Joyce my partner a Taiwanese national working in Norfolk as a teacher. However with everything that seems too good to be true there was a catch - Exchange Rates. The government set the exchange rate at 2:15 Bolivar Fuerte to the dollar the actual rate however would have been around 6 or 7 if the currency was freely traded, meaning, everything seemed hopelessly expensive on arrival. So we found ourselves in a developing country and being charged nearly 4 quid for a bottle of water - ouch.

As with most problems there was a solution and in this case it was the black market. Obviously this could be considered to be being a bit too relaxed with the law and did mean we spent the whole trip feeling like drug addicts looking for a fix. Finding a dealer, locating a back alley or some dark corner to do the deed, taking care not to be ripped-off. Having said that we never were ripped off, everybody seemed to be in on it, waiters, travel agents even fish mongers, so trying to get the best rates and 'score' some cash became all part of the fun. It just seemed to be part of the way everything worked in Venezuela.


We started our trip in Caracus. I had heard all sorts about the heady night life and we hit the town running straight off the plane. This is where we found out one of the best things about Venezuela - Venezuelans. They are completely nuts, and as hospitable a people as you're likely to meet. We soon found ourselves stumbling home at 4 in the morning feeling like we knew everyone in town.

It couldn't last and didn't, Venezuelan President Chavez had called a referendum and banned the sale of alcohol for 4 days. In England if there was one sure way to lose a referendum this was it. But this was Venezuela and we spent night after night going to bars and clubs and wondering why they were closed or would not serve us. 'Nothing today come back tomorrow', they would say - we were somewhat slow to catch on.

It was time to move on, so we did. Our next stop was Puerto Colombia. For telly buffs this is where 'Willy Wonka' Harcourt-Cooze's cocao farm is. For the uninitiated he is working to produce the world's finest chocolate and sell it at eye-popping, just for the connoisseur type prices in posh shops like Selfridges. But that's not why we were going; also in this area is the Henry Pittier National Park, Venezuela's first. An area of cloud forest that roles into the Caribbean Sea famed for its biodiversity in particular it's 578 bird species. If that's not enough it has lovely beaches too. We travelled by local bus which gave me a good chance to put my ropey Spanish to the test, one of the great things about learning a foreign language is that if you can have a short conversation on a bus, in bar, well anywhere you will look like a genius to anyone else in your party (or perhaps just feel like one). I did however have plenty of chance to practice as the 2 bus journey ended up taking around 6 hours. And this to go somewhere that's pretty much next to Caracus on the map. Working out distance when you come form a little island like England is ot always easy.

We spent a week in Puerto Colombia beach bumming it, jungle trekking it, and wondering around the Cocao Plantation wishing somebody would sell us some chocolate ice cream. The whole chocolate situation had that so near yet so far vibe to it, a bit like a boat load of sailors adrift on an ocean of water with nothing to drink. And then it was time for Joyce to leave, she had to return to England to work, I was off to Merida with Mountains to climb. This had all seemed a brilliant idea back in England but as I packed Joyce off in the VW Camper van that was to take her to the airport I could not help but feel a certain melancholy descend. The 20 hour bus journey to the Andes ahead felt about as appealing as bumping into Robert Kilroy Silk at a swingers party and the often repaeted cliche from American cop movies 'Im getting to old for this' was going round my head like an echo.