Food and drink

We were very happy to rediscover vegetables in Merida. We really enjoyed our chorizo creation (the blackberry wine was delicious by the way) and the following night we chipped in for a meal cooked by some English vegetarian friends we met in the posada. I was excited to find out that following a discussion about what was missed from the homeland they had done a great job of cooking a vegetable curry. It wasn’t quite Balti International but it was still really good.

The search for new local foods has continued unabated. In Merida while buying fruit we found cachapas- a small thick yellow pancake made with maize. We followed the shop keeper’s suggestion and warmed them up for breakfast with ham and cheese. It was delicious and they are also pretty good with jam and banana.

This was a surprise order (below) in a restaurant which we stumbled upon lost in Maracaibo. I had no idea what I was ordering but it turned out to be pretty good. A mash-up of fish and maybe chicken, onions and veg, with yuca and rice.

These are potacones - delicious sweet plantain bananas, served with a local cheese, very similar to mozarrella.

Local drinks have not been overlooked either. Local beers are good; 6% Polar Solera the nicest. Now we’ve worked out the exchange rate, we’re splashing out on jugos, and they’re lovely – papaya and banana are the main ones on offer at the moment.  Papellón con limón is very refreshing – it’s made from sugar cane and lime and is served very cold, often at the side of roads.

Chicha is super-sweet sickly rice milk with sweetened-condensed milk, ice and cinnamon – scooped out of containers and served in markets/on the road. I loved it and finished half of Rachel’s too- she found it to be rather too sickly sweet.

Calentado – we discovered this in the Andes, served at a roadside café from a thermos flask, it’s a hot, espresso-sized hit of potent aniseed liquor.

Vino de mora (blackberry wine) ­– we bought a bottle of semi-seco but it was definitely sweeter than grape wine and went well with our Chorizo meal.

Venezuelan rum – Cacique, Santa Teresa – there’s lots of brands and its cheap- was going down very well with friends in our posada (with coke and lime).

The alcohol ban – the elections are on Sunday. An alcohol ban – in bars and off-license sales kicked in on Friday at 2pm and lasts until Tuesday afternoon. All over Mérida on Friday morning people were buckling under the weight of straining plastic bags clanking with bottles. Those with cars and jeeps were loading them up by the crate load. Not sure the bid for sobriety worked.  

Mauro and Maracaibo

We’re approaching the end of our first ‘couch surfing’ experience.  A great ethos behind this– you register on the couch surfing website, filling in lots of information about yourself, some of which defeated us – life ambitions etc.  People all over the world are registered on it, when you’re heading somewhere, you search for people there who may be able to host you or meet you for a drink.

We found Mauro in Maracaibo, Venezuela’s second biggest city close to the border with Colombia. It got off to a shaky start. We couldn’t find where he lived – in a gated development in the far north of the city. We arrived in yet another downpour and we were delivered by a disgruntled taxi driver.  Things soon started looking up. It’s been a really interesting experience. We thought we were arriving in time for his sister’s birthday party, which we were quite excited about, but it turned out to be the night before – whoops. Instead, we were taken out by Mauro and his friend to a local fast food place serving the Maracaibo version of a burger – meat in fried plantain instead of bread. 

They are so proud of their city, a sprawling, sweltering collection of modern apartment and office blocks and poor barrios on the edge of the enormous lake Maracaibo. The city generates the most revenue in Venezuela through oil – you can see up to 6 tankers on the lake and refineries in the distance. Apparently it also had the first hospital, first access to electricity, a superior version of Spanish is spoken and they have better food!  A biased opinion maybe but it’s better than just relying on a guide book for information.

Today Simon and I have marched all over the place (for the first part in search of a toilet). Pretty much everywhere was closed for election day. The only activity was around the polling station – massive queues, and around the Cathedral. Maracaibo has its own saint – the Virgin ‘Chinita’ (who apparently has ‘Chinese’ eyes).  There was a big festival in her honour last weekend and in the cathedral there’s a story about her and a lump of wood.

An old lady was washing clothes in the lake one day when she came across an interesting piece of wood. She took it home and for some reason put it on her wall. Apparently the wood started banging on the wall prompting neighbours to call round to see what was causing the noise. The wood then started glowing and the image of the virgin holding baby Jesus with two figures looking on became clear. It was decided the miraculous wood should be taken to the Cathedral of the rich people but when it came to be moved the wood became too heavy to lift. When the wood was instead taken to the poor peoples Cathedral it became light again and has been there ever since, surrounded by garish gold and good people dressed all in white. The Cathedral is now the only Basilica in Venezuela.

Mountains, music and lots of rain

Venezuela is under cloud – everywhere but particularly in the Andes, causing floods and bridges to be swept away.  We just don’t get anything like it in England, streets turn to streams within minutes.  

Our walk in the mountains was lovely. We decided not to go on a guided tour up into the Andes from Mérida as the weather was so bad we probably wouldn’t have seen a lot anyway.  Instead, we caught a local por puesto mini-bus into the Lower Andes.  A great ride through villages and passing lots of restaurants specialising in trout. One offered a ‘catch it and cook it’ option which sounded quite exciting. Although, I suppose it could have become a bit distressing had the trout not been caught come dinner time. Anyhow, we gave that a miss and headed off alone with our cheese cobs up a winding track, over stone walls and stepping stones (reminiscent of the Peak District) into the mountains.  The path was easy to follow and the scenery was beautiful as we climbed, often steeply, past lovely plants and birds. It was great to have a day out walking in the countryside without a guide and group. 

We waited over an hour for a por puesto to turn up to pick us up and, as dark and rain descended, we finally heard it juddering up the hill – a blue, clapped out mini-bus (think the A-team van after a bad accident) which against the odds was determined to stick on the roads.  When the driver put it in reverse, rather than the standard beeping, the van blared out the Macarena – much more fun. The whole thing absolutely stank of petrol, we got about a mile and it stopped. Oh dear again. The driver got out, filled a bottle of water from a stream and tipped it into the radiator, went for a wee at the side of the van and we set off again – windows open so that we could breathe. As we got further down the mountains, we picked up more passengers – 23 of us squashed in at all angles by the time we reached Mérida.

The next day, we decided to go with a recommended tourist attraction in our trusty guide book – Parque Beethoven – established to commemorate 200 years since the death of Beethoven, the park apparently had a clock that chimed out a different Beethoven symphony on the hour every hour.  After a half hour walk out of town along a main road and into a fancy housing estate we tracked down the Parque – a dilapidated square with a rusty, broken clock.  The heavens opened at this point and we spent half an hour sheltering under a tree with fading hope of any musical joy. It took Simon stretching through the bars and clanging a bell to hear any noise from the Beethoven clock. Oh well. It opened in 1972, I wonder when it broke.

On a broken theme, unfortunately so was the teleférico – the cable car that ascends from Mérida up the mountains to nearly 5000 metres.  The teleférico workers were all there, in position, in their uniforms with no idea whatsoever why it had been ordered to close 4 months ago – could be the cables, the wire etc. or when it may re-open. They told us they thought a technician may come to have a look at it again in 2009. Ce la vie.

We had a great hour or so in a grand university hall listening to the Merida symphonic orchestra.  Mum told me the other day about a documentary in the UK on the Venezuelan youth orchestra (of which this orchestra forms a part) – a thriving grass-roots movement to get kids, often from the poorer parts of town, inspired and into playing instruments.  It’s been a huge success and I came away from it quite up for getting out the clarinet when we get home! 

“We’re in Mérida”, says Rachel

Since our last blog we’ve got into twittering too, which was probably a better way (avoided excessive moaning) to report our hours of bus journeys and break downs over the last few days. Worth noting though that the mood on the bus stayed pretty high and the children were really well behaved – even when it was boiling hot and we were standing at the side of the road for hours cowering in the shade of the bus. Anyway, onwards and upwards: after spending a night in a busy town called Barinas at the foot of the Andes, we wound our way up on a small bus through spectacular scenery to the big student city of Mérida.

We’re having a lovely time here relaxing. We’ve found a great posada with wi-fi and it even has hot water. It’s pretty cool and rainy up here in the mountains so that’s definitely good timing on the heated water front.  There’s more of a buzz about Mérida, more bars, lots of great places to eat, interesting music, fruit shops and this afternoon we’ve been to a fantastic, friendly market.  It seems to have taken over an old building which must have had a previous use – pretty grand 3-storey lump of concrete.  It sold fruit, veg, local crafts, plus an art gallery and berry wine (which of course we had to buy a bottle of.  We’ll be sampling it later and will fill you in on its taste and effects).

Tomorrow we’re catching a local bus to have a walk around a lovely park with great views of the Andes and another Sugar Loaf Mountain.  On Friday, we’re very much looking forward to heading off on a guided tour to a village called Jaji in the Andes and maybe to a coffee plantation.  Thank you very much to Katie (also for organising it), Sam, Han, Dave and Emmy for our fantastic going away present. We’ll fill you in on it with lots of photos.

The other thing worth mentioning is that the mayoral and governor elections are coming up – on Sunday – and the excitement and hype is definitely building – more on this and Chávez in another entry.  Perhaps once we’ve crossed the border!

“Food glorious food”, says Simon

I’m very happy to be able to write that our food options have increased greatly since our arrival in Mérida. Last night was a disappointing pasta eaten in the nearest place available due to the torrential rain.  Today however we found an unbelievable lunch deal – we enjoyed a lovely rich soup with beans and pork (grisly hairs still on it), a small fried trout with salad, plantain and rice, a tasty fruit juice and a coffee for less than £2 each. It was delicious, satisfying and local. Everything we are looking for on our travels.

Every street seems to have cafés or restaurants with cheap, tasty local options. Tonight we are making use of the posada kitchen and cooking for ourselves for the first time in Venezuela – on the menu are potatoes with chorizo, onion and tomatoes with green beans and arepas – great Venezuelan maize bread served warm, often with meat or cheese filling (looks like a savoury muffin). All will be washed down with a locally bought berry wine. 

And Simon in Canaima lake too

Canaima lake

Take-off - with video and in our plane to Canaima

Our Angel Falls adventure – the trip to the falls

How to describe any of this trip is hard – it’s so far away from the average Thursday or Friday. We charged from the airport to our boat – a long punt-style set-up with a motor at the back and a boy with a paddle at the front. We met our guide, Raúl, who was fairly ridiculous – swaggered about but still seemed to be in an eternal rush. There were 6 of us on our tour, a German bloke, 2 Italians and a Dutch character. We were joined by two sour-faced German ladies and their German tour guide who was even more ridiculous than ours. Bizarrely, they managed to remain thoroughly miserable for 2 days. Anyway, on with the trip. We were seated in twos on benches down the boat and set off along a wide river – about 4 times the width of the Thames. With a couple of stops, it took us about 4 hours to reach the foot of Angel Falls. The scenery was spectacular all the way, flat-top tepuy mountains, jungle on both sides of the river, bright yellow and blue butterflies and lots of little rapids. After a while, we headed up a smaller river and things got more interesting – we had plenty of soakings as we made our way up rapids. Apparently the river level varies a lot from day to day. A tour that left the day after us had to get out and push their boat a lot but we got through alright.

We arrived at our camp for the night - a covered area with hammocks on the edge of the river and the jungle opposite Angel Falls - with sore bottoms but feeling pretty exhilarated. We went for a swim in the river staring up at Angel Falls – it’s difficult to get the scale of it really, about 980 metres. ‘Spectacular’ really is the word for the whole thing. We ate delicious chicken roasted on an open fire for tea, chatted with our group and fell asleep in hammocks under a starry, full moon sky.

The next morning, we were up at 4.45 and marched at a pace that nearly defeated our Dutch and Italian friends up through the jungle to the base of the falls. The clouds cleared and it was pretty amazing. We went further up to a pool and went for one of the most refreshing swims I’ve ever had. It was boiling and humid up there.

Getting back down river was quicker than up. Once back in Canaima, we walked under rocky overhangs of massive waterfalls – spewing the water from 4 big rivers joining into the Canaima lagoon. We spent most of the last few days wet – drenched in the boat, swimming, under the waterfalls and more swimming. It’s been lovely.

We got back last night to Ciudad Bolivar, spent the night here and got thoroughly drenched in a dramatic downpour – we sheltered under a fruit stall in a street market but when the water was turning into a river down the street (up to our knees in places) we decided to make a run for the posada. It’s quite incredible when it rains like that – a bit like a river’s being dumped on your head for an hour. Now we’re about to head off on a night bus to Mérida in the west of Venezuela.

Our Angel Falls Adventure - getting there

Our trip to Angel Falls was upon us in a flash. After a leisurely start in Santa Fe we caught a local bus to the city of Puerto La Cruz and literally stepped from it onto a coach that was pulling out of the terminal next to us for Ciudad Bolivar. Five hours later, we were crossing an enormous bridge over the brown, very wide River Orinoco to Ciudad Bolivar. We headed for a posada that had been recommended to us. Run by a bizarre Swiss guy, we were told that we could only have a room if we went the next morning at 7.45 to Canaima, where we would begin our trip to Angel Falls. Up at 6am the next morning, we paid by bank transfer in Euros, and so avoided the awful exchange rate. Instead of 7.45, they decided we were leaving at 7.15 and chased us out of the posada and in the boot of the jeep and we headed for the airport.

We were expecting a small plane but hadn’t quite prepared ourselves for the tiny six-seater plane we found ourselves sitting in. I was excited, Rachel was not so keen and was fairly fraught as the plane taxied and set off down the runway with us, a large German couple and a Dutchman named Crane. The journey was fantastic; such amazing scenery. We flew from the city across a giant manmade lake, mighty rivers, savannas and on into the National Park with giant flat-topped mountains rising from the jungle. Even Rachel relaxed except when the pilot rocked the plane to show us sights below or when we were flying blind through thick cloud. Our pilot was very keen to speak to us but as he was shouting a mixture of Spanish and broken English and the plane was incredibly loud we really didn’t have a clue what he was on about. The journey took a twist as we flew further south than Canaima to drop off the German couple at a tiny tourist settlement with a mud track runway. After a dramatic landing we found it was a lovely little place and they gave us free coffee as we chatted with a local and the pilot. A bumpy takeoff and on we went, looking below the whole way at waterfalls and cliffs. The plane trip alone was fantastic and we still had the Angel Falls trip to come.

Post ahoy!

Sorry to bombard you, we wrote a few posts but haven't had access to the internet for the last few days. We're in Ciudad Bolivar, off on a 3 day trip to Angel Falls early tomorrow.

Relearning patience - Rachel

I realise I haven’t embraced the fast pace of London as much as I could have done over the last few years, but I’ve still gone up a few notches for me in terms of how fast I expect things to happen. Venezuela’s reminding me that for the most part, my concept of time and a schedule should be fluid. Several days ago, we caught a coach from Caracas to Cumaná, a sweaty port town east of the capital. The journey was scheduled to take 7 hours. It took 10. Half way there, a truck a few miles ahead of us toppled over and dumped its load of sand all over the road. And so we all stopped. The driver got out, threw his arms in the air and then got back in again. He did this several times over the next few hours. As is customary I think in Latin America, a few drivers got fed up of waiting in the queue, and so decided to drive past everyone to the front of the accident in the other lane. Much hooting and arm gesturing followed them but that was about it. Nobody complained on our bus or even looked put out by our delay. There’s a much greater degree of acceptance for things happening when they happen over here I think.

Getting used to things - Simon

You can soon get used to things in life. Already I’m beginning to relax into Venezuelan life despite it being so alien. The wildlife is a good example for me. On day two we were interested to see a large lizard in a Caracas park. On day four, now in Cumana, we were excited to see a two-foot iguana running from a riverbank. By the afternoon of day 6 (today) we had followed and fed thirteen two-foot iguanas around our feet, which are apparently common-place beach scavengers and even got to the point where we were completely ignoring them. Might take a while to get used to giant cockroaches though.

Feeling the pinch update - 11th Nov

The black market is the way to go. Official exchange rates completely diddle you. It’s taken us a while to work this out but if we do things in a certain way, we’re not as relatively poor. It’s the first time I’ve understood the power of exchange rates – coffee farmers have told me about it but I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t quite grasp it until I could relate it to my own terms (which is pretty selfish, oh dear). If we draw money out of a cash point, it’s value is literally at least halved, compared to tracking down local money changers or European posada owners, transferring money into their European bank account and getting them to withdraw the cash in Venezuelan bolivares. If we do this, apparently we get a rate of around 1 bolivar to $4.50 instead of $2.15 at the airport. Yippee. I’ve started drinking banana jugos which we can probably now afford to celebrate. We learnt this from a German backpacker today. I have now vowed not to snub the stingy traveller anymore - they’re full of useful information!

11th Nov 08 - Cockroach discoveries - Rachel

It is Tuesday evening and Simon has just captured his second cockroach in our bedroom in 3 days. Enormous brown, scuttling things. Ergh. They’ve caused quite a drama. We are in Santa Fe, a lovely little place on the coast. We’re staying in a posada which opens out onto the beach and more specifically in a painted breeze-block room with a corrugated iron roof. The room’s not very charming, but the owners are and it’s got air conditioning so we’re happy.

A Venezuelan version of a... - part 1

A Venezuelan version of a crab (plenty of them on the beach in Santa Fe in the evenings)


Venezuelan seagulls













The Venezuelan 242 bus to Liverpool St



























The Venezuelan squirrel (like a small, red squirrel with a natural diet of cheese crisps)

A Venezuelan black cab













The Little Chef













Starbucks













A park duck

Food to date and feeling the pinch - Rachel

Food is exciting and before arriving here, we were resolved to try pretty much anything the kitchens of South America could offer us. Until today, it’s been a disappointing lot. See below, our first evening meal in Caracas, before and after.

Oh the cheese, there’s so much of it, on everything. I’m amazed at the amount of American-style fast food there is for sale. We were defeated in finding a cheap, healthy, interesting meal in Caracas.

Night two seemed a treat when we tracked down spaghetti with tomato sauce (not ketchup I hasten to add) and a mountain of parmesan (which I removed and Simon gobbled).

Breakfast is a mixed bag, good coffee but soggy, deep fried empanadas filled with chicken one day and stale pastries the next. This is a far cry from the melon, papaya and passion fruit of my memories and dreams.

You may be wondering why we’re subjecting ourselves to this and not splashing out on a better offering. It’s been very interesting and a bit disconcerting. Usually coming from the UK, bar Copenhagen, I’ve felt financially wealthier in every other country as the pound has been so strong. I know it’s been unfair, but it’s made travel very easy. Anyhow, this is not the case for us in Venezuela at the moment. Prices for us are equivalent to London. As I can’t see how wages can be comparable to the UK for most people here, it must be something to do with a very bad exchange rate. Does anybody know anything on this? Anyway, probably good to have a better concept of value in a different country for a change instead of everything just being cheap.

On an 8 hour coach trip east from Caracas (which turned into 10) yesterday it was strange to stop at a roadside set up and see all the locals on our bus tuck into big meals and yummy juices which went way above our budget. I realise we’re sounding pretty stingy but I don’t think it’s that – I’m very anti the traveller bargaining down to the last 30p. All the treats are out the window (Simon cites ice-creams costing £2), £10-20 for a main course and really basic accommodation for £35.

We’re thinking we’ll have to cut short our time in Venezuela, fingers crossed that Colombia is cheaper, and check out our couchsurfing options.

I can imagine the lack of sympathy for our cause so I won’t go on. Except to say that we had delicious fish in a market for lunch and jam cobs for tea.