22-29/11/2011 - Itching for the road

Unsurprisingly, the couple of days after Roraima were spent getting much needed rest and hungrily putting on the kilograms I'd lost from my trek. In Santa Elena there is a little road lined with cheap eateries and I'm beginning to get recognised by a few of the owners due to my many visits which is a nice feeling. I have developed a pretty impressive appetite while here and gained a bit of a reputation with the others at the foundation which confuses me since I've never thought of myself as a big eater and wasn't a hot climate supposed to make you want to eat less? I can only put it down to the tastiness of the food I encounter, or the mammoth portions mum and grandma used to give me back home.

Our little volunteering crew at the road of cheap eateries (me, martina and barry)

Returning from Roraima put me in a mixed mood once again. I was exhausted but at the same time itching to begin travelling in earnest. On Thursday night me and Barry spent the evening having a few beers at Backpackers and as he gave me recommendations for places to see in Peru and a vague plan for my travelling months began to take shape I realised that I wanted to start travelling as soon as possible. I was quietly pleased with the level of communication I'd managed to achieve with our guide Omar during the trek and although my Spanish is still in its infancy, I definitely now have enough to hit the road and maybe even chat to/up the locals.

Work at the foundation continues as usual although my mind is now definitely elsewhere.

On sunday we headed for an all-you-can-eat meat buffet over the border in Brazil and although a lot of the meat was on the dry side, we devoured several plate-full's between us. Afterwards, back in Venezuela we stopped at a bar, literally by the side of the road, where there was live music and locals dancing. Me and Barry lamented the lack of dancing culture in the UK while in front of us locals, young and old alike, took to the floor for fast paced meringue (or at least I think that's what its called). Few middle aged women, and even less men, are on the thin side in Venezuela but they could still move a fair bit and certainly put us to shame. We reckoned the equivalent in the UK would probably be a pub quiz.

21/11/2011 - Roraima Day 5 – Back to reality

The legs were a little stiff in the morning as we felt the results of yesterday's mammoth day. However once we got going and began retracing our steps down the mountain all was well and we were in high spirits again. Although Omar said we should aim to make it to one of the camps en route to the village of Paratepui (our starting point) by nightfall, I had a sneaky suspicion we could make it all the way back. Starting the day in wet, chilly surroundings and progressing to the baking heat of the Sabana was a welcome change and my clothes and sodden trainers, unbelievably still in one piece, began to dry out. As the day's hike progressed, I turned round every once in a while, and as Roraima sank into the distance it was hard to believe that we'd started the morning in such a different world.

As expected, we reached our intended camp with a good 4 hours before nightfall so it made sense to just blast the last 3 hour trek back to the village. Tired muscles complained and sun-singed skin crackled in the heat but the promise of beer at the village kept us going and finally we arrived at Paratepui. I promptly thrust my remaining Bolivars into Omar's hand and asked him to find us beer which he duly obliged. As Vova traded a laser-pen for indigenous necklaces and cups at the local shop, I chatted to Omar about his family and life. Omar is 30 and has 5 kids which is pretty good going (and an interesting comparison with Manuel). I also asked him when he'd next go up Roraima. “Tomorrow, if they need a guide”. Not bad.

We were waiting for Frank to come pick us up and take us back to Santa Elena, but as the hours rolled on and heavy rain set it, it looked like we'd have to spend the night camping under a shelter in the village. Omar very kindly promised us free arepas for breakfast in the morning and the really nice guy in the shop next to which we were sat started making us free pancakes for dinner (neither of us had any cash left). However, just then Frank arrived and we were off, back to Santa Elena, a place of showers, beds and food that wasn't sardines.

20/11/2011 - Roraima Day 4 – To the edge and back

Waking early, we left our stuff at the hotel (we would return the same way and pick it up later) and headed for the northern-most point on Roraima – La Proa. We were still walking through cloud, but once in a while the sun would shine through and we'd get a great view of the rocky landscape, stretching out in every direction. Walking without our bags we struck a lively pace which suited both me and Vova fine. Omar, our indigenous guide, probably thought it was snail pace. Either way we quickly passed the Triple-Point into Brazil and arrived at a sunken lake, one of the sights on the way to La Proa. Vova managed to get some photos before the cloud rolled in after which we walked down into a little valley, the floor of which was littered with crystals. At this point, something one of the researchers for the film “Up” from Pixar Studios had said came back to me. It was something like “The things we saw on Roraima were so crazy that in the film, we had to tone some of them down just to make it believable”.

After another bit of hefty hiking we reached la Proa. Unsurprisingly it was cloudy and we weren't rewarded with a picture-perfect view of Brazil, but peering over the edge of the cliff into a vast cloudy nothingness with no sense of how high up we were was an enchanting experience nonetheless.

The rest of the day we spent retracing our steps back to our very first hotel which we reached with a few hours of daylight to spare. After we'd set up camp I still had some strength left in my legs and was about to badger Omar to take us for more exploration. Then cloud cleared, opening up the sky right in front of us and we were treated to a delicious view of miles and miles of rolling hills of the Gran Sabana below. My drab meal of bread, sardines and mayonnaise tasted delicious and I don't think I've ever eaten in a more spectacular setting. Vova, crazy Russian that he is, had already run out of food by this point and assured me that he would be fine without. “My body will adapt” he told me. Fortunately Omar went and managed to wrangle him some cooked pasta and half a loaf of bread from some other guides nearby. We went to bed exhausted but happy – we'd done more or less 2 days hiking in 1 day and had seen a great deal of this crazy landscape.

19/11/2011 - Roraima Day 3 – Into the lost world

Having said our goodbyes to the rest of the group, myself, Vova and Omar headed off into the misty, drizzly morning. Our destination was the northern-most “hotel” on Roraima, a decent 3-4 hour hike away. During our first 2 days the guides had hardly been necessary, since there was pretty much only one path from the village of Paratepui to Roraima and only one path to the top. Here however it would have been impossible to navigate without Omar, as the “paths” around the top were little more than rocks of a slightly different shade which had been worn by hikers' boots and the odd stepping stone through marshy waters.

Despite the top of the mountain looking more or less flat from down below, our hike saw us navigate mini valleys and clamber over many rocky hillocks as well as stopping to rest near a small waterfall flowing into sunken pool. We arrived at our “hotel” quite early and explored a little around the area. However, Omar assured us that tomorrow would be a long day so we decided to get an early night but not before I'd enjoyed what would be the first of many meals consisting of bread, sardines and mayonnaise.

18/11/2011 - Roraima Day 2 – The ascent

After a hearty breakfast of more cachapas and a quick chat with Chavez we quickly covered the remaining distance to the base camp of Roraima. The seemingly sheer cliff-face of the tepui made me question exactly how we were going to scale this thing, but from the base camp we saw a thin slither of forest progressing at a slant along the wall in front of us and the guides confirmed that our path to the top was somewhere within that jungle. Without further ado, and with our guides beckoning us to go ahead if we wished (“there's only one path – you can't miss it”) we embarked on the 3 hour hike to the top. It quickly became apparent that the rest of my group weren't quite as fit as first appeared so pretty soon I was out in front on my own, pretending that I was the first person exploring this well trodden trail.

Somewhat knackered, we completed the ascent and were greeted by the homogeneously rocky landscape of Roraima's top. The contrast with the scenery of the Grand Sabana below couldn't be any starker and I can see why people compare it to stepping onto “another world”. The top of Roraima is covered in cloud a lot of the time which means visibility fluctuates quite a bit, and upon our arrival the cloud cover meant distant rock formations faded into the mist giving the place a spooky air. My description won't really do it any justice so hopefully the photos (when I get them) will. During our walk across the top to one of the nearby “hotels” (an area under an overhanging rock formation where tents could be pitched out of the rain) a helicopter flew overhead and landed somewhere in the distance to drop off a group of lazy tourists.

Although it had been a relatively short day, I felt we'd earned our dinner. However at this point, whether to eat a large amount or not became a bit of a dilemma. Excrement is not allowed to be left on the top of Roraima and so the guides have a special tube full of chemicals in which they keep our business and which they carry back down to base camp. However, there was only one tube for our group and since me, Vova and Omar (one of the guides) would be going our own way tomorrow, we would have to carry any future conversations with Chavez ourselves – not an appealing proposition. With that in mind I asked for seconds anyway.

17/11/2011 - Roraima Day 1 – First victim

After an early start, Frank, the tour guide, and I drove to Paratepui, a small indigenous village close to Roraima from which the trek would begin. As we bombed along a road which actually tested the capabilities of his massive 4x4 and blasted Phil Collins' greatest hits I couldn't help but grin like an idiot. As was befitting an idiot, I'd forgotten my passport, but luck was on our side and we weren't stopped at any of the army checkpoints on the way out of town. On the way Frank told me that one of the other guys in the group I would be joining was Russian, and spoke hardly any English or Spanish. The Russian guy wanted to break away from the main group with a separate guide, and explore to the northern most point of Roraima, called La Proa, passing Triple Point on the way (a point where the borders of Venezuela, Guyana and Brazil meet). Frank asked me if I wanted to go as well and something about my mood made me say yes without hesitation. With that decided, we faced one further obstacle which was acquiring food for me, since splitting from the group to go with the Russian guy and the other guide meant I would have to carry my own food for 3 days. This was no mean feat at 6 am and at first it looked like we weren't in luck. However after we had knocked on a closed shop front in a small village on the way to Paratepui for about 5 minutes and had all but given up hope, a sleepy looking man came to open the door and enquire as to what the hell we wanted so early. I apologetically stocked up on bread, sardines and mayonnaise and we hit the road once again.

Arriving in Paratepui I met the group I would be trekking up Roraima with: David and Aitor from Spain, Mateo from Hong Kong and Vladimir (Vova) from Moscow. David and Aitor spoke minimal english, Mateo was fluent in English and spoke pretty good Spanish, while Vova, speaking only Russian and a little english had, until my arrival, relied mostly on hang gestures. I quickly realised this was going to be a tri-lingual adventure.

After another breakfast, my 3^rd of the day, we were off! Our first day's walk was a 20km hike over fairly easy terrain to the base camp of Roraima. The weather was perfect for walking and my spirits were further buoyed by the fact that our main guide, Leo, was wearing what looked like a pair of converse (he later explained they were 60s style sports shoes). Now I didn't feel like a total idiot in my £20 trainers.

Despite my tiredness and slight hangover the walk was very enjoyable. Me and Vova chatted in Russian about life, the universe and everything while every step of the way the imposing Roraima loomed ever larger. Our route saw us cross 2 rivers, stopping at the first to have lunch and partake in some skinny dipping, one of the many benefits of having an all male group. The second river crossing claimed its first victim of the trip – my camera spluttered and died as the “waterproof” bag i'd kept it in let me down. I would be relying on my fellow travellers for photos from now on (which probably isn't a bad thing since they all had shiny expensive cameras).

Around 3pm it started drizzling so we stopped and set up camp. The 2 spanish guys had drawn the short straw when it came to tent allocation (theirs was about as effective as a sieve) however one of our guides who was bringing up the rear was carrying a spare so they were spared a soggy night.

The only decent photos I managed to get before my camera died so make the most of them

After an evening meal of spaghetti bolognase prepared by our guides we discussed the perils of “Talking to Chavez” (having a poo to me and you) in the Gran Sabana. Rattlesnakes got a mention but I didn't let that bother me as I went to bed exhausted.

11/11/2011 – 16/11/2011 - So much to see, so little time

At the weekend I made an effort to get a bit more spanish grammar under my belt. It should hopefully improve my current method of speaking in infinitives and gesticulating wildly to indicate different tenses. We made another little excursion into the Gran Sabana to see some waterfalls but sadly didn't see any anteaters.

Some waterfalls off the beaten track in the Gran Sabana

The week began to progress like any other. However speaking to Barry struck home to me how much time I was spending at the foundation and how, relatively, little time I had to travel this massive continent. On wednesday night we all found ourselves at the Backpackers hostel/bar in town enjoying a few beers and free wi-fi internet. As talk turned to weekend plans I realised that I should really start cracking on with some of the things I wanted to do around Santa Elena sooner rather than later. The main one, which I had planned to save until after I'd finished volunteering, was the 6 day trek to the top of Roraima, a tepui (table-mountain) a couple of hours drive from Santa Elena. In an adventurous mood I went and inquired in the nearby tour-company if they had any treks leaving on Friday, only to be disappointed. However, as luck would have it, Richard spotted another tour guide he knew from Santa Elena also having a drink at Backpackers and it transpired that he had space on a trek to Roraima leaving tomorrow at 5am. Sorted.

I felt giddy excitement as we drove back to the foundation, stopping en route to pick up chocolate-based essentials for my trip. Roraima isn't billed as a gentle walk and as I packed my bag that night, minor doubts about my fitness levels and lack of walking shoes began to nag at me but were soon overpowered by thoughts of the adventure awaiting me.

30/10/2011 - Sunday, Drunken Sunday

(This is a post I wrote but forgot to put up last time. It was a really fun day.)

we even tracked down a pumpkin in santa elena

Having opted out of going out last night for halloween (and being thankful I did so, the others told me it wasn't worth it) I went for an early morning bike ride with Manuel, the indigenous indian who works at the foundation, to a nearby river. Before setting off I asked him if I should take some water with us. “You can if you want, I'm going to buy rum.” He wasn't joking.

manuel cycling, beer in hand :)

Before we arrived at the river he'd already polished off 3 beers and when we came to an idyllic little waterfall and pool he cracked out the rum. We messed around near the river for a while and he told me about previous volunteers at the foundation, most of whom he seems to have had an infatuation with. For a bit of context, Manuel is 30, doesn't have a wife or kids and has been working on the foundation on and off for about 7 years. He's a very friendly and happy guy although I'm not sure what to make of the drinking. I'm wary of generalising, but talking with Richard and Martina seemed to confirm that drinking is omnipresent within the indigenous community.

On our way back to the foundation we stopped off at a posada (guest-house) run by some Germans that Manuel knew. They were very friendly and seemed to love the British accent. The 17 year old daughter of the German woman Angela, who runs the posada with her Venezuelan husband, was cajoled into coming to talk to me. I guess this could have been awkward if I hadn't already had a few swigs of Manuel's rum and Angela hadn't given us beer. Manuel drunkenly teased me about this encounter in incomprehensible Spanish all the way back to the foundation. I sobered up in the afternoon, while Manuel kept drinking. In the evening when the 4 of us sat down to have dinner he was completely drunk which was slightly bizarre but I guess it was a sunday after all...

7/11/2011 - 10/11/2011 - Spanish lessons

On monday, I became acquainted with Mavis, a 29 year old Venezuelan lady who was staying and working at one of the tourist camps 5 minutes walk from our farm. She's pretty bored staying on her own, especially when there are no tourists at the camp, so once every couple of nights she has become the recipient of my broken conversational spanish. Her english is very limited which is ideal since it forces me to either make sense of what she's saying or reach for the dictionary. I'm sure its very annoying for her when I ask what a certain word means every other sentence but its great for me.

Mavis used to be a lawyer in a city in western Venezuela but said she got fed up with it, not least since the political situation in Venezuela makes it somewhat difficult to work in law and retain any form of morals or ethics (I couldn't possibly comment on whether this is restricted to Venezuela, especially since I know you'll be reading this mum). Corruption and law go hand in hand here. Richard has a female friend who is a lawyer and when I asked him if she was a good lawyer, he said “Of course”. When I asked him if she was corrupt I received the same reply.

working hard at the foundation

the kids love me, honest

Mavis also told me that last year, while she was on holiday in Italy and had planned to travel and also try and find work, Chavez devalued the Venezuelan currency, which forced her to cut short all her plans and return to Venezuela. A simple story like that made me appreciate how many extra difficulties the Venezuelan people must face in almost daily life, most of which seem to be linked to a lack of security. What can you do in a country where the police are corrupt, the courts are corrupt and the leader makes changes at the drop of a hat?  

31/10/2011 - 6/11/2011 - Into the routine

The week flew by in a blur of playing, teaching, learning spanish, cooking and cleaning. Having gotten bored of running around the farm for exercise, I've started venturing into the woods and found some great paths which definitely beat the treadmill at the gym.

fancy a jog?

 On friday night we went for pizza at a deserted restaurant in town. Having taken our order, the owner then proceeded to have an unrequested 20 minute rant about the state of Venezuela under Chavez. On reflection, it isn't surprising that he hates Chavez's socialist agenda since he, as someone who has quite a bit of money, is exactly the kind of person Chavez is directing his anti-bourgeois rhetoric against. He mentioned that even his assets weren't safe since the government reclaimed and redistributed land and property at will. I tried to ask him why he still stayed in Venezuela if he hated it so much but he brushed this off with  “its where my roots are” etc. It's difficult to debate with people who complain about things they have no control over. Although occasionally interesting, this man's tirade about corruption, Venezuelan mafia, badly trained Cuban doctors in Santa Elena and the things this man wished to do to the president fell into that category. Fortunately the pizzas were delicious.

On saturday, we went for a drive into the Gran Sabana, stopping en route to take in some great views and ending up at a nice little waterfall and diving pool. There was a group of indigenous folk swigging whisky there who, after I'd managed to produce a few competent phrases in Spanish, even offered me some. Finally the Spanish is paying off. Richard used to run one of the tour agencies in Santa Elena so he knows the surrounding area really well and seems to have friends in every small village we stop at. The scenery is an interesting mixture of sprawling grasslands punctuated by clumps of palm trees with the imposing Roraima table-mountain always looming in the background.

In the evening, having discovered a guitar at the foundation, I tried to help love-sick Richard through the medium of song. Despite my tuneful and insightful advice I feel little progress was made.

On sunday morning we went along to the inauguration of the new chief of Mana-Kru (the indigenous community) who had been elected last week. After speeches from people of importance and the ceremony itself, certificates were handed out to many people in recognition of their work within the community. At the end, the youth orchestra from the local music school played some lively pieces and there was a real sense of unity about the whole thing.

Considering that the foundation has been going for around 8 years, it is surprising that the work we do currently doesn't have much recognition in Mana-Kru. Richard mentioned that some members of the indigenous community are somewhat negative towards the foundation, partly because some of them don't agree with the rationale, or see the point, of teaching the children English. Also, some children, especially girls, get drafted early on into helping with household chores and staying at home to look after younger siblings and so can't take part in the activities we organise. However, after we talked to him, the new chief seemed relatively enthusiastic about trying to change the attitude of the community towards the work we do, which will hopefully be a good thing. That said, I am fairly realistic in my expectation of what we can and can't achieve here as European outsiders, but that's not a reason not to try and do as much as we can.

Sunday afternoon also saw the arrival of Barry, an architect in his forties from London, who's going to be volunteering at the foundation for 10 weeks. He's a really nice guy and has done a lot of travelling, some of it in south america, so I'm looking forward to picking his brain for recommendations of where I should explore in my travelling months.