Today, I had moments of recalling the time spent on the sunny beaches of Los Roques and the drive by Ramon, accompanied by his lovely lady, Teresa to the hippie colony of Choroni.
It was towards the end of our trip. Ramon had taken time off work to take us to a colony, four hours' drive from Caracas which was his second favourite place to visit in Venezuela.
We had been told by the young Venezuelan; Miguel, whom we met during the waiting period at the airport in Caracas, that the road through The Henry Pittier National Park (I'd say National Mountains) is narrow and dangerous. I forgot to mention Miguel. Sitting two seats away from me at the back row of the gate, waiting to fly to Los Roques, I noticed a young, intellectual-looking, bearded man reading a book. He looked different, with curly dark hair and glasses, jeans falling off his backside (a sign of youth), every so often looking up with observing eyes. So... I began the chat. His father was an ambassador many years ago, in the 'Belle Epoque' and he was brought up abroad in the Far East. He now got a job working for the current government. It made me wonder if Chavez, the president has brought the country to chaos and yet, he has many followers. There are many different views on that of course. One thing is for sure, the division between the poor and the rich, has almost diminished the middle class. The permission to build the favelas by cutting down the trees on the mountains surrounding Caracas, adds further danger of mudslides. I actually saw a toilet hanging on the edge of the remains of walls which was part of a house in a favela up in the mountain ahead.
Miguel was not prepared to give much information on his thoughts on the present government. But he spoke perfect English and we became momentarily friends for the next couple of days on the island.
Anyhow, all this ... To go back to the incredible drive to Choroni.
From Ramon's house, further up in the mountains, we passed a German village... German? Yep; Colonia Trovar. One hour and a half away from Caracas. This place was untrue! So similar to the chalets I have seen numerous times, travelling on the way from Geneva through small villages in Switzerland.
We walked through the village on a sunny early morning, with an aromatic coffee purchased at the cafe. The drive continued. We were now above the white clouds viewed below the mountainous roads.
Passed villages laying deep in the valleys.
From being above the clouds, we drove through them, until they were above us. With waterfalls along the way.
Four and a half hours later, a wide river appeared and we drove through a square to the empty street of colourful houses. It was so picturesque. Soon after, the drive to our posada was in sight. It used to be an old cocoa farm now turned into a posada by the owners.
We dropped our luggage off in our located rooms and took a walk around the village ... The hippie colony of Choroni. And we went to the main bay. Wow.
Eventually, we hit town at dusk. Well, kind of. It was a Friday night and the place gets busy during the week-end beginning Saturday morning when visitors arrive mostly from Maracay on run-down buses.
After some seafood and the strong Caipirinha we were served, a little tipsy, we walked past a cafe, two or three shops open along our route, to reach the few artisans displaying their merchandise of bracelets and handicrafts along the seaside. I saw a man pass by holding a big fish! So asked if I could take a photo.
And the next is one of the rare forms of transport; when it stopped, people just kept pouring out of the vehicle; a true people's carrier in full form.
As I was talking to a cute vendor, buying God knows what from him, Hala was listening to a barefoot man and came to stop me from purchasing more bracelets and said: "Haldita, enough. Let's go. This guy says he's gonna play the drums and is gonna take us somewhere fun!"
"Excellente," I showed off my Spanish, paid the vendor and we left following the 'red Indian' man, now in full conversation with Ramon and Teresa.
Through the unlit, dark muddy roads, we followed the stranger in the drizzle of the rain. We got to a fenced area and entered through a flimsy doorway into a small camping ground with a badly lit-up hut in the middle. The sound of Latino music and the gathering of a handful of Venezuelans could be seen from afar. We joined them under the hut and were introduced to Gerard. A young Frenchman, well-travelled, who spent most the time of the year in Choroni. He talked of the purity of the land and people there and how he planned to spend his retirement in that somewhat untouched, magical colony.
We danced. Teresa sang to the tunes and I spoke to the young girl carrying her newborn in a blanket while shaking her bootie. She then introduced me to her friends and I carried on in my newly acquired language. We left at midnight when the heavy rain had finally stopped.
The next day, the weather was not improving. Very unusual for this time of year, but hey, what is usual any more with the way the world is going? We left Choroni at midday for the long drive back, purchasing the most delicious variety of mangoes being sold on the way. Definitely to return to.
One final thing... Thinking about our time in Choroni, I could not help but recall the moment, dressed in hippie-style jeans shorts, a colourful top and the infamous flip-flops, I looked up at the cloudy sky, walking by the river and thought in owe... 'It takes so little for us to be truly happy. So... Why all the greed?'
It was towards the end of our trip. Ramon had taken time off work to take us to a colony, four hours' drive from Caracas which was his second favourite place to visit in Venezuela.
We had been told by the young Venezuelan; Miguel, whom we met during the waiting period at the airport in Caracas, that the road through The Henry Pittier National Park (I'd say National Mountains) is narrow and dangerous. I forgot to mention Miguel. Sitting two seats away from me at the back row of the gate, waiting to fly to Los Roques, I noticed a young, intellectual-looking, bearded man reading a book. He looked different, with curly dark hair and glasses, jeans falling off his backside (a sign of youth), every so often looking up with observing eyes. So... I began the chat. His father was an ambassador many years ago, in the 'Belle Epoque' and he was brought up abroad in the Far East. He now got a job working for the current government. It made me wonder if Chavez, the president has brought the country to chaos and yet, he has many followers. There are many different views on that of course. One thing is for sure, the division between the poor and the rich, has almost diminished the middle class. The permission to build the favelas by cutting down the trees on the mountains surrounding Caracas, adds further danger of mudslides. I actually saw a toilet hanging on the edge of the remains of walls which was part of a house in a favela up in the mountain ahead.
Miguel was not prepared to give much information on his thoughts on the present government. But he spoke perfect English and we became momentarily friends for the next couple of days on the island.
Anyhow, all this ... To go back to the incredible drive to Choroni.
From Ramon's house, further up in the mountains, we passed a German village... German? Yep; Colonia Trovar. One hour and a half away from Caracas. This place was untrue! So similar to the chalets I have seen numerous times, travelling on the way from Geneva through small villages in Switzerland.
We walked through the village on a sunny early morning, with an aromatic coffee purchased at the cafe. The drive continued. We were now above the white clouds viewed below the mountainous roads.
Passed villages laying deep in the valleys.
From being above the clouds, we drove through them, until they were above us. With waterfalls along the way.
Four and a half hours later, a wide river appeared and we drove through a square to the empty street of colourful houses. It was so picturesque. Soon after, the drive to our posada was in sight. It used to be an old cocoa farm now turned into a posada by the owners.
We dropped our luggage off in our located rooms and took a walk around the village ... The hippie colony of Choroni. And we went to the main bay. Wow.
Eventually, we hit town at dusk. Well, kind of. It was a Friday night and the place gets busy during the week-end beginning Saturday morning when visitors arrive mostly from Maracay on run-down buses.
After some seafood and the strong Caipirinha we were served, a little tipsy, we walked past a cafe, two or three shops open along our route, to reach the few artisans displaying their merchandise of bracelets and handicrafts along the seaside. I saw a man pass by holding a big fish! So asked if I could take a photo.
And the next is one of the rare forms of transport; when it stopped, people just kept pouring out of the vehicle; a true people's carrier in full form.
As I was talking to a cute vendor, buying God knows what from him, Hala was listening to a barefoot man and came to stop me from purchasing more bracelets and said: "Haldita, enough. Let's go. This guy says he's gonna play the drums and is gonna take us somewhere fun!"
"Excellente," I showed off my Spanish, paid the vendor and we left following the 'red Indian' man, now in full conversation with Ramon and Teresa.
Through the unlit, dark muddy roads, we followed the stranger in the drizzle of the rain. We got to a fenced area and entered through a flimsy doorway into a small camping ground with a badly lit-up hut in the middle. The sound of Latino music and the gathering of a handful of Venezuelans could be seen from afar. We joined them under the hut and were introduced to Gerard. A young Frenchman, well-travelled, who spent most the time of the year in Choroni. He talked of the purity of the land and people there and how he planned to spend his retirement in that somewhat untouched, magical colony.
We danced. Teresa sang to the tunes and I spoke to the young girl carrying her newborn in a blanket while shaking her bootie. She then introduced me to her friends and I carried on in my newly acquired language. We left at midnight when the heavy rain had finally stopped.
The next day, the weather was not improving. Very unusual for this time of year, but hey, what is usual any more with the way the world is going? We left Choroni at midday for the long drive back, purchasing the most delicious variety of mangoes being sold on the way. Definitely to return to.
One final thing... Thinking about our time in Choroni, I could not help but recall the moment, dressed in hippie-style jeans shorts, a colourful top and the infamous flip-flops, I looked up at the cloudy sky, walking by the river and thought in owe... 'It takes so little for us to be truly happy. So... Why all the greed?'
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