Los Relampagos de lago de Maracaibo or The Lightening of lake Maracaibo

`

Stream of consciousness;

Dazzling stars start the show, Venus is a beacon of brilliant white, waves splash against our remote shack on the lake, the lightening arrives timidly offering sporadic flashes of orange against the black.

We embark on a night safari; the engine is the only sound, the guides eagle like vision is staggering, red eyes reflect back the flash light, our guide pulls out a meter long Cayman, I tentatively hold the tail and brace myself for the struggle, I master the firm but gentle pressure required to keep its mouth closed tight without hurting it and set it free, it gyrates its limbs in a kind of liberation dance before re-entering the water, we joke about the story it tells its friends about the human abduction. The captain mentions rain although this seems unlikely as there is not a cloud in the sky.

The electric light orchestra has begun by the time we return; waves of light and colour illuminate the clouds and the blackness, the forks streak sideways as they prance across the darkness, tiredness gets the better of us, we retire to our hammocks.

Deafening thunder, wind and the rain interrupt our slumber, the sound of the water hitting the metal roof could wake the dead, we relocate to a more secluded and dryer place, it turns out that of course the local was right about the rain.

The return trip begins with with a mangrove adventure; local crab fishing techniques observed, endemic night screamer spotted, it turns out the rain has disturbed the wildlife and our chances of seeing fresh water dolphins and turtles is gone.

We stop of for a shower in a waterfall, grab a cocoa pod souvenir, and get slightly freaked out by the perpetual darkness of a cave. We arrive back in Merida with enough time to replace flip flops, grab some local music, and buy food before our night bus back to Maracaibo.

Joseph Davies 30/10/10

Chuao

Jesus literally shows us the way. As we approach the beach a man asks us where we are going, after informing him we were off to Chuao (pronounced sh-wow) he told us how much the boat would be. We needed some supplies first as it is only accessible by boat and Jesus was very happy to indulge our desires for sun screen, ice for our picnic, and a cool box. We were ready to leave, so bid Jesus farewell and got in our lancha (small speed boat) and headed out of the clear turquoise Caribbean sea.

The bay of Chuao is definitely some thing to see, it is a stunning quaint little cove with palms and pelicans. It is split into two distinct parts;the beach which is beautiful but uneventful and the pueblo which had a little bit more life and more importantly a lot more chocolate. The first sign of cocoa was a little picture on the welcome sign and it was great to see. There was however no real option of buying any chocolate that was not Nestle by the beach so we took a walk the pueblo.

It was an incredible walk on a road that cuts right through the middle of a cocoa forest. We stood in the shade to escape the blistering heat, the cocoa have had the same ides their whole lives as they thrive only in the shade of taller canopy trees. These are affectionately known as the madres de cocoa (mothers of cocoa). Although the walk was beautiful we were all very tired from over 20 hours of travel and after walking for 30min we started to wonder if we had made a wrong turn. We stopped a motorcycle and inquired about directions and distance. 5Km was beyond our tired bodies and minds so we headed back for a cold beer.

Refreshing as it was the sound of Venezuelan men slamming dominoes on the table somewhat disrupted the view and the serenity. Mind kept drifting back to the chocolate. I could wait no longer so we grabbed our beers and jumped one bus.

If Chuao really did have 2, 500 people then there was not one to be seen on the sleepy dusty streets. The chocolate trail was definitely getting hotter as we saw signs saying se vende cocoa (we sell cocoa - the shop was closed), a 200 year old cocoa bean sorting machine, and the smell of fermenting cocoa filled our nostrils. We finally did find an open shop and to see cocoa beans and chocolate bars on the counter filled me with joy. We grabbed a couple of bars and were told that if we came back tomorrow we could have a demonstration. He pointed us in the way of lunch.

Here we encountered Edi the specialist chocolate chef of Chuao. Her family have been working with cocoa for over 400 years. I asked about life on the cocoa plantation and she told me that the work was hard but the workers were happy. It is owned by a Venezuelan co-operative and now 90% of the chocolate is sold to the Italian chocolate company. It used to go to Valrona the french chocolate pioneers of single origin chocolate bars but the Italians were prepared to pay almost twice as much. Chuao is renowned in the world of fine chocolate and they have a phrase there that encapsulates this “Chuao donde hermina el mejor cocoa del mundo” which means that Chuoa is where the best cocoa in the world was born. The hot chocolate we were served definitely reflected this as it rich and deeps flavours were certainly some of the best I have ever encountered. She also served us a chocolate pancake covered in salty cheese. The sound and the initial taste was bizarre but the more I ate the more sense it made. It was reminiscent of the Asian flavours created but adding sugar and salt.

 We also met Chi Chi here who became our unofficial tour guide for the next three days. He met us every morning without asking for payment and took me to meet all of Chuao's 6 artisans and showed us the other highlights. The best of who and kindest by far was Al (the guy below with the white cloth wrapped around his head). Not only was he the only artisan to have a dark chocolate for sale he was so open and generous it was incredible. He showed me how he prepared the chocolate and taught me one of the chocolate makers greatest principles; Because chocolate is a thing of love, you must make with love, and listen to the music of love whilst making it. Brilliant. He then when on to inform me about more practical theory and cleanliness and temperatures. He let me make chocolate with him and even gave me a traditional recipe. A great and kind man who made our Chuao experience much more rewarding.

He also introduced us to the great Italian couple. Natalino is some what of an anomaly as an Italian that can not eat cheese and loves fishing but not eating fish. He stores all kinds of incredible fish (including the biggest red snapper I have ever seen) until he has 100kg and then he sells it in the local town. We upgraded our room to one with a much nicer bed, a spectacular view of the sea, great Italian home cooked food for less than we were paying before.


We cracked open the Argentinian Malbec right there and so began a night filled with laughter, 80's power ballads, cheese and cracker, papa duro (a lime segment half covered in sugar and half in coffee with a rum chaser), laughter, much merriment and a king fish feast just before bed which was a lot better than a kebab.

The next few days were spent walking through the cocoa forest gorging on the fruit, swimming in the river, learning and eating as much chocolate as possible, and marvelling at the huge circles of cocoa on the church’s specially built piso secando (drying floor).

Chuao really is Wow.

Joseph Davies 28/10/10

Maracai to Choroni

We quickly switch bus terminals and jump straight into a colourful mini American school bus which was leaving for Choroni ahora (now). Loving some well deserved travel Karma we all squeezed into the supposed space for 3.

The sun was having almost as much trouble getting through the leaves and onto the page as I was trying to think and read through the excessive noise being generated by no less than 6 pioneer speakers and a massive sub woofer. This system had sufficient power for a large outdoor party so why they feel the need to pack every local bus with this expensive and unnecessary set up is beyond my comprehension.

There was a brief respite from the deafening salsa to stop the bus and deal with a landslide that had caused a tree to fall and block the road. The blockage had to be removed by hand with a machete. The trunk was easily 30cm think and to see the power and skill required to chop this tree down was spectacular to behold. When the tree finally fell they had to swing it like a pendulum off the edge.

It is a perilous and visually impressive narrow mountain road which runs through a selva nublanda (cloud forest). Buena vista hardly comes close to describing the stunning vast expanse of forests, clouds and mountains. The drop is sheer and certain death. The horn blared on every corner. When another bus passed the paint work embraced like long lost amigos. The braking was always harsh and the corners required at least a 3 point turn. Just in case we needed a reminder about how dangerous it was there was a truck that had fallen off the road and was resting way below just visible deep down in the foliage.

Although a seat belt would have been great for obvious safety reasons, I doubt very much it would have saved us from a fall that would almost certainly be fatal. I still would have liked one to prevent the incessant shin and knee banging and the roller coaster white knuckles. We literally did not have enough limbs to keep ourselves and our belongings from slipping and sliding all of the place.

The locals nonchalance definitely helped to ease the mind the rest of the way to Choroni.

Joseph Davies 27/10/10

Cars and Petrol in Venezuela

Cars do not really depreciate in Venezuela and it is impossible to get a second hand car for less than $2000. Fuel inefficiency and consumption barely being an issue here because the hugely subsidised petrol is almost the cheapest in the world. It only costs 1 Bolivar for 10 litres which is less than 12 cents or 18 pence. These 2 factors mean that Venezuela is a dumping ground for all of the gas guzzling relics from Americas auto mobile past.

The wheels on the bus.......did eventually go round

It began much like any other transaction in South America; with a postponed start time.

Sabrina phoned up for information in her true hospitality queen style. 20:30 was the time we were told. We located the recommended company and were told the bus was actually at 20:00 which was better for us. We were then told that they did not actually have a bus today but he would find one for us. We were then escorted around the bus terminal looking for a bus that was going. We eventually found one and it was leaving at 21:00. It looked all right and we were reassured it was comodo (comfortable) with aire (air con). It turns out these two things are an oxymoron as no one could ever be comfortable in the freezing cold air con on these buses. You actually need to carry around a set of winter clothes and a blanket just for these occasions. This all happened in the afternoon we were due to return 30 minutes before the departure time.

It always pays to be punctual so we arrived at the terminal at 20:20. We thanked and embraced Sabrina for all her work as the hostess with the mostest and entered the terminal.

We were instantly assaulted with questions about our destination (Caracas? Maracai?) and several offers of money exchange. This was really our first experience of the Venezuelan public and our first impression was that they were not quite as friendly as their Colombian neighbours. As always there was a pleasant exception to the rule as one kind gentleman directed us with whistles to the correct stop. In both Ecuador and Venezuela you have to pay a tasa de salida (exit tax) before you can leave a bus station. The extortionate price of 1 Bolivar (12 cents ) was reluctantly handed over.

A quick check of our ticket told us the bus actually left a 21:30 but did not even consider moving until gone 22:00. So 20:30 changed to 20:00 briefly which quickly became 21:00 but was officially 21:30 and did not leave until 22:00.

Many decided that the best way to cope with waiting was to slip into slumber, Chan and Sally included. Sleeping is normally a great way to travel. The oh so pleasant land of nod was not to be enjoyed for long and Chan's soft snoring was somewhat disturbed by the shout of  'Buenas noches todos' (Good evening everyone) from below. This was followed by considerable movement around the bus. I saw several identification cards in hands and deciphered that we had to leave the bus and show our passports. The usual dilemma of taking or leaving bags (always take but still consider leaving due to convenience and effort) was avoided as everything of value was safely stored in Colombia. We showed and got our passports approved and then where assertively told to step aside. The miserable dictator barked instructions about bolsas (bags), mochillas (backpacks) and equipaje (luggage) and Chan correctly interpreted that we had to collect all of our stuff and take it to the x-ray machine. Chan approached the entrance and was instantly reproached by the angry man. Maybe we had misunderstood.

The following dialogue ensued;

Grumpy - Sternly tu entiendes Espanol? (you understand Spanish)

Chan - poco (a little).

Grumpy - “where you from” in broken English

Chan – Inglaterra

Grumpy – NO. From now

Chan – Maracaibo

Grumpy – Not Colombia

Chan – Wisely avoiding the truth – Solo Maracaibo

We were then instructed to enter the bus and get our stuff which is exactly what we were going to do. There seemed to be absolutely no reason for all this aggression, it certainly was not a very welcoming introduction to life on the Venezuelan road. We were then herded like cattle into 2 cues; 1 for women and 1 for men. As I took my place and took a seat on the curb the surroundings flooded my senses. A full moon and the distant silent Catatumbo relampagos (lightning) of lake Maracaibo illuminated the scene;

Too late for chat, people scuffed their bags along the floor, smokers were taking the opportunity to soothe their nicotine addictions and burn some time, a baby slept on his mother who shed some light on the fact that Venezuela have won Miss World more than any other country. The frequent lightning flashes in the moody sky acted as a constant reminder of times slow passage and as a reflection of all our emotions.

Ignoring his colleagues propensity for rudeness and complete lack of manners the other guard manually loaded every women's luggage into the x-ray machine. While waiting for the gents turn I asked the man next to me about what they were searching for and just how regular an occurrence this was when travelling around Venezuela. He confirmed my obvious suspicions about checking for drugas and armas due to Maracaibo's proximity to la fronterra de Colombia (the border). He also assured us that this would be the last one before Maracai after lamenting about the amount of time it wasted.

After loading your bag into the machine you walk around it and lose sight of your belongings. Along with brief passport loss paranoia I was also concerned for the precious glass bottles of Argentinian Malbec I had in my bag. These were all unfounded and we collected our things with surprising quickness and returned to the sanctuary of the bus.

And so after at least 180 minutes after we arrived at the bus terminal we were finally on our way.

Exhausted we fell to sleep almost instantly hoping to wake up in Maracai.

These hopes were savagely shattered at 2:30am when we were suddenly awakened to the freezing cold reality of another passport check. He took our passports and then disappeared. Shivering and slightly scared about the safety of our passports I was forced to drag myself into awareness waiting and hoping for our ability to pass ports to return.

Joseph Davies 24/10/10

Fried Venezuela or Venezuelan cuisine

We went on a 48hr whirlwind gastronomic tour of Maracaibo. It went a little something like this;

Jo jo – One breakfast option that is delicious but a rather heavy start to the day;

Plaintain, ham, cheese covered in batter and deep fried.

Patacones – These really are a monster. I was starving and coveting 2 but was stuffed after one. Very tasty but the greasy reality kicks in toward the end.

Monster meaty experience (pork or chicken), cheese, chives and a mayonnaise sauce.

Takenos – It is actually hard to comprehend or eat the vast amount of salty cheese in this. Definitely enhanced by the garlic mayonnaise side.

Literally a massive piece white cheese covered in batter and guess what? Yes deep fried.

Pastelitos – Savoury mini pastry deep fried

Tasty fillings to choose from; Potato, onion and cheese, or spicy fragrant chicken.

Empanada – A staple of the americas. Basically a latino pasty. Bakeries are alive and well in Venezuela and these were some of the best we have had the whole trip.

Choose from Cheese, Prawn or Shredded Beef

Aqua de coco – Coconut water with slices of fresh coconut. Cold, nutritious and muy refresco.

Cippillado - Natural fruit blended with ice. Think really fresh slush puppy. Very welcome in the humid, muggy 35 degree heat of Maracaibo. It also had the added bonus of not being fried.

Getting ready for and getting to Venezuela

Downsizing for homeowners can be both liberating and time saving. Downsizing for travellers with regard to your backpack is much the same except that backpackers have to carry there material belongings around with them so it feels even better. With just a small bag you are free to skip, dance and prance around the globe without the psychological or physical burden of your heavy and valuable things.

Leaving everything else behind in a trustworthy hostel I condensed my life down to the following essentials;

2 t-shirts, 1 vest, 1 pair of trousers, 1 pair of boardies, 2 pairs of socks, 3 pairs of underwear, 1 hoody, 1 sheet, 1 hammock, 2 pieces of rope for tying said hammock, 1 book, 1 pair of flip flops, 1 head torch and a lot of dollars.

To compliment my new lighter lifestyle I grabbed a lulo (incredible tropical fruit) and tomato de arbol (tree tomato) and left Taganga for Maracaibo thinking about the vast difference between fresh organic produce and the old tasteless supermarket alternative.

In a country infamous for theft it may seem rather stupid to take a lot of cash into the country on your person but when it comes to Venezuela it is a risk you have to take. In a recent attempt to deal with the economy, albeit superficially they have taken 3 zeros of the currency meaning that 1000 is now only 1 Bolivares. To further pervert the real weakness of the currency becoming apparent the Bolivar is fixed against the dollar at 4.2 which is 4 less than its real value. This means that if you take money out of the banks you pay basically twice the amount for everything which it clearly not viable. The other option is to take sufficient dollars into the country for your whole stay and change them on the black market where you aim for around 8 B's to the dollar. The best places to change money is at a tourist information or at an market stall with a permanent location as they do not want to rip you off because you know where they work. Obviously make these transfers during the day and maybe leave the money with a friend at a cafe while you go round and inquire.

We had help though as our hostel Oso Perezoso (Sloth) in Taganga was run by an incredible helpful and kind couple. Sabrina is American and Oleski is from Venezuela and they have two kids Joaquin and Olivia. Not only did they convince us that travelling to Venezuela was safe, viable and worthwhile but Sabrina actually escorted us to Maracaibo let us stay in her flat, changed our money, became our tour guide and help us drink lots of beers. Legendary.

The road to Maracaibo has seen better days. We were quickly aware of the mini vans brake and suspension limitations as we bounce and screeched our way toward the border. This paragraph was scribbled on route and is barely legible due to all off the erratic movement. We stopped for speed bumps and craters in the road almost as much as we were forced to stop to show our passports. We abandoned replacing them in our secret pocket after the forth time in as many minutes. We literally had to show them over 10 times in just over 2 hours.

As we approach Maracaibo we see small dilapidated metal houses floating on the water and are told by Sabrina that this it what gave the country its name. When the Spanish conquistadors first arrived it reminded them of little Venice hence Venezuela.



Sabrina and Oleski's beautiful bi-lingual daughter called Olivia who also came along for the ride. As her cute little voice called out the Spanish names for the animals that we saw along the way; Caballito (little horse), Vaca (cow), and Burrito (little donkey) I am reminded of just how often we take names and words for granted without thinking about the etymology. Even though the provenance of the word does not always make sense it is almost always interesting;

Burrito - 1934, from Sp., lit. "little burro" or Little donkey.

Maybe because it carries all the food to your mouth in one easy package.

Margarita - Spanish for daisy

Fresh as a ...

Chilli con carne - Literally chilli with meat.

Other choice sayings we I hope we can introduce into the English language;

The use of Food as a verb - e.g "Food me" when you are hungry

And when asked what she was doing when she was feeling Chantelle's breast she replied "making arepas (corn flour cakes)", so if you ever need to explain your inappropriate lustful actions you can just say your were practicing making a classic South American food staple.

The way is filled with a diverse array of power lines, vultures, plastic chairs, sizzling chicken BBQ's, Yuka, tropical fruits, dios es amor (god is love), children's slides, flooded houses with families wading home, playas, banana groves, hubcaps, drying clothes, prepacked vegetable goody bags, fresh fish and Gasolina.

Gasolina is a very popular reggaeton song which makes me think about just how easy it is to get an inappropriate song into the charts. It is like there is a law in music that states "You can say anything you like as long as you use a euphemism or make a small attempt to conceal it". To name a few from the myriad of examples; Gasolina - Literally means fuel but in this context refers to baby fuel from men, The Shamens - eezer Goode, eezer Goode, he's Ebeneezer Goode" E's or Ecstasy are good and 50 cents - Candyshop loved by teenager's around the world speaks of "I'll take you to the candy shop, I'll let you lick the lollipop, Go 'head girl, don't you stop, Keep going 'til you hit the spot. Enough said.

We arrived in Maracaibo after a rather trouble free 8 hours and grabbed the opportunity to drink the cheapest beers so far in South America (5 dollars for 36 bottles) in a climate that requires frequent cold refreshment.



Joseph Davies 22/10/10