Venezuela saved the best until last

Another early start but it is no hardship as I like being up early and seeing things in the morning light, also the traffic is less leaving towns. I was never a morning person so I am sure it will wear off.

It was a rather uninspiring ride for the first few hours. It was a bit concerning when I got to a big town and tried to get fuel. Neither or their stations had any. I could make the next town comfortably but it was smaller and would give me a problem if they had none. 

El Calloa did have some but only just! The station was tucked away in the town and took a bit of finding. When I got there the man said "no hay" which wasn't what I wanted to hear! By the way, in Spanish they drop their H's which, after a lifetime of being told not to, is quite difficult. As luck would have it, the tanker arrived right behind me. It took about an hour to get my fuel, by which time quite a crowd had gathered for fuel and to look at the bike. The usual questions of which one is "How much mister?" I find myself telling lies by saying it is a lot less than reality, I hope it makes it seem not so outrageous to them. Another 2 Bolivars and I was off - with a scooter escort back to the main road. Very nice of them.

The ride began to get interesting as we reached the hills. Firstly the trees became denser and overhung the road so much that it was like riding through a tunnel at times. As nice as it was, it was a pain for spotting the pot holes (of which there are many) in the shadows. Then we began to climb and the temperature dropped below 30 degrees for the first time in days.

This area is the Canaima National Park and is the first impression of the "jungle". I saw my first Parrot or is it a Macaw, an orange/reddish one, fly right across in front of me. Lovely but not as nice as Blue Boobies

No sooner are you in it, than it is all change again. Next up is the Gran Sabana (Savannah to you and me). Rolling hills of tough short grass and a few trees.

In the distance you can see the sharp outline of Buttes and Messas. The flat topped mountains that inspired some chap called Burroughs (I thought it was Jules Vern but checked before sending this and found it wasn't)  to write "The land that time forgot". I remember Doug McClure being in the film. Why can I remember tosh like that but not anything important?!

They have a lot of clear rivers and waterfalls across the plains too. This is a rubbish picture as I managed to miss the biggest part of the waterfall!


I must have been through over 100 police and army check points (and that is not an exaggeration) whilst in Venezuela and always been waved through. In the National park I got stopped three times and had to show documents. The first was fine. The second were a few bored young soldiers who after an inconclusive look at my passport handed it back and asked if I had any cigarettes! I think that was all they wanted in the first place. I was genuinely sorry not to be able to give them some - they looked so fed up. The third was a bit more challenging!
I was pulled in by a National Guard (I am not sure how many different forces they have here) and they were more serious.
"Pull over and turn off your engine".
"Wait in that office".
I went in to see a guard and a guy in T shirt and jeans, to be more accurate - he was pulling up his jeans and buckling his belt! It was one of those moments when you stand and stare. The clink of his belt brought me out of my stupor and I went back outside with all sorts of things going through my mind!
I went back and stood next to the bike - I wasn't going to take even  my helmet off, despite melting in the heat.

Another guard came over; "Passport" - no problem, "Vehicle document" - no problem, Vehicle permit.............Ahhh. For those of you that may remember, this is the paper I asked for at the border, which they couldn't be arsed to complete so sent me on my way. I was dreading just this situation.

He was insistent and I tried to explain, I even got my camera out and showed him the picture of my bike at the border. I was desperate not to be invited back in to that office!

He huffed and puffed, scratched his head and went and saw the boss. After about 10 minutes of repetition (him asking for papers I haven't got and me explaining why) he tossed my passport at me and waved me away in despair. I think I was still climbing on the bike as we accelerated through 60 mph!

I wish I was making that up about the guy with his jeans at half mast but I am not!

The trouble is I have to get out of Venezuela and the customs post could be more difficult. I just hope it creates too much paperwork for them to bother about someone leaving the country with out papers.

I got to the border town Santa Elena and found a half decent hostel with secure parking. They know how to charge in Venezuela! It is not a cheap country apart from the fuel. As I was unpacking a tour bus turned up and disgorged a group coming up from Brazil. They of course loved the bike and many photos later - with me in some of them too! Remarkably a lot of them spoke really good English, one family in particular of grandmother, mother and daughter were very nice and wanted to know al about the tour. It is rather nice talking without having to muddle through.

I am leaving tomorrow (hopefully) so it was nice to leave having seen some nice scenery. Without that Venezuela would have been a disappointment. But it was not the dangerous crime rampage that I had been led to believe. It was the same with Bolivia but for some reason I expected it to be bad here.