coming home...

Apologies for the incredible delay in updating of the blog – I guess that knowing that our days were running low made me want to take in every moment of the trip rather than spend time writing about it. Inspired by my sister Sally's new blog for her study abroad and internships in Brazil (which you can explore at dempsterandchurch.blogspot.com), I am now determined to at least partially bring our blog up to date.

So, currently, Kyla and I are living in lovely Oakland, California, in the wonderfully diverse and vibrant neighborhood of Fruitvale, in a collective house we just formed with two other new-to-the-area folks (one who works at habitat for humanity and the other is a social sciences school teacher at the local middle school). After a little bit of panic and a few side jobs cleaning a house filled with junk and dipping baked goods in chocolate at the only kosher jewish bakery in the east bay, Kyla has found two great part-time jobs working for Sustainable Agriculture Education (SAGE), which is working to connect urban communities with sustainable agricultural products, experiences, and education, and Oakland Youth Chorus, an after-school program for kids from low-income families near our neighborhood which creates opportunities for them to learn dance and music and do their school work. I have returned to the union and am working on some very exciting and interesting organizing campaigns. Zazu is back living with us and enjoying all the off-leash parks around us and spending time with our housemate’s dog Hans, although she tells us that she misses my parents and would love to spend more time with them and Stimpy whenever we head off on our next international adventures (which we can only hope that there are many more to come…).

Here is a semi-quick run down of some of our adventures from the last month on the trip and our return to the states (minus places that can’t be written about, but which were filled with great experiences that I would love to share with folks). As my mother would call it, a trip through the wayback machine…

Merida – Feeling a bit lonely in Coro, a town so quiet on Sundays that it is said that one can walk naked through the streets and no one would ever see you, I took an overnight bus to the city of Merida, which promised beautiful mountain landscapes and a hopping college kid scene. With my days on the trip becoming numbered, I settled into a comfortable life of hanging out at Patty’s hostal, whose owner delighted in calling everyone “mi amor,” and exploring the seemingly endless array of vegetarian restaurants (including the natural foods one, the hari krishna one, the gourmet one, and the greasy lunch special one). The highlight of any trip to Merida is supposed to be the teleferico – a ski lift of sorts – that is both the world’s tallest and longest, taking you up to nearly 5,000 meters, which is something like 17,000 feet. On a whim, I decided to start walking from the second highest teleferico stop to an old andino town, which I had heard from a fellow traveler was amazingly preserved and that you could walk to it and walk back in a loop to Merida in the same day. Well, after walking for four hours, finding myself lost twice, getting directions from various campesinos and their donkeys, developing silver dollar sized blisters all over my feet from my rapidly disinitigrating $5 Peruvian shoes, I finally arrived in the beautifully quaint, mountain-perched village of Los Nevados with no money in my pocket and no way to get home. It seemed like I was going to have to sleep on a bench in the tiny plaza and wake up at four in the morning to walk back the four hours to the teleferico, but then a local man with a jeep was kind enough to front me some money for food, lodging, and a ride back to Merida.

Los Llanos – While hanging out at Patty’s hostal, I met three nice young guys from Holland who were planning on going on an extreme safari to Los Llanos, an area of the country were rumored to be teeming with rare wildlife. While usually I try to avoid most things involving the word “extreme” or “safari,” let alone the two together, I decided to go along on the adventure in an effort to be open to all the different types of worlds around me and in hopes of seeing some amazing animals. Over the four days in the vast swampy grasslands, I held a 15 foot anaconda, kissed a cayman (a small crocodile), swam with pink river dolphins and piranhas, chased after a family of capybaras (the world’s largest rodent, which are the size of a medium dog), ran barefoot through a jungle following the distinct calls of a howler monkey, and rode on top of a jeep as the sunset and a flock of wild birds flew through the sky and melted in with the emerging stars. We passed the time at night, drinking beers and dancing to reggeton with the local young folks from neighboring farms, and smoking apple flavored, gummy tobacco out of a hookah with the second generation Syrian immigrants.

Caracas – After her three weeks in Los Angeles, Kyla returned to Venezuela and I went to Caracas to pick her up. We spent a few days in Caracas, enjoying each other’s presence, exploring the various worldclass and free museums (another compelling populist move by Chavez has been both reinvesting in the capital’s museums and eliminating entrance fees), and watching the World Cup with our friend Kenny who we met a month earlier climbing to the top of the ancient tabletop mountain Roirama.

San Francisco de Yare – We headed to the very small town of San Francisco de Yare, which explodes into life for a few days every year for the Diablos Danzantes – dancing devils – festival, which brings together Indigenous, African, and Spanish cultures practices in the form of hundreds of men and an young boys dressed in all red clothing and elaborate hand made devil masks, dancing through the streets at all hours to the hypnotic beat of a solo drum. At one point, we found ourselves in the main plaza surrounded by local middle school children – one of whom free-style rapped for us in exchange for us singing Otis Redding’s “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay.” Later, Kyla gave all the young girls bindi stickers that her sister had given to her, and they followed our lead, placing them below their eyes as tear drops. Although this festival is one of the most popular in all of Venezuela, the town is so small that there is no hostal, so we ended up staying in the only place even near town, which was called El Refugio – the refuge – and featured room rentals by the 12 hour period, a guard tower, concealed parking spaces for every room, mirrors on every wall, free pornos on the tv, a 10 person jacuzzi in the room, and piece of furniture shaped like a tiger that we believe was meant to aid in complex sexual positions.

Parque Morrocoy – We spent a day island hopping and scuba diving through the amazingly beautiful Parque Morrocoy with two very nice Jewish Canadians. At one point at the end of the day as we waited for the boat to come back and pick us up, these certain flies suddenly emerged and began to very painfully bite us all over and we were forced to hide under the water until the boat arrived.

Sierra San Luis – We found this amazing hostal in the mountains of Sierra San Luis, which was run by a super sweet Swiss couple who made us delicious vegetarian meals every night and who had recently bought a tv for the first time in fourteen years in order to watch the World Cup. We took hikes through amazingly beautiful landscapes of jungles grasslands, along old Spanish merchant paths.

Coro – In Coro, we went back out to the Medanos because I wanted to show Kyla how unique and awe inspiring they were. Kyla ended up talking with these two local guys, and as usual it resulted in an amazing adventure with us sand boarding down the dunes as the sun set and middle aged men in large dune buggies drove around us like maniacs.

Choroni & Chuao – We took an amzing drive through the hills of a cloud forest to reach the tiny coastal town of Choroni in order to attend the celebrations of San Juan Bautista – Saint John the Baptist – who was the most celebrated Saint in the area by the descendents of African slaves who had taken him on as their patron saint. Throughout the celebration people danced through the streets with a small boy representation of the saint and accompanied by rum-fueled young men banging away at enormous drums made out of nearly full tree trunks. We took a boat to another beach and walked to the town of Chuao, which is only accesible by foot and is surrounded by a collectively run plantation of organic cacao trees that are internationally known for producing the best chocolate in the world. Our last night in Choroni was fishermen’s day – the most important day of the year for this small town and our last real night in Venezuela and on our trip – and we ended up with a wild night that found me singing American folk songs with a group of guys from Argentina, Ireland, and Guyana before getting interrogated by the police for having a baggies of nutritional yeast in my pocket and Kyla winning a booty shaking/dancing contest over all the local young women and slapping a local man who was trying to beat up a few of our newly made Colombian friends.

Caracas to Miami – After some last minute schedule changes by our airlines, we ended up making it back to the states, but had to spend our first night back sleeping on the floor of the Miami airport to the constant noises of automated security advisories and the floor buffing machine.

Chicago to California – We spent a week in Chicago, visiting family and attempting to step back into American cultures in full stride with fourth of july, before we took a roadtrip across country, further treading back into the waters of Americana by hitting up some of the classic road trip spots we had never seen, such as the surreal landscapes of Badlands National Park, the ultimate pit stop that is Wall Drug, SD, the powerful geysers of Yellowstone, and the awe inspiring peaks of the Grand Tetons. After a little time catching up with friends and house hunting in the Bay Area, we headed down to Los Angeles to visit with Kyla’s family for a week, before heading back up to Oakland to try a settle into new lives, new jobs, and a new house, which all felt both strangely normal and completely different.

In my attempt to leave the Caracas airport, drama ensued with batched passport stamps, lost backpack, and malfunctioning credit cards. As usual, everything worked out in the end and I was even treated to an impromptu tour of the sub-basement levels of the airport, which are currently being ripped to shreads and somewhat being rebuilt, in search of my backpack. Luckily a very nice Peruvian man escorted me through the complex city streets and public transport interchanges to reach the bus terminal. Along the way, we brainstormed on ways his children, who live in New Jersey with his ex-wife, could obtain their US citizenship. At the bus station, while waiting for the bus´s flat tire to be repaired, I ended up speaking with a young man who works for the Francisco Miranda Front, a government program which insures that the new social programs are being run fairly and the benefits are actually reaching the people. He shared with me both his sense of the growing socialist revolutionary movement that would unite Latin America as well as the major challenges of poverty and racism that continue to plague Venezuela (from his experiences, most Venezuelans of my color would not speak with a moreno or negro Venezuelan like him). As my bus was ready to leave he handed me a bracelet as a recuredo de un revolucionario.

I arrived at the Coro bus terminal before first light, and ended up falling asleep on a bench at the terminal in an attempt to catch up on some of the sleep I had missed while on the bus since I had forgotten to bring my sweetshirt and, as usual, the air conditiong was on full blast. Coro was a quaint little town with many narrow streets still lined with brightly colored colonial homes and mansions. I found a lovely little hostal called the Casa de los Pajaros which was an 18th century colonial home that had been painstakingly and eccentricly restored by the architect couple who lived there. They had a lovely back patio where I slept in a hammock amongst 3 dogs, 13 puppies, 3 parrots, and a turtle. The only down side was the morning routine of being woken up by a swarm of ferocious mosquitos, their daughter and her friend playing with my jumprope, and the parrots practicing some kind of elaborate primal scream ritual -- but i guess in hind sight, that also had its own charm.

I spent my days wandering through the beautiful streets and lush city parks, taking naps in my hammock to avoide the heat, devouring the not-very-traditional-but-very-tastey baked whole wheat empanadas filled with carne de soya at the rare and wonderful centro vegetariano, visiting a former secret prayer room where the small community of jews would sneak in and gather to celebrate the high holidays (more on this community below), going to the movie theater to see disapointing american movies, hanging out at the oldest bar in town and getting drinks bought for me by drunk old men who wanted to talk politics, and trudging through the Medanos de Coro enormous sand dunes just outside of town where the wind is so strong that it erases your footprints in seconds and throws sand against your skin at such a velocity that it actually causes great pain.

Definitely one of the highlights of Coro, though, was visiting the tiny jewish cemetary. Apparently, around 120 Jews came to Coro from the then Dutch island colony of Curaco in the 1820´s in order to develop informal (read: illegal) trade. After days of trying to contact the caretaker of the locked cemetary, I decided to walk by it and there just happen to a man sitting at the gate, he let me in and I walked amongst the tombstones baring what seemed to me to be very "non-Jewish" last names such as Henriquez, Maduro, and Curiel. On top of the graves were the usual jewish tradition of rocks left by visitors as well as the unusual presence of stone carved angels (apparently one of the assimilation/survival tactics of the small Jewish community in the hostile environment, where there were their own Venezuelan versions of progroms, was to adopt to certain Catholic burial customs). Suddenly, the gates to the cemetary opened and in walked nearly the entire staff of the US Embassy in Caracas on a mermorial day field trip, receiving a tour of the cemetary from Senor Henriquez, who along with his sister are the only living remnants of the once small but influential Jewish community in Coro. After the US Embassy folks left (reminding me that I should register with them in case my mother calls them looking for me), I got to drive around Coro with Senor Henriquez in his giant gas guzzler Lincoln. As he drove around, half watching the road and half looking for his cell phone, he told me the story of his Jewish ancestors who wove a complex history starting in Spain, fleeing to Protugal, receiving sanctuary in Holand, leaving for the isalnd of Curaco to develop businesses, expanding those businesses illegally to Coro, Venezuela, returning to Curaco because of persecution in Coro after Venezuelan independence, and finally returning once again to Coro after making international appeals and receiving protection from the Venezuelan government. I´ve been trying to figure out for my self what it means to be Jewish or have Jewish cultures and/or ancestry, since, like Senor Henriquez´s children, I am a non-practicing half-breed born of a Catholic mother, so I aksed him what being Jewish meant to him, and all he said was "very proud." I guess maybe it´s a silly question to ask him, since do he and I really have any kind of common identity as "Jewish" since we come from different "tribes" and our ancestors have traced very different paths. But, perhaps, our "Jewishness" doesn´t come from having the same story, but more so in the ways in which are families´ share parallel survivial stories of migration, altered last names, and adapted cultural/religious practices.

take care,

max

translation of mural in coro, venezuela: "i know there is an enemy, it´s imperialism, and i will defeat it"

Gypsy Cab Slideshow!

A review of a the gypsy cabs from San Felix, Venezuela...

Max

Going down, down off the beaten path...

Take ferry from Chaguramas, Trinidad, to Guiria, Venezuela. go to docks to look for boat. find merchandise trading boat. talk to naturist who broadcasts music from a loudspeaker above his store. meet boat the next day. boat loaded with beer, watermelon, plantains, cabbage, yucca, 2 guys, and us. start to leave, but we notice a huge hole in the front. hole is fixed with rope and hammer. leave again. sea is rough. we get completely wet. one engine dies. the other engine dies. no land in sight. emergency plans race through our minds. 2 guys yell at each other. engines start. kyla puts on poncho. max hides under tarp. max feels sick. max throws up. max falls asleep. thick mangrove forests. flame of petroleum processing plant at night. cold & tired we reach Pedernales. municipal security guard walks us around town looking for someone´s house where we can sleep. find hospedaje. no restaurants open. hot dog and hamburger vendors. buy tang. dinner of bread and olives. talk to man who recently formed municipal workers union and was then fired. wake up at 3am to catch on boat out of town. stop for cheese arepas and tinto at a jungle shack. arrive at a boat ramp in Tucupita. hop in a cab to Ciudad Guyana, a city know by its parts -- San Felix and Puerto Ordaz, where a black river and a white river meet and slightly mix. catch a bus to Callao. meet very nice people who are on their way home to the next town. they invite us to spend the night. we stay on the bus for a free ride to their town of Tumeremo. they make us dinner. we wash our smelly and salty clothes. we go out to a local bar. dance with everyone. buy them lots of beer. talk about local gold mining. leave town towards the Gran Sabana. see great film dramatizing El Salvador civil war on the bus. jump from seat to seat to see the amazing tepuis -- table top mountains -- in the setting sun. arrive in Santa Elena and eat surprisingly good chinese food.

max.

"Like T&T, It´s Dynamite!"

Trinidad & Tobago stole my heart away with its... doubles, liming, c.l.r. james, ferries, maubi juice, red & black, punch, soca, ¨roll it down, roll it down¨, carnival, queen´s park savanah, channa, largest pitch lake in the world, temple, roti, rides from police, candidate for minister of national security, trinis, ¨a big man like you¨, hardline vegetarian, club 51 degrees, prayer flags, rastafarian, guiness, deepfried garbanzo bean balls with mango chutney sauce, u.s. marines, bohdi, st. james, soca warriors, mother nature, booby island, church, smokey & bunty´s, pier 1, ground provisions, independence square, mas camps, university of west indies press, veggie burgers on the street, ¨i´ve got the love of jah in me¨, ice cold coconuts, broken down rental cars, soca chutney, maxis, ground provisions, squeeze, sport fishing, politics is culture, the copper kettle, argyle waterfall cooldown, temple on the water, carib, pumpkin, brian, snorkelling, ex-pats, church´s chicken veggie burger meal for lent, cricket, roxbourgh, consious reggae, interfaith prayers, mackeson, driving through the oldest protected jungle, calypso, tunapuna, "a pretty boy", ganja, masque, homemade guiness ice cream, culture is politics, chef & bbqs, chaguramas, sea moss, fredrick street, pirated CDs, funeral parades, impossible is nothing, murder, KAI-SO-O-O-O!

Max

Across Venezuela in a Week!

In our continued effort to be open to the world and people (and as Kyla would say the voices of the Universe) around us, we changed our minds at the Santa Marta, Colombia, bus station and bought a ticket for the Venezuelan capital of Caracas rather than the Colombian desert penninsula of La Guajira. Despite a large rock thrown at our bus that smashed the window directly behind our seats, the decision seems to have been a great one. Despite the facts that we wanted to move across Venezuela pretty quickly in order to get to the eastern edge where we could take a boat to Trinidad & Tobago and the bizzare rumor floating amongst international travelers in Colombia that Venezuelans were very cold and nasty, we we managed to have a few wonderful adventures a long the way...

- Kyla won her first victory against the powerful South American logic of keeping the temperature of buses at sub-freezing levels, and the bus driver actually turned off the blasting air conditioning for a few minutes.

- We went to see a sex musical in Caracas called "Oh, Caracas!", which turned out to be probably the worst piece of theater either of us had ever seen -- there was even a lip-synching, group strip dance to John Lennon´s "Imagine."


- We tried to go snorkelling at some islands off the coast of Santa Fe, but they didn´t have enough snorkelling masks, so we convinced them to drop us off at the hopping Playa Colorado, where a samba band was playing and a local family adopted us -- never letting our hands be without a beer, burying me in the sand, pairing Kyla up with dance partners, and sharing with us how their lives had persoally be impacted by the Socialist Revolution (two nearly-blind nephews had been flown to Cuba for free eye surgery and now could see, a niece was receiving free medical training and in five years would be the family´s first doctor, and illiterate elderly friends were learning to write their names for the first time)

- We ended up in the not too exciting town of Cumana for a night, and happened upon a serious karaoke competition next door to our hotel. After the competition ended in controversy and after much encouragement by a random guy who REALLY wanted us to sing, Fred Whalen Brainin made his frist apperance in South America and the small pizza joint came alive with people standing up, clapping, and even screaming as he danced around and belted Bon Jovi´s "Livin´on a Prayer" (which was dedicated to the immense hope for a better world that Venezuelans have)

- After a wide variety of rural transportation, we arrived at the Cueva de Guacheros, where thousands of Oil Birds live. We ended up staying at the house of a local guide, whose parents were anti-war activists who raised him on a macrobiotic diet. Their neighbors grew coffee and they shared with us the most amazing tasting cups of coffee I have ever tasted as we discussed the ways in which the Chavez government has been dramatically increasing the percentage of coffee profits that actually go to the grower in Venezuela. As an added treat, our guide-host took us to the Cueva after hours to see all the Oil Birds clacking like a million deranged typists and flying out into the lightning-filled night in search of berries.


- We came across amazing natural thermal baths with delightful mud pits. We almost got stranded in the middle of nowhere, as the gypsy cabs stopped running after dark and the buses seemed to follow their own schedule, but then we got picked up by a van, which was a free rural transporation program recently started by the Chavez government to help poor rural communities.



- We eventually made it to the eastern most Venezuelan city accessible by road, Guiria, and after a few nights of hanging out with the crew from a luxury charter yacht owned by Mr. Mars of Mars Candy Bars, we jumped aboard the yacht to Trinidad & Tobago, with hot Soca beats balsting out of the speakers on the upper deck and all the soft drinks you could drink in the lower inside cabin.


Max

Getting Dirty!

Bring on the Mud....

While in route to Güiria, Venezuela, we stopped by some natural hot springs and mud pools. Here is our fashion shoot....

The Gran Sabana Part 2

Read the previous entry first if you haven`t done so!

.... So we continued with hitch hiking since it had worked so well before and waited 45 mins or so to end up in the back of a dodge truck with a driver who had a foot of lead. The scenery was beautiful and the fresh air felt great until it began to rain. We scrambled to get out our water proof ponchos, and hundled under them until the skies cleared and rainbows filled in where grey clouds had just left. This ride brought us to the main highway, to a popular campsite behind one of the few gas stations, with not much daytime left and the realization that all the rooms were booked.

We tried our luck again and by a twist of fate, I met eyes with Giuermo, a Venezuelano in his late 20`s who spoke english and was packed in a land rover with 3 other friends riding along to the sounds of Bob Marley. We crammed in there amoungst guitar and rum bottles, and set off, listening to Dave Matthews and many other hits from my high school, early college years... it felt like heaven. We had decided to go with them to a less well-know site since everything was full along the way, and the sun was quickly setting to a full moon. They took us to see Salto Kama, a cascade that is said to be a two headed snake in indigenous folklore, brillantly falling into pools below. Buying a bit of food for the night, and hoping we could sleep in their car, we set off for ...... which was off the Semana Santa map and was pleasantly quiet, yet very chilly.

After a night of reggae songs on repeat, and sleeping comfortable in their car, we got to go swimming in a natural pool and got zapped by the sun (due to our malaria medicine, Max burnt his hand so bad it blistered). We also awoke to a hike to a nearby hill which looked over completely open land... a sight that would awe people in Holland or Japan.

We had another interesting run-in with machismo, except this time with people of our own age that seemed hip to social change. The driver of the group, as I guess many men here behind the wheel, had the say in what was going to happen and when.... making the plans with his other buddy drivers without asking his wife, and two other friends in the back. Of course we were just along for the ride (and decided to catch another one to the border for another go at Acai), and thus witnessed a slow, slow day of waiting, unrational decision making, and coordinating to meet up with others, which landed us in Brazil around 5pm. Of course the sweet taste of that fruit with it`s hints of chocolate and berry (have I been drinking wine?) were worth it in the end and we made the best of it.

We got back to Santa Elena that night to realize that there weren`t enough people to do the Roraima trek that we had hoped for. However talking to our new friend, and soon after tent mate, Yossi, we decided that we`d all pay a bit more to make it happen... ¨vale la pena¨ so they say.

Roraima is an amazing Tepuy, a flat mountain plain believed to exist before there was life on earth- due to it`s lack of fossils. The rock formations remind me of what coral reefs would look like if solidified and brought to surface, and with a twist of imagination you can make out faces and UFOs in them (apparently many sightings have been seen in this area and we heard many stories from people to prove it!) Once you reach the top it`s possible to see valleys of crystals, caves with oilbirds, ¨jacuzzis¨with quartz bottoms (although a bit chilly), and amazing of plant species, 50% of which have only been identified on this tepuy.

Here are just a few of all the memorable moments...

-Yossi, our other camping/hiking mate, made a witty speech on our way up declaring that this was his last hike and we must carry on the tradition. Below is Max sealing the deal...

- The first afternoon after reaching the top, Max and I convinced our guide to let us go for a little walk, as he didn`t have a rain coat and we didn`t want to just sit around such an amazing place in our tents (you are literally in the clouds here at an elevation of 2,700 meters or so). We followed a sand path into the mist, amoungst crystals, rocks, unusual plants and miniture waterfalls coming to life from the light rain. It is truly an extrodinary place. After a few hours of walking or so, not making the full circle back to the campsite as we had thought, we were stuck in pure fog with visibility of 20 feet or so. Yes, we were lost! The formations all looked so different and nothing was familiar... this tepuy is so large that you could take 2 full days just walking across it.) At first we kept walking, looking for something to lead us back. To make a long drawn out time a bit more concise, we eventually reached the point of running towards the setting sun, frantically screaming hoping our group would hear, running more through puddles and ancient plants (me apologizing all the way), and eventually üsing the force¨to guide us back. It apparently worked as, with 10 minutes of light to spare, we found a road of sand which led us to a familiar rock formation.... ahhh the relief of not having to sleep out in the freezing open winds, with nothing but our body heat to get us through the night. Here are pics of our soaking feet and the relief on our faces of finding our ¨hotel¨...

-The next day, hearts beating at a normal speed now, we explored Roraima with our guide and porter (who really knew much more about the mountain and took us on our own afternoon adventure). We layed in crystals- meditating awhile and taking in the good energy, jumped in freezing cold pools lined with crystals at the bottom, ventured 86m into a cave, spent time looking over the edge, and of course taking many pictures.

-After my last declared walk with my beloved Crocs, I found them another pair of feet to get cozy with.... an older woman in the first camp by the name of Trinida who was getting burnt by blazing embers of the fire she and another woman, Dolphina, kept going most of the night. They were making Kichiri...a four hour process of heating yucca, batata (a local root plant) and water together, nessecary to make the yucca juice not poisonous to drink. When I left the next morning, they gave me a gift of a handmade necklace to show their gratitude... I was very touched.

-Spent time taking in Nelzon´s, our porter, stories.... he had many good ones about the government and their treatment of indigenous people which I`ll be sharing more of when i return. Here he is with his extremely heavy pack, crossing the Kukenan river with Roraima in the background.....

-And this one goes out to Brian.....

The Gran Sabana Part 1

Our adventures have continued in Venezuela, headed quickly south from Güiria to the Gran Sabana on river boats (some loaded with beer, bananas, and lettuce... Max might fill you all in on this!).

We evetually made it to Santa Elena, a town that has grown from diamonds, gold and tourists in the area, and had a few weeks of adventures starting with our bike ride to Brazil. Yes I never thought the words would come out of my mouth, but we rode a bike to Brazil...



Just a quick ride amoungst breaking ground for 5 star hotels, forest, grassland and police check points along the way, we ended up on the bordering town without having to buy the $130 or so visa required of american citizens to enter such a vibrant place. OUr day trip consisted of Acai/ Guarana smoothies (ohhhhhhhhhh so good), brazilian nuts, a little shopping along the way and ended up with confrontation with the fabulously organized laws of Venezuela....


Along the route we had noticed a sign for a waterfall just 5km off the carratera and decided, with more sunshine to spare and lots of energy from our drinks, to venture off to take it in. About a quarter km down the road we were stopped by a checkpoint and asked to show our passports. Happily to do so, we started chatting with the man in charge who told us that we had to go get a permit from the linea (border) to pass through there. Appartently the road leads to mining areas where foreigners are known to come look for illegal work and the road is highly supervised. Equipped with our waterbottle, and sweating we had a long discussion of why we couldn`t just go see the waterfall and return... I getting a bit worked up on the ridiculousness of the notion that on a Sunday afternoon we were off with nothing but our rented bikes to go find work amoungst miners! Trying to reason with a man spitting out his chewing tobacco and explaining his unlogical power trip with a huge wad in his cheek, was a bit frustrating. I wanted to see this through so convinced Max to ride back the 40 min round trip to the border for whatever slip they were willing to give.

Upon our return, no one seemed to know about this new law and were questioning why the guards didn`t just let us cross. After talking to many people and getting no slip, we returned with the name of Officer Vargas to call if we had any more disputes. Of course the story follows that we weren`t allowed across on principal of ¨following orders¨as well as an unwillingness to call the linea and work out permission... all of a sudden the location changed and we were suppose to get permission in Santa Elena instead. Puffing a bit (it`s been a long time since I last got on a bike), and in my broken spanish I pleaded, telling then how ridiculous the situation was to no avail.... defeated we rode back in the sunset, our ¨dairy eirs¨(as my gran gran says and I`m sure would correct my spelling!) killing from being in the saddle a bit too long.


The next day we decided to be official and take a tour of the Gran Sabana to waterfalls and a abyss where the amazon begins. Unknowingly we ended up on the same rode as the day before, confronted with some of the same policemen.... now it seemed a bit strange. Needless to say we were forced back to Santa Elena to get the permit ( a piece of paper with our names and an öfficial stamp¨) and were on our way, down a long dirt road the color of jasper.


After being disappointed with yet another overly expensive tour (Mystic Tours is not recommended!!!), we decided to have our own with nothing but our packs, spanish, and thumbs to help us along the way. Hitchhiking is easy with buses (of course you must pay!) and we found ourselves dropped off after a two hour ride facing a long road, 6 hours from our destination, hungry from fasting in the morning with hardly any water. Luckily we were welcomed into the back of a families pick up amoungst their cooler and camping gear, who were headed exactly where we wanted to go... Salto Apongauo... a 100 meter waterfall that has rainbows at it`s end if seen in the right light.


The week now was Semana Santa which is the Venezuelan version of Spring break where most people get the whole week off (and then some) to get out of the city with their family. The hip place was amoungst all this open land and waterfalls which was flooded with tourists for the week! When we arrived at the camp site, which was now covered with 4x4s, we were lucky to find a matrimonial hammock that was hand weaved by indigenous people in the far south of Venezuela... wanting to sell it at some point, we promised the family not to get it dirty and it made quite a comfortable spot to crash for the night. Finally breaking our semi-fasting mode (we were given beers by the group we caught the ride with) we sat down to rice, salad and platanoes... a bland meal that can always be spiced up with aji and salt. A moment that Max will always remember was when I poured the hot sauce all over my food and said ¨oh there is an ant in my food.... no wait, the food is ants!!) Apparently being out in this acidic soils made the local treat termites and fish heads in a hot sauce.... not quite vegetarian friendly but a learning experience none the less.... it had been the first time in awhile that I thought ¨wow, I`m really far from home! Scrapping the legs and thoraxes to the side, we didn`t offend anyone and ended up getting to know a local family, swimming and playing cards with the local children.



And the adventures continued on.......

Carribean dreams

Soca-chutney music, white sand beaches, parrot fish, brain coral, vegetarian burgers on the streets, driving on the right side through a rainforest, speaking english and only a four hour tour from Venezuela. Where is this paradise for a beach going vegetarian? T&T (Trinidad and Tobago) where Max and I spent 2 weeks in a dream from our spanish filled days searching for food other than rice. Amazing Carribean islands that, although quite expensive, we managed to live the dream of wealthy British vacationers, in our humble budget thanks to the help of generous people and the most delicious vegetarian comida incredible in price (a garbanzo bean ¨double¨costs an equivalent of 33 cents). Did I say the food was amazing? As we try explaining to people that we don´t eat meat here in Venezuela, I dream of finding guiness ice cream on the street once more, or soul food vegetarian joints a block from our posadas..... ahhhhhhhhh (with Homer Simpson in mind).

Besides gorging ourselve on Rotis, cashew nuts, and punch (amazing smoothies with granola and other amazingly healthy items like sea moss, linseed or aloe vera) here are some of our other adventures...

-We met a man who is hoping to run for secretary of defense as a twist of fate stopped us from renting a car (seat belt didn´t work! and one was missing a side mirror critical especially in this former British Colony´s driving style). We shared politics over a beer, and agreed to attend a protest the next day against a smelter (aluminium) plant that was going to be put up in the south, destroying amazing forests and relocating people from their birthplaces. The protest was inspiring in a Trinidad manner... music blaring, live drums, and followed by a inter-faith ceremony (being Sunday and all). Much hope although the American company does have a lot of leverage with the government, and has been breaking lots of laws in a fashion that is seen from many foreign companies there. It was especially hard to be witness to all these people having to rally together to fight something that is illegal in the States (due to the pollution and other reasons, new smelter plants are no longer allowed to be built on our soil). For some reason a speech came on the loud speekers about GMO´s and the US and I nearly lost myself amoungst hundreds of people staring out to the virgin forest that may soon be ravished by bulldozers. In the spirit of the day, I held in my sorrow, stepped to the side and let the tears drip silently... are we really a part of a system that does such things? Has greed won out over such beauty? Of course I know the answer to these questions, but like to remind myself that I, like everyone, play a role in that no matter how small it is. Here are a few pics from that day....


-On that note we saw the movie ¨V for Vendetta¨ in an old run down theater in Port of Spain with no lights to even guide us down the aisles. Finding our way in pure dark, we sat down to watch a film we knew nothing about (except it´s by the directors of the Matrix, the Malowski bothers, and stars Natalie Portman). WOW, wow and WOw! See it if you haven´t and tell me what you think. We even walked out of Pink Panther to see half of it again (ah poor Steve Martin with his horrible and probably very offensive french accent).

- We ended up on another island- Tobago- after what we thought was only a 2 hour boat ride which turned into what we thought would be 5 hours but actually took 8 hours due to a Cruise ship that was in our port space... screaming and yelling from the passengers (Ï don´t care about no f%&""$!% tourists¨) found us in Scarborough at 11pm, me holding my head from pure sea sickness, without a place to stay. In the Trini style of hospitality we had three people calling around for an economic place for us to sleep including the police who excorted us to ¨Miss I´s¨lovely guest house where we slept for 2 nights.

-We rented a car in Tobago and set off to explore the whole island in the 24 hours we had of freedom... what an amazing thing to stop whenever we felt like it!! We headed east along windy roads and our first stop was because someone flagged us down (aka, stood in the street) and jumped in the back seat! Luckily no knives were pulled but I guess the scam is to get into foreigners cars, sporting an official tourist shirt, and get them to hire you as a guide by spilling out information. We didn´t reach this point as I refused to pull over and kept yelling for him to get out. With the urgency of a truck waiting behind us, he finally got out and we were on our merry way. Another man tried this moments later and I was quick with the gas before he could jump in front of us!

- We ended up sleeping in our hotel on wheels after a day of driving through the rain forest and running into a town hosting a international game fishing tournament! Fishermen and women filled this sleepy town of Charlottesville with talk of marlin, dolphin (maui-maui), and a ridiculous point system. We returned here with our new friend from Canada, Brian, who we had met on a bus and enjoyed the company of greatly only days later.

- In Charlottesville we did a bit of snorkeling and swam out to ¨Booby island¨with Brian, having an amazing time looking at coral and the world of fishes. But a more incredible find was at Bucco reef where I stayed an extra day to go out to the famous Bucco Reef while Max made his way back to Trinidad. I saw trumpet fish, angel fish, and many more I don´t know the name of... perhaps one day I´ll see these again in aquariums or books!

-Our last night in T&T was spent at Brian´s sharing amazing wine, conversations, and a homemade Italian dinner. It was really refreshing meeting someone on our trip who had the same taste in movies, music, and a great demeanor... we spent many a nights talking and sharing stories and listening to ¨Belle and Sebastian¨and ¨Magnetic Fields¨.

Ahhhhh how I miss that country......