Hi Friends and Caravaners
Here's another diary entry from a year ago in Venezuela. We had just
gotten the vans from the Aduana in Puerto Cabello almost exactly a month
from the day that we had first touched down on August 1st. We decided
to head west and go up into the Andes near the Colombian border and
then travel eastward through the Andes before we dropped down into the
llanos.
(Written September 3, 2000 - near Seboruco, Venezuela - 8:06PM - while
a storm rages outside here we are (hopefully safe) under a mango tree
at the house of the parents of Freddy Herrera whom I filmed two days
back as he plowed a steep field with a wooden plow and two oxen.)
September 1, 2000 - Seboruco, Estado de Táchira, Venezuela
- After staying the night at the Chacra camping club near El Vigia four
nights ago, we awoke early and decided to work on the gas tank which
had a leak in it somewhere. Will got the handyman jack out and in no
time had the front of the Vanagon high enough to get a block under each
front wheel.
Then when Will started to remove the gas tank, he discovered that
the vent line that goes from the top of the tank back to the fill tube
had broken off - the second time actually since when he had added the
auxiliary tank, it had broken off and he had fixed it with JB weld and
a piece of copper tubing. Since we had no more copper tubing, he used
a piece of hose with a couple of clamps on it and in less than an hour
he was done. Then they worked on Kai's speedometer and finally about
midday we left for El Vigia.
On our left were the foothills of the Andes climbing green and very
steep to seemingly impossibly heights behind. On our right were green
lowlands with large fincas or haciendas of bananas or Zebu cattle. When
I got to El Vigia, I realized immediately that it was not from here
that I went up into the Andes in 1989. We gassed up there and then I
asked if everyone had the patience to persevere for another 90km to
get to La Fria (named because there had been a colony of paludismo there
once and those people were always 'frio') which I immediately recognized
while looking at the map as the place where I had left the plains surrounding
Lake Maracaibo and driven up into the Andes. I also remembered that
the steepest road I had ever been on was just past La Grita which was
up the road into the mountains that left from La Fria.
Finally after what seemed like an eternity, we arrived at an intersection
for the La Grita road. We made our left and headed almost immediately
up into the mountains. We climbed slowly at first and then more rapidly
and finally steeply up the side of a valley with very steep drop-offs
to the right. Although the road was good and the views spectacular,
sometimes we would see yellow or orange markings on the road which we
quickly learned meant that the road ahead -- wasn't. It had just slipped
off the side of the mountain which in these parts was made up of layers
of rock lying on their sides jutting straight up in the air. In one
place we paused for a bit at one of these slides that had been amazingly
repaired with concrete anchored into the rock. We had some sandwiches
here and took some pictures of the flowers and the surroundings.
The we continued up and up and in the distance we could see a village
or town with a church with three towers. Then we left the left side
of the valley and did a steep descent down to the river and crossed
it on a small bridge immediately heading up the right side of the valley.
I remembered from my trip here in 1989 that I had arrived in a small
town square and had a hamburguesa which was one of the best foods I
had had in Venezuela at that time. I thought we were arriving in La
Grita since that was the only road sign that I had seen. Finally we
got to the bottom of the town which I vaguely remember from before because
of a shrine built into a stone wall along side the road. Up through
the steep streets we went and at the top, I saw that there was a street
to the left that went to the town square so I made a left and there
was the plaza with the church that we had seen from miles back.
We pull to the side of the plaza and park and slowly leave our vans
as a turtle who had been hounded by dogs would tentatively open its
shell - one foot at a time. The weather was amazingly refreshing after
the heat of the lowlands which had been oppressive. The people looked
different from the people we had been used to seeing. Many looked European.
The kids, who, like everywhere, have no embarrassment, came and sat
beside us on the park bench. Some had green eyes - the first we had
seen here in Venezuela. As we crept cautiously from our vans, we were
careful to lock them even though we were only 10 feet away. We bought
an ice cream from a fellow in the town square and sat down to take in
the surroundings. There was a Norfolk Island pine growing in the corner
of the square along with many other flowers including some roses --
almost the first roses we have seen. A large jungle looking tree with
roots coming down from its limbs grew nearby. It looked like a banyan
tree from the movies. The square was well maintained as was the town.
The temperature was very refreshing. I welcome everyone to La Grita
which at this time was where I thought we were. Some of us go in search
of a panaderia to stock up on provisions so we can continue the trip.
I just sit and marvel at the tranquility and peace around me after our
long drive across the hot lowlands of Venezuela to get here.
We meet a weasle-like man who talks fast who says he is the mayors'
brother. His name is Luis and I hear people call him 'pollo' or chicken
- probably because he is so skinny and his arm and hand movements are
quick and jerky like a chicken pecking the ground. He wants to take
us to a fiesta which is two blocks away and going on as we speak since
this time of the year is fiesta time for this town which I have learned
is not La Grita but is Seboruco.
The kids who have gathered around us again invite us on a walk to
the top of the hill overlooking the town where there is a mirador or
overlook where they say you can see all the way down the valley to La
Fria. Edison is the teenage talker of the group and takes the lead up
the mountain which is steep but which has an amazing concrete walkway
all the way to the top. The walkway is a work of art in that it is well
maintained and was very difficult to build having been done without
the aide of machines due to the steepness and closeness of the terrain.
Another indication that we have left the haphazardness of the coast
and have arrived at a place where more care is taken with work. We are
accompanied by perhaps a dozen or more kids and a Dalmatian looking
pup which is everywhere all at once. Pedro is another kid who is along
with us. He is serious and soft spoken while Edison is outgoing and
will be a lady's man some day soon. We arrive at the mirador which overlooks
Seboruco. There is a water tank there, swings and a merry-go-round.
We climb up and take pictures of the view and pictures of the many birds
that flit around us - azullejos, pecho amarillo and others. They even
have a bull ring in the city that we could see from the mirador.
From the mirador, we took a path around the back of the mountain and
down to a small stream where we ducked our heads in the cool water.
When we came out of the stream, we immediately seized upon the moment
for all of us to deface a new section of concrete sidewalk just laid
down that day by scratching our names and the date and putting our hand
prints in the cement. Bad tourists!
Then we headed back to Seboruco via a new section of houses built
by the government. The houses sell for around 3-5 million Bs and are
basic units around three rooms with tile rooves. The street they sit
on is nicely made with concrete and stone. There are no trees though.
We then climbed to another path that led around the side of the mountain
back to Seboruco where Edison, our guide, said that the houses were
'casas humildes' or humble houses or rather, houses of the poor. They
were built of concrete and anchored to the side of the mountain. Tin
lay in sheets on top of each other for a roof. The houses were all clean
and the most spectacular feature was the flowers which were everywhere.
All the old cooking pots and tin cans and plastic ware was recycled
as flower pots. At one spot we saw an old man sitting alone surrounded
by beautiful flowers on a small terrace overlooking Seboruco. I asked
if I could take a picture and entered the terrace. The man was deaf
and didn't understand what I was saying when I asked that he be in the
picture too. I think the kids scared him a little so I took my picture
and left. A bit further on, I met another family and took some pictures
of them.
Back to the square where we had gained some confidence that we wouldn't
be ripped off here so we decided to stay the night after everyone said
that we could sleep on the plaza and also that we should attend the
fiesta. A couple of the kids lead us to a house on the plaza to get
some mamon which are small green fruits that you pop in your mouth and
split open - spit out the husk and suck the meat off a big seed. It
causes your mouth to tingle a bit but is a nice thirst quencher. The
house is plain on the outside but wonderfully beautiful on the inside
since it is built in the old Spanish style where all the rooms face
into a central courtyard where, in this house, there are lots of flowering
plants. The lady that lived there took me around and showed me all the
rooms which were tastefully decorated with old furniture from her family
and with items that she had purchased. She is an artist and was in the
process of decorating drawer facings. The house was beautiful. I hope
to go back for pictures before we leave. We had a drink called pasita
which is normally made from raisins hence the name (pasa=raisin) but
in this case it was made from cambur or bananas.
Luis comes back and tries to drag us to the fiesta. He offers to take
us to see where they make miche which is moonshine made from panella
which is the sugar blocks made from sugarcane here. We finally walk
with him up to the other plaza and talk with some people there. There
are two people dancing in the square whom I find out later to be brother
and sister from Valencia. They dance a baile which is particularly beautiful.
I talk with them for a while and then with some other people. Pollo
drags us to a house a few doors down where they sell tragos (swallows)
of miche for a few bolivares each or a small bottle for Bs 1,000. I
buy a bottle. Everyone drinks. Thus begins our love affair with miche.
There are many small stalls set up around the square where chorizo (sausage)
and different foods are sold. The sausage is excellent and the people
are very friendly. The music is very loud and everyone is having
a good time. Finally we head back to the vans and I decide not
to sleep on the main plaza but a few streets down to avoid the ruido
(noise) of cars going by with sub woofers blaring or long haul trucks
going by with all the produce from the coast going slowly up the mountain
to La Grita and beyond.
We still don't sleep very well because of the noise of cars and trucks
passing by. Wake up in the morning and find Les and Kai camped out behind
us.
