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 3rd 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.
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