This creating a blog malarkey is time consuming, but I do seem to have a good bit of spare time on my hands at the moment. So after finding out that there's an app to the blog site I'm using, I find myself lying in a hammock writing about my adventures in Venezuela. So here it goes!

After three blissful weeks in Cuba, it was time to hit my next country and finally onto the continent of Latin America, destination Venezuela.
I flew early from Havana to Caracas's Maquieta airport. Once again, the intense heat hits you upon arrival. I had no idea what I was doing here, nothing booked for tours, no where to stay, so I had to act straight away. After a sweaty few hours hauling my bag between terminals, I find out that I can't fly direct to Canaima, the jungle village where you can do Salto Angel (Angel Falls) from. Option 2. Get the bus. So I now had to stay at least one night in the notoriously dangerous city of Caracas.
Now, no one told me about the black or parallel market here either, so after another 30 mins of sweaty Betty in the airport trying unsuccessfully to withdraw cash, I revert to changing some US dead presidents instead. At last, I have some Venezuelan bolivars to use as I wish, so I get in a joer and head for the big city to the rodoviaria (bus station) to get the hell out of dodge ,ASAP. With some pigeon Spanish and a lot of hand movements, I find that there's no bus today but one tomorrow, for which i book, so now I have to stay the night in Caracas, whoop dee fooling doo! My guide book tells me of this cheap place to stay but on arriving, they forgot to mention in the book that it resembles a hospital ward from a '70s horror flick. I lower my standards considerably and book into the s*** hole that is, hotel neustra. After a quick McDonald's to make me feel like home, I head back to said s***hole, on to the balcony, to go on the Internet to tell my family I'm alive after having no communication whilst in Cuba. It's 6:30 in the afternoon and what do I hear, not cars beeping their horns, but gun shots. I hit the deck immediately, just like an American safety movie for a volcanic eruption so I duck and cover back to my cell for a while. No bullet wounds, so ill survive another war. In yhe meantime, I'd been emailing a company about tours in Venezuela before I left Ireland, so I decide to contact him at short notice to see if I could get anything sorted for two days time. And sure enough, what happens but the owner calls me, brings me to a fancy restaurant for dinner, buys me the dinner and red wine and we do the deal for the tours there and then. and the great thing that resulted in all of this, I didn't get man rapped or robbed either. Bonus!
Following day, on my first bus alone, I was on my way to Cuidad bolivar, some 7 hours away. Pousada Don Carlos is where I stayed and when I arrived with no reservation, I think the young chap that was there couldn't have been bothered to walk me up the stairs to the cheap rooms, so I was bunked up to a private room all for myself for the night. A bright and early start the following morning took me too Cuidad Bolivars airport, complete with jimmy angels plane outside. The plane, a relic atleast of the one that crash landed on auyentepuy some 60 years ago, where Jimmy Angel had been flying over, prospecting for gold, sat outside the airport. My flight was to Canaima, a small Indian settlement of 2500 people deep in the Canaima National Park. I was the first on the plane, not any other plane, but a small 6 seater plane, with El Pedro riding shot gun! How they navigate those little planes i will never know, but we landed all in one piece. When I landed in Canaima and I was brought to the lodge, Excursions Kavac, my home for the next 3 days. I was to in a group of 7 people or so, 2 japs, 2 Colombians, 2 swedes, and 2 Argentinians. That day after lunch, we got in a small dug out canoe and headed across Canaima lagoon at the lodges doorstep, and paddled towards Salto Haco, a colossus of a waterfall nearby. Some photos later, we hiked up the hill to the top of another waterfall, Salto sapo and then down beneath the falls itself. Hydro massage therapy they told me! The water was so powerful crashing in your shoulders, it was immense, but such food fun and a great experience too. If you can imagine the old timotae ads now, that's what it was like.
Next day was the big day, a 5 hour boat ride down the river something or other, to Salto Angel and the tepuis. A tepuy is a mountain, synonymous with the region, with sheer walls going up as far as the eye can see until it meets its plataeu'd top. With each one I saw, I thought it was auyentepuy, the tepuy with angels falls, and each time I was wrong. I watched in amazement at these mountains and then it hit me. Peter, you are on a river in a place that you have always wanted to see and dreamed off. A smile beamed across my face, one which for all your might you couldn't wipe off, never could I have imagined that I was in one of the worlds remotest regions heading to he worlds tallest waterfall. Rapids after rapids, we rounded a corner and there she blew, Angel Falls, in all her glory, spilling down from 793metres above our heads. The boat drops us off on the bank for a short one hour hike to the mirador or lookout point, through the lush green rainforest that surrounds the base of the falls. Eventually we get there, to the rock where we can stare in amazement. Normally I don't have to look up at too many things, but my neck was cranked all the way to 90 as I took in the wonder, up and up and up it went to the clouds. Recently, the region had been lucky with the weather, a lot of rain being lucky, so the flow coming off the falls was powerful enough to make it look impressive. Others haven't been so fortunate travelling to the falls at the same time as I had been there an were only treated to a tiny dribble. Luck of the Irish, eh? After an hour or so there, our guide brought us down to a pool beneath the actual falls where we could drop down to our smalls for some swimming. This is when i was able to say, box bloody well ticked Peter. It was then back to our jungle retreat for the night, sleeping in hammocks under the stars, with the sounds of the nearby falls being the only thing one could heard. Bliss.
Day 3 was an boring in comparison to the days previous, a long boat journey going back the way we came. The only thing I got out of it was a sore arse from sitting in the seat from so long. First world problems I suppose. That afternoon, it was back to Cuidad Bolivar, back to Pousda Don Carlos for a night of rest before the bus journey, south to the border with brazil, the small frontier town of Santa Elena de Uairen. The buses were great in Venezuela, lots of leg room. The only thing that pissed me off was the military constantly pulling us over and checking the bus. 5 times during the night I was awoken from my slumber, and once brought outside. GI Joe was probably asking me if I had any weapons, drugs or counterfeit gear on me. All he got was a big smile and the words tourist, tourism. I hadn't a notion what he was ranting on about. He let me off anyways. I made a fortune then when I got to the border with all my counterfeit! Haha! Not.
In Santa Elena, I stayed at pousada Los Pinos, a beautiful place just in the outskirts of the town with a funky swimming pool resembling Freddy and Wilma Flintsones gaf! That day was a chill out day, so I won't fill this blog with unnecessary stuff like doing laundry, buying sun cream, etc etc, oops!
The following morning after brekkie, I jumped into the jeep and met my fellow group members for the next 6 days as we headed to climb mount Roraima. We were 9 Venezuelans and one paddy with yet no Spanish. Great. Luckily as it transpired some, the majority if not all of them spoke a little English and made it all the more easier on me. I tried my best to converse but they were too kind to me and they did all the talking in English as if it was better for them to practice their English than it was for me to practice my Spanish. Oh well, I took the easy option, English it was then.
Day one, took us from Santa Elena to Paraitepuy, a small Indian settlement in the hills. From there, we could see Roraima ahead of us, 2500m high and its little brother beside, kukenan. That day was to be the longest in terms of distance, thirteen kilometres to the camp. The terrain was mostly flat but we had a few valleys and two rivers to cross also, lets not forget that. After the first hour, I thought that I was going to die, my lungs hadn't been used to this type of burning in a while, but after a while it did subside I must say and I began to relish the effort that I was putting in. Coming close to 5 that afternoon, the porters had already arrived with the tents and cooking gear, then closely followed by myself. If I could try and keep that type of pace of trekking over the next few days I'd be very happy with my stamina. It was never a race, but I was waiting for one, everyone else had partners to urge them on, so I burst ahead as much as I could, getting there early and resting for longer each and every day. A dip in the nearby river revitalised the legs and I settled into the camp with the rest of the group. I was the youngest of the group and it was great getting to know everyone, where they were from and what they did for a few bob. All beautiful, genuine people that I'd have back to mine in a second. The porters were young lads, no more than 23, I'd say, whipper snappers that were lugging 20kg up the mountain. They were a dab hand too in the kitchen, serving out spag bol on the first night. I would have settled for a slice of bread but this was great!
Day 2 of the trek started bright and early at 630. When we were camping, the crack of daylight was your alarm clock. No dilly dallying around here for putting the alarm on snooze for a while. The camp was already alive with the hustle and bustle of our group and many more getting their gear ready and wolfing down some breakfast before we set off. Our first stop for a rest was called military base camp, where the Brazilian, Venezuelan and Guyanese military set camp there back in the '40's
when they we building the triple point upon Roraima, a concrete monument mapping the borders of the three countries on the top of the tepuy. After a bit of chatting, Peter was getting restless, so he burst on again on his own, this time to base camp. Looking back on it, I was so glad I put the foot to the floor and stretched the legs a bit more as just as I arrived at camp, it lashed out of the heavens. I was nice and toasty beside the fire with a cuppa in hand when the rest of the group arrived wetter than an otters pocket! We rested for the remainder of the day, lazying In the tents, having a bath in the river and taking snaps of Roraima right above our heads. That night was to be a rough one. You know when you say that you were nearly blown away with the wind. Well. My tent wasn't exactly pegged down in all four corners.... So I find myself lying spread eagled in the tent, holding on for dear life so that I wasn't going to be blown off the mountain like Dorothy's house from the wizard of oz! Luckily I got it pinned down more securely, but it was to be a night of very little sleep and I needed sleep as the following day was to be the ascent of the "Ramp".
Day 3 of course started at stupid o'clock in the morning, and after hardly any shut eye, I might as well had not gone to bed. Oh well, I suppose I can sleep when I die, I told myself. After some grub, off we went. The terrain changed from the gravel tracks and rivers to lush humid forest that hugged Roraimas waist. It took me 4 hours to make the ascent on the ramp. The ramp being the nickname given to the natural path that leads all the way to the top. With each step, the views were getting more and more amazing. We were also blessed with the weather. It could have lashed for the past 2 days and I wouldn't have cared, but for the ascent, it was clear, cool and the sun shone brightly giving brilliant visibility. In the distance, above my head, I could see the large boulders of the summit coming into view, so I took out my camera and recorded the final few lurches to the top. With one last heave and ho, I was there, I had summited Roraima, another of my life long dreams. And then the laughter started. I laughed uncontrollably for a minute or so to the fact that I had made this possible. Yes it was arduous but being so remote, thats what made it different. I had completed it, no one can take that away from me and the feeling was immense!
Our accommodation for the next two nights on top of Roraima was in the aptly named Hotel Sucre. This was no ordinary hotel, but a gigantic rock that had a side of it eroded by water many millennia ago. Needless to say, there were no amenities one would associate with a hotel, but there was a natural spring close by masquerading as a jacuzzi, if you don't mind! Once the tents went up and the pot was on the boil, I light one of my flaming swords. A Cohiba Esplanade, one of Cuba's finest cigars to celebrate my accomplishment. Add a drop of Venezuelan reserve rum, and sher we were on to a winner that evening!
Day 4 took us on a stroll around the plateau'd summit of Roraima. 10 hours we spent exploring some 10km of the 34km squared mountain top. Roraima is also called the lost world as I have never seen a landscape anything like it before. It must have been like that for Neil Armstrong when he landed on the moon, a weird landscape altogether, with no where else on the planet to make comparisons. The area is also renowned as being the ideology behind the book, The Lost World by a one Arthur Conan Doyle. Who wood have thunk it. Scientists also believe that Roraima is one of the oldest places on the earth, dating back millions of years ago. I'd be making it up if I said it was 200 million years ago, but it was before my day, lets put it that way.
At that height, the onset of cloud was very irregular but when it did land, visibility was down to a few feet on front of you. Ample visibility I said to myself as I stumbled upon the edge of the bloody mountain. When I noticed it and looked down, all I could think of was 'bleugh'.. Okay, let's get back from the edge a bit here please, thank you very much folks! We then trekked to a small valley called crystal valley and sure enough there was crystals, EVERYWHERE! The baldy bloke from crystal maze would have wet his pants if he had seen such a sight! It was great to see it and after many photos we leave the place unscathed by our arrival, as the local Indians believe that the mountain has its own powers, and of you were to bring crystals off the mountain it brings bad weather etc, etc. I don't believe in it, but you have to respect their beliefs don't you.
Our guide and porters we brilliant and they did a stellar job looking after us all. I'd say the average age between them was 22 or so, but with probably so many years living beside the mountain it was second nature for them to look after us novices. I couldn't thank them enough for their hard work and dedication to us.
Day 4, 5 and 6 were the days for the descent. Day 5 especially was an absolute b****, with fatigue setting in, muscles burning, trying to cope with each step down, it was pure adrenaline (and a sneaky few snickers bars) that got us down to the camp in jig time. I must say, just like when we hit the summit, getting back to Paraitepuy was another accomplishment. We were finally finished Roraima and we could sit in the distance with a cool beer in hand and look back at the giant we had just climbed. Roraima done. Chalk it down, boi!
On our return to Santa Elena, we had only heard of the passing of the Venezuelan president, Hugo Chavez as we were put of radio contact for 6 das. The people that I met on my climb were from the 20% of the population who would have been further educated earlier in life and were opposed to the communist rule. It became so apparent to me of how bad of a leader he was to some people, that when they saw his funeral on tv, one of them let a shout/cheer at the tv. Not to cheer to a mans death but of the possible brighter dawn in Venezuelan politics and leadership.
With that, I had no more time to spare, so I got my council together and we went lobbying for votes! Vote #1 El Pedro! God only knows how the votes will go, but watch this space.
I move then to Brazil to continue my travels, for another adventure, different cultures, language, scenery, people and a dash of craic that I'm sure to instil along the way.
Hope your enjoying the reading as much as I am living it!