Trip Report Thirteen:
La Playa
June 9 - June 21
see pictures from this trip report
Trip Report Thirteen:
see pictures from this trip report
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June 9 - I spend the day in Santa Elena doing email and finding new treads for my bike. The bike shops in Santa Elena doesn't have new 26 inch tires, so I buy overpriced used ones with half-worn treads. June 10 -I cycle north over the Gran Sabana on a
well-paved road with wide shoulders and little
traffic. This is the land of the 'tepuys', immense
flat-topped mountains and thousands of waterfalls.
Angel Falls is nearby but prohibitively expensive for
me to visit. Luckily the biggest tepuy in the Gran
Sabana is for me more fascinating and also more
economical to access. This tepuy is known as Roraima
and is located about 100 kilometers to the northeast
of Santa Elena on the Venezuela / Brazil / Guyana
triple junction. It is a magnificent mountain with an
immense summit measuring 15 by 7 kilometers, vertical
walls on all sides, and lush jungle on the flanks.
Like a signature-seeker who spots a famous celebrity,
I feel compeled to get to the top of this amazing mountain. At San Francisco de Yuruani, within sight
of the massif, I leave the main highway and head east
on a dirt spur road which leads 26 kilometers to the
Pemon village of Pareitepui. The dirt road is in
moderately good condition but some inclines are so
steep that I must push my bicycle and trailer. I
arrive in Pareitepui and begin searching for a guide
that will take me up to the mountain at a reasonable
price (the Venezuelan authorities have decreed that
the Roraima summit may only be visited with at
official guide). The park officials in Pareitepui set
me up with a young man named Tony who agrees to
accompany me for 15 thousand Bolivares a day (about 20
dollars). It is pretty pricey -- especially for a
typical Roraima trip that lasts 6 to 10 days -- but I
have a trick up my sleeve. Unbeknownst to Tony, I
plan to do the entire roundtrip in just two long days.
This is both for financial econcomy and to conserve
time so I get back to the U.S. more quickly and
appease those who are
waiting for me. The good news is that Tony has a
bicycle he can use to get to the Rio Tek so we will be
able to exchange five hours of flat hiking for an hour-and-a-half-long bike ride. Total distance biked
from Santa Elena to Pareitepui 95 kilometers.
June 11 - We sleep in Pareitepui and get up for a six
AM departure. The ride to the river Tek is delectable
single track, mostly flat and hardpacked, with
stunning views of Roraima and Kukenan Tepuy to the
left of Roraima. The 15 kilometer ride brings us to
the Rio Tek where we stash our bikes in the woods,
ford the river flowing at hip height, and begin a
walk up the low-angle ramparts of the immense
mountain. At 'base camp' we rest briefly. Here the
route changes angle dramatically and climbs steeply
via a ledge system to the summit, following the
mountain's only walk-up route. Mid-way up the ledge
system we encounter a very pretty, dark meter-long
snake that scares the bejesus out of Tony. He tells
me the multisyllabic Pemon name for the animal and
indicates that when it bites you the game is over.
Later I use a snake book to identify our serpent as a
fer-de-lance. At the top of the ledge system
(approximately 2800 meters), Tony and I break out into
an eerie flat world of sculpted rock, with both ponded
and flowing water. We make camp close to where we
topped out in 'el hotel', a small but comfortable
limestone overhang. The Lariam helps me to dream that
the bungey cords in my tent are venemous snakes.
June 12 - I wake Tony up early because I want to get
to the triple point and back to Pareitepui before I
have to pay for another day of his guide service.
Tony is uninspired to go to the triple point claiming
that it is a long, monotonous 8-hour round trip walk.
But I make him lead me there anyways because the
triple
point is very near to the highest point in Guyana and
I must stand on that point at all costs. Tony thinks
I
am a freak but he is a good guy and agrees to satisfy
his gringo's whim. After bagging Guyana's high point,
we make the long return trip to Pareitepui. We cover
about 50 kilometers of terrain today, the last 15
kilometers again via bicycle.
June 13 - After a fitful night dissuading Pareitepui's
emaciated canines from rummaging through my bike bag,
I cycle west out to the Gran Sabana highway and then
northwards. It is a day of very pleaurable cycling
with frequent views of tepuys, many flowing rivers and
waterfalls. Just before the 82-meter high roadside
Kama waterfall I pass through a stretch of road
littered with locust carcasses. A little further and
I am pelted in the face by the 10 centimeter-long
insects as I am cycling. It feels somewhat like being
hit with whiffle balls. I make it all the way to
kilometer 141 where I find a small developed campsite
and snack bar. I cover the last 20 kilometers in the
rain and pitch dark. I am able to follow the newly
painted road, but am worried about unseen poisonous
snakes laying in wait
for me (during the course of the day I have seen about
a dozen dead, flat snakes in the road). Total
distance cycled 138 kilometers.
June 14 - Near kilometer post 135 I crest the highest
point of the Gran Sabana highway (1440 meters). Here
the weather is pleasant and the views are magnificent.
But by the time I reach kilometer post 95, an
hour-and-a-half later, I have descended into the
humid, uncomfortable jungle. From here until the
Orinoco River the roads are flat, straight, hot,
tree-lined, and monotonous. I cycle all the way to
the city of Tumuremo where I spend the night in an
air-conditioned hotel and eat hepatitis burgers in the
central plaza. Total distance biked 212 kilometers.
June 15 - It promises to be a dreary, hot, trafficky
road between Tumuremo and Ciudad Guayana and then
again between Ciudad Guyana and Maturin. I decide to
hop a bus to bypass this 300 kilometer leg because it
will allow me to finish my trip in style. In other
words, I can arrive at the beach and have time to
snorkel. I quickly discover that Venezuelan buses are
deplorable. Drivers take breaks about every hour and
air-conditioning is an unknown concept. It takes me
10 hours to make the trip to Maturin, including a bus
transfer in Ciudad Guayana and a ferry ride across the
Orinoco. I arrive late in Maturin on a pay-day friday
to find that all hotels are filled except for an
overpriced brothel which adjoins a karaoke bar. I am
bitter and exhausted after my day of public
transportation, but unable to sleep with the throb of
the karaoke next door. Reluctantly I put on some
pants
and head into the bar thinking that a beer might help
to relax me enough to fall asleep. Six beers later
(all of them gifts from friendly Venezuelans) and I
find myself at the microphone singing Whitney
Houston's 'Greatest Love of All' to a cheering crowd.
June 16 - I can smell the beach. It is just two days
away, on the other side of a small coastal range which
is the final eastward-running spur of the Northern
Andes. I cycle from sea level at Maturin, through
fruit-growing communities (read free mangos on
the roadsides!) up into the relative cool of the
mountains. During the last 20 kilometer climb up
windy roads to Caripe I pass through a violent rain
squall. Several vehicles pass and offer unsolicited
rides. They don't understand that I am having fun. I
detour to the impressive Cueva del Guacharo
(Venezula's largest cave) before getting to Caripe at
about five in the afternoon. Total distance biked 109
kilometers.
June 17 - I know that today I will be swimming in the
Caribbean so I wake up super early. I climb to the
crest of the coast range at 1200 meters before
beginning a steep descent. In the distance I see a
body of water that I imagine is my ocean. An
hour later I reach it only to realize that it is a
reservoir and that the coast is still 30 kilometers
distant. The 30 kilometers is interminable and
involves at least five hot, steep hills, each rising
at
least 100 vertical meters. They feel like the false
summits on an especially painful snow-covered volcano.
Finally I break through the last 'summit' and see that
my road is a clear shot down to the Caribbean. I
break
out onto the coastal road some 10 kilometers west of
Carupano and take a quick glance at the nearest
litter-strewn beach before proceding westwards. My
destination for the day is the gringo beach domain
known as Santa Fe, 110 kilometers to the west. The
Santa Fe beach is clean and my swim can wait until
the evening (to be honest, I am actually worried about
the effects of sea salt and chafing in my bike shorts). The coastal road in Sucre Province is
stunningly beautiful when it is possible to overlook
the mountains of trash heaped up on the side of the
road. During the course of the day I have ample
opportunity to observe how the trash accumulates. I
witness drivers and passengers alike, both sober and
drunk, partaking in the popular pasttime of launching
empty bottles and cans out their car windows. I even
observe a glass beer bottle as it is ejected from the
window (passenger side) of a police vehicle. Perhaps
it is because today is a sunday, but I marvel that
this coastal road is populated by the highest
percentage of morons of any stretch of highway that I
have traversed during the last six months.
Pedestrians and car passengers and groups of men at
the side of the road are universally holding Polar
beer bottles appearing to drink them as quickly as
their money will allow. In fits of inebriation and
boredom my roadside audience shouts out such witty
remarks as "Gringo!" and "Hey!" and "Americano!". I
see no games of soccer, no church services in
progress, and virtually no swimmers or boaters in the
clear, warm ocean waters. Venezuelan dogs appear just
as idle, barking once loudly and sometimes raising
their heads off the pavement, but seldom bothering to
chase me for more than a few meters (this is not
necessarily a bad thing). Speaking of dogs, I pass
one stretch of putrid highway near the city of Cumana
(oldest Hispanic town in the new world) which wins the
award for highest density of canine carcasses in South
America. Between two adjacent kilometer posts, I
count six corpses! After Cumana's dog graveyard, the
road briefly leaves the coast for a 400 meter vertical
climb through Mochima National Park. Soon after the
corresponding descent, I reach Santa Fe and arrive at
my beachfront hotel room. Aside from a short ride
towards the Puerto La Cruz airport, this beach is
pretty much the end of the line for me and my poor
bicycle. I eat shrimp and drink beer at a beachfront
cafe, chatting with a small horde of European
backpackers who are just beginning their South
American adventure. Total distance biked 172
kilometers.
June 18 - I snorkel and dine on fish and eat a coconut. June 19 - It is raining and I spend the day pulling mango threads out of my teeth. Some of them are days old. June 20 - I cycle the windy, hilly coast road through
Puerto La Cruz to the upscale coastal community of
Lecherias. I dismount from my bicycle in the photo
studio of a Venezuelan friend, Alexandra, whom I met
in Santa Elena ten days earlier. She has offered to
let me stay with her and her 8-year-old daughter in
their beautiful home which overlooks the Caribbean.
Total distance biked 50 kilometers.
June 21 - Alexandra drives me and my packaged bicycle
to the Puerto La Cruz airport. I fly via Caracas to
Miami where I have an all-night layover before
continuing to Seattle. In the Miami airport bathroom
I flush toilet paper down the toilet bowl for the
first time in nearly six months.
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