Travel Diary: Venezuela (a lap around the country)

In total contrast to what one might expect of a country that is subject to strict sanctions from western governments, suffers from hyper-inflation and whose de facto currency is the USD as its own currency is effectively worthless, the border post was a picture of prosperity with quite possibly the newest and cleanest buildings we have encountered at a border so far.  This did not, unfortunately, translate into a fast entry into the country, not due to any problems but rather that the system to capture Mr Jones details and issue him with a Temporary Import permit (TIP) was very slow and beuracratic.  It wasn’t too much of a hardship however, as we had a clean and airconditioned waiting room to sit in while the 2+ hour process was underway.

Remote border towns can often have a bit of a Wild West feel to them, Pacaraima on the Brazilian side certainly did, especially given the number of stores advertising “we buy gold” – the border region in both countries has a high number of illegal mining operations.  In contrast, Santa Elena which lies just 15km inside Venezuela was surprising clean and seemed like just any other town, that is apart from the high number of very pimped and lifted Land Cruisers driving around.  Almost all needed a small step ladder to get into!

Santa Elena sits at 862 metres above sea level which gives it a very pleasant climate and was a welcome relief from the hot & sticky Amazon basin, so when we could camp at the back of a pousada with grass underfoot it didn’t take much to convince us to stay a few extra days. In general, South American countries are football mad but when we took a walk into town on the Sunday we discovered a new and unexpected craze: baseball and as we learnt over the next weeks baseball is a big thing in Venezuela including a number of professional teams.

The southern part of Venezuela is largely an undeveloped natural area known as the Gran Sabana (great Savannah).  For us it is a lot less like an African savannah and more a combination of grass highland area (like the Lower Drakensberg or Dullstroom) and the Magaliesberg but it certainly did not lack for large open spaces with fantastic vistas interspersed with many rivers and waterfalls or cascades.  

Our first excursion into it was westwards along the border/escarpment edge with Brazil to an area known as Paulji.  Along this section we got our taste of what would be a regular occurrence (and general frustration) in the country: military, police or civil checkpoints.  They were almost never a problem but far too frequent and often time consuming.  The first one we encountered was as we left town and headed west where, after offering us coffee they manually wrote down in a book our passport & car details and stamped the back of our TIP.  The next one was 20km after that and then another 20km later before another one 15km after the 3rd – thankfully at all the latter ones we didn’t get offered coffee otherwise we would have had serious bladder control issues on the bumpy dirt road but we did estimate that they probably added an hour plus of travel time to the days journey.

After 2 days of just soaking up the natural beauty and sounds of nature, it was time to head back the way we come, this westward road was a dead end in another 40km or so.  Thankfully, the checkpoints only stop you going west and not when you return so we were back in town earlier enough to source a local SIM card (it had been the weekend when we were here before) and to be able to head out towards another attraction of the Gran Sabana, Venezuela highest mountain; Mount Roriama.  We had no intention of climbing it as that is typically a 5 day round trek but rather of driving reasonably close to a viewpoint where we intended to spend the night. The track there turned out to be quite narrow and steep with many ruts making us very grateful to have the 4×4 capabilities of Mr Jones.  The views and location were a fantastic reward for the effort, big sky country with a 360-degree view and nobody around for at least 20km in any direction.

After a wonderfully peaceful night in our million star glamping location we headed back down the way we come and then a bit further south to other parts of the Gran Sabana.   This time we were in search of a waterfall or set of cascades to camp next too, of which the Gran Sabana has plenty.  From what we understood almost everywhere was public land or allowed free access, all you had to do was follow the various small tracks leading off the tar road and pick the spot you wanted to stay at.  Initially we didn’t have much luck, as the tracks turned a bit too rough for our liking and even though Mr Jones is more than capable we tend to err on the side of caution for two reasons; firstly, we are solo travellers so if something goes wrong there is no rescue or recovery vehicle and secondly, Mr Jones is our home and the last thing we want to do is damage him on some macho 4×4 track.  By mid afternoon we had found a perfect spot and got to enjoy a couple of glasses of white wine while lazing in the river.

The following morning, we debated, should we do a bigger loop into the one area that has some larger waterfalls or should we head south and away from the Gran Sabana?  In the end we opted for the latter as we felt there was still so much of Venezuela to see but in hindsight a few extra days in the region would have been good and as we learnt from some Venezuelans we met later in the trip, they regularly travel to this area for trips of 3 weeks or more.

Leaving the area, we once again started to encounter regular checkpoints with the associated manual book recording and offer of coffee while you waited.  The road also deteriorated quite badly, with evidence of many truck accidents, and so it was a long day to reach the town of Upata where we headed to a pousada which we understood you could camp at.  As it turned out, you couldn’t but the atmosphere was very good, we were tired and the rooms were well priced and so we opted to stay.  We hadn’t been there long when Jose arrived and introduced himself as being part of the “travellers support network”.  We had joined a number of WhatsApp groups focused on travel in Venezuela prior to our arrival and seen on those the wonderful support given by locals to travellers, Upata was to be our first (of many) experiences of that.  Tania had cracked a tooth the one evening in the Gran Sabana so she was in need of a dentist, Jose organised an appointment for early the next morning and then come and collected us and escorted us there and then once the tooth had been removed, he escorted us out of town to a fuel station where he arranged for us to get diesel at the standard rate of USD0,50 per litre.  

Venezuela has the worlds largest oil reserves (more than Saudi Arabia) but as a result of sanctions and mismanagement most of its refineries aren’t operating and so the country suffers from crippling fuel shortages.  From what we saw during our nearly 2 months in the country, 95% of fuel stations are either closed or spend most of the time non-operational due to empty tanks which means there are always long queues at a station that does have fuel.  Then add in the fact that, in this country at least, petrol is a far more common engine type and diesel becomes a very precious commodity.  

Jose & his family plus tooth extraction time

After thanking Jose profusely and saying farewell we stopped in town for one last item, some painkillers, just in case the extracted tooth and associated cavity become a problem in the next few days.  While sitting in the parking lot plotting the days route on the GPS, a young guy approached us to say he had seen us drive into town the night before and “welcome to Venezuela”.  After taking a few pictures of Mr Jones and leaving us with his contact details in case we needed any assistance he went on his way.  As we recorded in the Captains log, we couldn’t have felt more welcome and comfortable in a country, it certainly wasn’t living up to the dire warnings of western government travel advisories…

From Upata we intended to head roughly due north to the Caribbean coast, thus hugging the eastern side of the country and then to hopefully slowly work our way westwards along the coastline over the next few weeks.  The days journey was relatively uneventful apart from a stop over lunch time to investigate why our coolant level alarm would occasionally sound, we were losing a bit of coolant which was concerning and had Stuart particularly worried that he had damaged something or created a mysterious vapour lock when changing the coolant in Brazil, a  week prior but logically this didn’t make sense as we had done over a 1000km since then.   It would take 30 days and much head scratching until we finally discovered the source of the loss, but more on that later.

In the town of Maturin, iOverlander had a check-in for camping inside the local municipal zoo which we duly stopped at, late on a Saturday afternoon.  It was less of a zoo and more of bird and local recreation park but it was fenced and secure and best of all the camping was for free.  In an effort to encourage tourism, the local municipality had decided that travellers passing through the area were welcome to stay for free.   As an added bonus, there was also a large potable water point in the park, free for use by anyone, so we could fill our water tank and not have to worry about filtering the water first.  That evening we stepped out of the “zoo” and wandered around the park next door where there was a big outdoor auditorium and dancing displays being done by the various schools and communities of Maturin – once again a more normal, safe and wholesome community life could not be imagined.

With a host of sanctions imposed on the country one would expect that the availability of general consumer goods could be limited but when we went shopping on the Sunday morning we were pleasantly surprised.  Not only was the supermarket incredibly modern but its shelves were well stocked and with a large variety of goods and brands, perhaps even more variety than we had become used to in Brazil.   Equally surprising was that while the prices were a bit higher than we were used to, they weren’t too bad, that is apart from cheese, yoghurt, beer and wine.

It must be noted that we had stumbled upon the upmarket supermarket chain which was a good thing as the difference we found the next time we shopped at the larger more common chain was quite significant, the latter being very basic with limited choice and if it had been our first experience would have had us rather worried about food purchases for the remainder of our time in the country.

Before leaving town, we stopped at a few fuel stations, to enquire if they had diesel which we found on the 3rd attempt.  Every country has something unique and for an outsider perhaps a little baffling, in Venezuela, it is the method of purchasing fuel.  At almost all stations you have to go to the cashier window and pay for your purchase upfront which means you need to calculate the quantity required and “order” accordingly.  This means that you never really get a full tank which in normal circumstances may not be an issue but if you are crossing a country with reasonably large distances and uncertainty as to where you may next find fuel, is less than ideal.  In Maturin, Stuart ordered 50l but then upon seeing that there was still quite a bit of space in the tank was able to convince the attendant to give him “mas” (more) and to pay a second time for the extra 9litres he received.

After a long day through the rolling hills on our way to the coast, we arrived at a little piece of heaven, Playa Pui Puy. A beach sandwiched between two headlands with a grove of palm trees and grass underfoot to camp under, only metres from a pristine beach and crystal-clear water.  To Stuart’s pleasant surprise the Caribbean has some waves, meaning he could squeeze in some board meetings even if he was the only attendant. The only negative, there were no formal facilities so we were limited as to how long we could stay by the amount of water we can carry. 

Unfortunately, Tania had begun to show symptoms of flu while we there and by the time we left was feeling quite rotten which doesn’t make travelling in a hot and humid environment when your car has no air-conditioning much fun.   This did however lead us to a very opportune and fun meeting with a Venezuelan Land Rover owner.  We had pulled over on the side of the road to search for a pousada in the area where she could recover in relative comfort, when Romulo drove past and then in the course of the subsequent conversation with him, invited us to come and stay at his house and pousada.

A couple of fun evenings followed with Romulo and his family, we had to rely quite a lot on google translate for the finer meaning of some parts of the conversation but for once it worked really well.  Of potential concern though is that we may have got insight into the type of grandmother Tania may be if we ever get grandchildren, she had way too much fun making and throwing balloon water bombs with Romulo’s 6-year old son!

Everyone knows that Landrovers leak oil (or more correctly “mark their territory”) but Mr Jones had been leaking for a while quite severely at his vacuum pump which together with the fact that Stuart felt the brakes were sometimes a bit soft, signalled that it was time to replace the pump.  It seemed only right to do this on the front lawn of a fellow Landy owners house and so on the second day of our stay Stuart duly set about swapping out the pump with a spare one we had been carrying.

After a warm farewell to Romulo we headed further east along the coast towards Puerto La Cruz and the beach town of Lecheria but first we made a diversion to what looked like a very pretty waterfall called La Sirena.  On arrival at the start of the short walk to the waterfall we were greeted by a car park attendant, who amusingly had very clear ideas of where and how we must park Mr Jones (even though he was the only car there), and two police officers.  Upon asking the police officers which path we must take to view the waterfall they took it upon themselves to escort us on the 20-minute walk there, waited for us while we take photos and then accompanied us back to Mr Jones.  At no time was there any hint that it was unsafe hence the escort or that they expected a “collaboration” fee/tip but rather just that they were grateful to have tourists visit the park.

As with the zoo in Maturin, the local Lecheria town council had designated an area next to the main lifeguard station for Motorhome camping but when we had looked on iOverlander we had thought we most likely wouldn’t stay there as it appeared to just be a large empty parking area fronting onto the beach boardwalk/malecon.  It was however lunchtime when we got to town and so we decided to swing past and have our lunch there and see if our impressions were correct which they were apart from the fact that the Guardia Civil employees were so welcoming, offered us the use of the toilets in their building and the use of their Wi-Fi so we decided to spend the night. That evening the first of what was to become a regular stream of welcoming committees stopped past to welcome us to town and in a couple of cases to deliver food and drinks as gifts.  For people that generally prefer to fly under the radar it was all a bit overwhelming especially when journalists and their cameramen started to appear and request interviews on our experience so far in the country.

An aspect that had been missing in our life for quite sometime was being able to socialise with fellow like minded people (i.e. other international overlanders) and even perhaps to form a friendship or two, in fact by our calculation we had not camped near another international traveller for the last 5 months. At Lecheria, in a country where international travellers are warned not to go by their governments, this changed and over the course of our time on the malecon we got to meet and chat with fellow travellers from France, Italy, Germany & Argentina and even form a bit of friendship with Fredrika from Italy.   Fredrika’s “back story” was for us quite amazing and inspirational; she had started her journey in Canada by buying an old stereotypical “American soccer mom station wagon” and fitted it out to be able to sleep inside.  She had then travelled all the way down the Americas and backup up through Brazil on a similar route to ourselves, doing 90% of it on her own.  We often find it hard with two of us to share the load in terms of all the challenges and obstacles one faces, so to do it on your own as a single female – Wow!

We very rarely get to camp and easily enjoy an evening out on the town but the advantage of this spot was that it was within easy walking distance of a variety of restaurants including a Lebanese Arabian one, which quickly become a favourite and saw us returning a second time after our first meal and then when the owner told us he also sells vacuum packs of the delicious pastrami we had just eaten, another stop past was made a day later for “groceries”. 

Despite often feeling like a goldfish in a fishbowl, our planned zero night stay quickly become a 5 night one. Apart from the reasons already mentioned another was, we had been invited to stay at a pousada (once again as “welcome to Venezuela gesture”) in the hills high above town which looked quite spectacular.  The timing was opportune as Tania’s birthday was approaching so we had arranged to spend the night there for that, unfortunately a miscommunication between the owner and his workers meant they weren’t expecting us when we arrived and with no cell signal in the mountains we hadn’t been able to communicate with the owner and had returned back to the causeway for an extra night. 

When we did eventually drag ourselves away it was to head only a little further west to another pousada belonging to a member of the travellers support network where once again we were showered with hospitality and found it quite difficult to both leave and pay for anything.  On the list of gifts this time was breakfast followed by a haircut for Stuart from a visiting barber, then cocktails, lunch and dinner and wine along with beers when we walked down the beach with Abdel to visit one of the neighbouring pousada which was hosting a pool party.   When it come to the last item, Stuart did eventually manage to pay for the beers but only after a lot of insisting by ourselves that it was the least we could do.  

Carnival weekend was approaching and we thought it would be wrong to be staying for free at a pousada, even if it was just camping in the parking, and that it might also be a bit noisy and another fishbowl experience and so moved on to an official camping area called Las Caracas which was also supposedly near a surfing beach.  The route we chose to get there, definitely appeared like the logical way when we studied the map and looked scenic as it drove through a natural reserve area of coastal forest, we were wrong about the former but correct in respect to the scenery.  The route through the coastal forest ended up climbing over a number of headlands on very narrow dirt roads with quite a bit of mud and axle twisting hollows to negotiate.

Carnival in South America conjures up images of parades through cities with big floats and scantily clad dancers, which we got to see in Brazil when on the island of Ilha Bela in May 2022 but in Venezuala it seems to generally be a time when people leave the cities for a weekend of partying on the coast.  The weekend was a bit like our experience of family week (Easter) in Uruguay but with less wholesome family fun and more load drunken partying.  Unfortunately, the surfing spot was a rather strong and big point break with a difficult entry, strong currents and a very rocky exit and so not being familiar with the environment Stuart decided not to participate in any board meetings.

We mentioned in a previous blog entry that Stuart had been contemplating for quite sometime how we could increase our water tank capacity along with planning to make improvements to our hot water geyser and shower setup.   Venezuela has a lot of very pimped off-road vehicles and by necessity most of this “pimping” is done with locally manufactured products so he had been keeping his eye out for possible manufacturers of tanks and in that process had come across a guy, who had manufactured from scratch, a setup for a Land Cruiser very similar to Mr Jones and as a bonus he spoke good English which meant we wouldn’t need to struggle with potential misunderstanding in translated communications.

Pablo had his business in Valencia which is about 3 hours east of Caracas.  There were a few places between Caracas and there that we wanted to visit but we knew that if we went ahead with the project there would be at least 10 days between measuring and giving the go ahead until the tanks would be ready and that we could therefore double back in that time and visit those spots.

Unfortunately, because of the sanctions imposed on the country stainless steel is very expensive and the eventual price quoted for the upgrades was more than double what we had estimated and so had to decide to not go ahead with the project. It was rather disappointing as we had no doubt that the quality of workmanship would be excellent and have definitely concluded that it would be an upgrade we will afterwards look back on and wander how we travelled so long without. The search for a suitable supplier shall continue.

On the freeway between Caracas and Valencia we had noticed a number of concrete pillars that seemed to have signage indicating free potable water so when we left Valencia we stopped at one to investigate. The one we chose to stop at had two police/military persons standing guard near a broken-down vehicle and after enquiring with them if it was acceptable to take water we set about filling our water tank and all other available containers we have, as we were hoping to spend the next week wild camping on remote beach and weren’t sure if there would a freshwater available.  Of course, the two policeman were curious about Mr Jones and ourselves and after only a few minutes couldn’t resist coming over to us and assisting with the water filling process while quenching their curiosity.

The remote beach we were headed to is called Cuyagua and is located in the Henri Pittier National park. To get there you have to climb up and over the coastal mountain range which makes for a spectacular drive through the forests but is also very slow going – the last 50km took over 3 hours.  However, the reward is worth it, with a roughly 1km beach sandwiched between two high jungle covered headlands and where you can camp metres from a crystal-clear blue ocean.

The Land Rover community in Venezuala is very small (roughly 150 vehicles) and so they all know each other and usually where somebody is travelling (if they are travelling).  On our second day on the beach one of the locals who provides services to campers had tried to tell us that he had a friend who has a Landy, unfortunately part of what he was trying to tell us got lost in translation but as the weekend approached we discovered what he had meant when two very pimped defenders drove down the beach.  As it turned out, he had also left them a little confused a few days prior when he had sent them a message saying that one of their friends in a White Landy was camping, with the reason for their confusion not being poor Spanish but rather that they know of only one white landy in the country and it was at that stage on the other side of the country.

Playa Cuyagua ticked most boxes for us: a pristine beach surrounded by nature, lovely warm and clear waters with some pretty decent surfing, a river at the one end where we could top up with water for showers (but it did confirm why we want an extra water tank) and as a bonus it had a pretty decent and reliable cellphone signal.  Apart from finding a source of diesel, in Venezuela a decent cellphone signal is possibly the next most valuable commodity – cell service was very sporadic and unreliable, even in cities.

The other destination we had skipped on our way to Valencia was the quaint German colonial town of Colonia Tovar.  Most people had mentioned to us that it was a “must-see” in the country and as an added bonus it appeared to have one fuel station that had a regular supply of diesel. We were running a little low on diesel having used up the fuel in our 3rd tank when hoping to get the water tank made as the “new” water tank would have replaced this 3rd fuel tank.  By now we are pretty used to some steep mountain roads but the approach to Colonia Tovar from the Maracay side took us by surprise and resulted in more than a little cursing when we were in low range and Mr Jones was not only struggling but stuttering!   This had Stuart wandering if were about to run out of fuel (Mr J’s fuel gauge doesn’t really work), fortunately we didn’t come to a stop on the hills but were only able to get 50l of diesel as the garage was running low.   The attendant told us there would be a new delivery on Friday so we resolved to stay in. town for 3 extra nights in order to ensure we could fill our tanks properly. This wasn’t too much of a hardship as we got to enjoy a nice lunch out of bratwurst, sour kraut and a German craft beer the one day.  It was also a pleasant change in temperature from the beaches, as we were now at an altitude of 1800m asl.

When we left on Friday, all in low range (even through town), we encountered chaos and a long line of cars outside a different fuel station which supplied petrol and had us hopeful that the attendant at the diesel station on the outskirts of town had been correct.  Sadly, he wasn’t and, on our arrival, now had no idea when the delivery would arrive.  His tanks were now also dry which left us no option other than to head back down the super steep hills we had come in on and start the search for diesel in every town we would pass on our journey for the day.  Around 3pm we did encounter a long queue of trucks on the outskirts of Valencia and at the end of the line a fuel station that was about to receive a delivery.  Being a small vehicle and a tourist meant we could skip to the front when the tanker arrived 45 minutes later.  The price for this: lots of photos and selfies with the station manager and various others while answering questions about our journey.

Until this point the beaches of Venezuela had blow us away for their pristiness, location and general tranquility and so we were pretty much expecting the some for our destination that evening when we left Valencia.  Playa Patanema turned out to be none of those things, it was filled with little beach shack restaurants and all free space was taken up by, for hire, shade baraccas and chairs.  To make matters worse, while it was meant to be another free camping spot we got hassled by a young boy and then a restaurant worker for money or gifts/collaborations from almost the moment we stopped. Needless to stay, any ideas of staying longer than a night quickly evaporated.

We had arrived on a Friday night, and while we had a peaceful night once the opportunists had left, we had a very early morning wake-up call as unbeknown to us we had parked only metres from what on the weekends becomes a stall selling food and the vendors had arrived early to prepare arepas ( a local maize style flat bread which is often stuffed with cheese or ham) for the days visiting beach goers.  After a quick breakfast we hit the road in the direction of San Felipe, a small town roughly 90km inland and a camp spot which had rave reviews on iOverlander and was marked as being at the back of a hotel run by members of the travellers support group.  Upon arrival we discovered that the hotel was in fact a “love motel”,

All through South America you come across these love motels where a room can be rented by the hour, multiple hour or even night.  Many have pictures outside clearly showing the amenities which may include a jacuzzi, dancing pole, soft or bright LED lighting and so forth and from early in our trip we had often joked that we really needed to add an iOverlander check-in at. While we weren’t going to be the first to add a check in this was going to be our opportunity stay at one or at least at the back of one.

While the concept of a love motel seems quite gaudy, there is a very good reason for there existence; that being that many households are multi-generational and the homes are quite small making it quite difficult for any “love time”.   That is what was explained to us, at least, but we are still quite fascinated how these establishments have a highwalled entry and exit driveway which allows for total discretion in the comings and goings and as we saw at Campo Belo most rooms also have a locked garage so you that your vehicle is not visible to other guests either.  

The camping was setback from all the rooms so we were never aware of the comings and goings and it turned into another highlight of places visited, the extended family that own the motel were super friendly and once again would not accept any payment from us apart from posing for pictures and taking our paw prints.

They have a really cool concept, in that they take a handprint from all the campers that pass-thru and in this way are collecting slabs of the visitors which one day they will use too tile the wall of the kitchen and communal area in the camp.

The pouring of concrete and collection of handprints only took place on the morning we wanted to leave, so it was a rather slow start but after such wonderful hospitality we could not complain.  As a final gesture, they phoned around to the garages in town to find diesel for us and then when they found one arranged with that station manager to expect our arrival.  Once we were finally on the road we headed back towards the coast and then westwards to the Coro Peninsula.  

This large peninsula juts out into the Caribbean ocean and is the northern most point of Venezuela, unfortunately it isn’t the northernmost point of the continent, that honour is taken by Colombia just next door which has a similar peninsula jutting a few kilometres further north otherwise could have claimed to have visited the all the major geographical points on the continent having already passed through the southern, western, eastern and central points on our travels.  Interestingly and in stark contrast to the rest of the Caribbean coastline this section is very desert like whereas just before this it is 100% tropical.  Colombia’s peninsula has almost identical characteristics in both being desert like and surrounded by tropical forests and high coastal mountains. 

We overnighted on the beach on the peninsula before attempting the following morning to drive to the San Roman Cabo (lighthouse).  We say attempting because we hadn’t gone far when Mr Jones low level coolant alarm would sound every time we hit a slight bump. As mentioned a few time in this diary entry we had been experiencing this occasional sounding of the alarm and a slight daily coolant loss for a while but Stuart had not been able to find a leak and was a bit mystified and worried that we were losing coolant into the engine which would be a major catastrophe.  On this morning when it kept going off and because we were on lovely quite roads we pulled over to investigate and this time there was a clear puddle in front of the passenger seat footwell which indicated that the heater matrix which receives hot coolant from the engine was leaking. In many ways it was a major relief to have this issue as it is relatively easy to bypass the matrix but it does mean we no longer have a heater.  We had an identical issue in August 2019 in Mozambique and between the East Africa travel leg and then the Covid lockdown weren’t able to fix it until well after the winter of 2020.  Hopefully we can source a spare part sooner (and remember to do so) this time and before we get to colder climates as the consequences of not having a heater can be unpleasant as can be read about in our blog post of July 2020 

Once the engine had cooled sufficiently, we bypassed the heater matrix and continued on our merry way to the northern point where the wind was blowing quite strong and there wasn’t much to do other than snap some pictures.  Supposedly the island of Aruba was only 20km away but all we could see was blue water out to the horizon, Stuart did attempt to climb the internal stairs of the lighthouse to get a better view but ran into a locked door halfway up.

Leaving the peninsula, we headed into the town of Coro in search of diesel as despite having filled up just 2 days prior we had already done 500km and the next known town for diesel (Merida) was at least 600km away which in principle we have enough range for but with supply so unreliable it is always best to fill up as often as you can.  Once we come across a long line of trucks we knew we were in the vicinity of a fuel station that supplied diesel but on finding it we were told that their tanks were empty and a delivery would only happen tomorrow at 10am.  With no known camping options in Coro we set about searching for a hotel that had suitable (i.e. no height restrictions or is at least 2,7m high) secure parking for Mr Jones.

The old town of Coro is currently undergoing a rejuvenation and the parts that have already received attention are very attractive.

In our previous experiences of obtaining diesel in Venezuela we have been quite fortunate that as tourists, we have always been allowed to go to the front of the truck queue and received attention almost immediately.  When we arrived at 10am there was already a hive of activity and it was quite difficult to get attention or know where to park, etc, but eventually Stuart did manage to find the manager and he told him we would need to wait for an hour or so.  While a little frustrating, we couldn’t complain considering that many of the trucks had probably been waiting days, fortunately after only about 30minutes we were called over and were able to obtain an almost full tank based on our estimate of what we required (as previously written: you have to prepay for your gallons so its really difficult to estimate exactly how will make the tank full).

At this point we had pretty much seen all there was to see along the coastline and so had the intention of heading roughly south west across the interior of the country via the mountain town of Merida and onwards to the border with Colombia.  From what we could tell looking at the map, whichever way we went would be fairly slow as this route followed the spine of the final bit of the Andes as it stretches northwards from Colombia.  The GPS gave us the option of an initial fairly direct and theoretically fastest route through the mountains outside Coro and google maps gave us two options that either went around via a westward route or eastward route.  The eastward route would take us back the way we had come a few days prior (and so didn’t appeal) and the westward one would take us via Maracaibo (which a number of Venezuelans had warned us was a relatively dangerous area) so we opted to trust the Garmin.

The Garmin route was spectacular and reminded us of some of South Africa’s southern cape mountain passes between the coast and the Little Karoo but within an hour the ETA was already creeping out far and we knew we were in for a long day and would be lucky to get to our intended overnight spot before dark.  For the entire drive we averaged 35km/h and when, with less than an hour to go until sunset and still 100km to cover, Mr J started to sputter a bit on the uphills we knew we needed to find somewhere to stop for the night. For most of the drive there had been very little options to even just stop on the side of the road, thanks to the dense bush, let alone pull over for a sleep so when we come around one hairpin and there was an open space in front of what looked like a rural community hall we pulled in and enquired with the ladies cleaning the hall if it would be okay to park for the night.

In the morning we set about trying to fix the issue.  Stuart surmised that it was probably the result of a clogged fuel filter thanks to dirty diese,l which made sense seeing as we had just filled up and perhaps it hadn’t been the best quality.  We do carry spare filters for such an eventuality but they are stored in a box mounted underneath Mr Jones next to the chassis, so the first job was getting the box down.   After changing the filter the issue and trying to bleed the system the issue was still there and as Stuart was convinced it was related to the fuel supply  ( we have quite some experience with this from incidents in South Africa and the Pantanal, Brazil) so the next obvious culprit to assess was the manual fuel pump.   As soon as Stuart removed that, we knew he had found the source of the problem – operating the camshaft manually created no suction whatsoever.   When we had replaced this in the pantanal a year and half prior, the garage had thought us crazy when we had requested they supply us with two as in their opinion these last forever, thankfully we didn’t listen.  After a consultation of the spares spreadsheet we knew where the spare one was hidden/stored and could retrieve it from the cavity behind his kitchen drawers.

As we drove away and where reflecting on the symptoms Mr J had displayed the previous afternoon we realised that in all likelihood Mr Jones had been struggling with the defective fuel pump for a while and had perhaps already tried to tell us this on the steep hills driving into Colonia Tovar (see above).  It would appear that on flatter terrain the fuel pump was coping fine but once we hit steep mountains the poor suction from the pump was insufficient to pull fuel from the tank to the engine.

In many ways it was a good thing Mr Jones forced us to stop the night before as the remaining distance to our intended stop took longer than expected and so between conducting the roadside repairs and stopping to shop meant we only arrived at the dam outside Barquisimeto late in the afternoon.  

The area surrounding the dam is a small nature reserve and the rangers at the gate had told us we could camp anywhere but that there would a regatta taking place over the weekend.  In our tired state we had misunderstood them and not realised they were warning us that the areas closest to the water would get very very busy the following day with participants for the regatta.  The first arrivals started from around 6am and by 8 we were practically surrounded and once again feeling like goldfish in a fishbowl thanks to all the curiosity being directed towards ourselves and Mr J.  We were tired from the last few days and in need of a break but knew there was no ways we could survive the weekend camped where we were, thankfullu there were other areas a bit further up the slope, they weren’t as pretty and more in the direct sun but did have an a-frame shelter so we packed up under the stares of many and moved. Overall it was a good decision and we enjoyed the weekend and got to recover.

From the dam to Merida is only 400km but google told us that it would take 9,5 hours, so not wanting to repeat the mistake of a few days prior we looked on iOverlander for an overnight spot that would be roughly half way.  The only viable option appeared to be at the Basilica Coromoto, we haven’t camped in the grounds of a large church before but there is always a first for everything.  The church was reminiscent of the large concrete cathedral in Brasilia and after a brief walk around to admire it, we settled down in the shady parking area behind the police post for a relaxing afternoon.  As camping spots go, it turned out to be quite good with great security, peaceful and the ability to use the bathrooms and showers attached to the back of the basilica.

Before getting to Merida we had one other stop we thought we might make for a night, some thermal pools that from the pictures looked to be in a spectacular location.  What we hadn’t factored in/didn’t know was that they required a rather steep hike to get to them and while Stuart could have done that, it was most definitely not something Tania would be able to do with her foot issues.  Also, upon arrival we got swarmed by flies when stopping in the parking area where you would camp which would make the whole experience unpleasant so we moved on to Merida.

In Merida there was supposedly a reliable supply of diesel and also a nice-looking camping spot just outside of town, both turned out to be untrue and after a frustrating couple of hours seeking both we resorted to checking in to a hotel for the night.  As we picnicked on the bed for supper, Stuart hit up the travellers support WhatsApp group in the hope of someone finding diesel – in theory we had enough to complete the remaining 300km to Colombia but as we had not been able to complete full the tank previously we were unsure exactly how much fuel we actually had in reserve.

Thankfully he received feedback regarding a garage we hadn’t tried, that may have fuel and so the next morning we set off to find it.  On arrival the security guard told us you could only get diesel if you were on an approved list, not to be deterred Stuart pulled up at a pump and asked again which at that point the owners son arrived who spoke perfect English and happily helped us.  The only catch; it was black market supplies and come at a cost of USD0.95 instead of the standard $0.50 price per gallon.

As with the previous days driving, google predicted a long day ahead of us to get to San Critobal (the closest big town to Colombia) with a driving time of over 6 hours to do the 300km.  We are almost always slower than google so expected closer to 8 especially when after entering a particularly long tunnel through the mountain our headlights seemed dim and so we pulled over after the tunnel to investigate.  The lights were working and we think it was just our eyes not adjusting to the sudden change from bright to dark that made us think this but while checking the lights Stuart did notice that we had no working rear tail or brake lights so that meant a quick change of bulbs on the side of the road.

We had really enjoyed our time in Venezuela but the last week of heading towards the border had tested our patience (slow and poor roads, breakdowns and on-the-go maintenance, lack of diesel etc) and so by this point we were really looking forward to Colombia.   The country still however had one more challenge to throw our way, the border crossing.  There is a newly built and very smart “international bridge” for vehicle traffic where they happily processed the cancellation of our TIP on the computer but when we got to the passport control area only 100m away we were told they had no power and would need to go to the other border post 5km away to process those. Assuming we could then exit via that border post we weren’t too concerned but when we arrived, there was no obvious parking so Stuart squeezed Mr Jones into the taxi rank parking and we joined the line to get our passports stamped only to face the next burecratic hurdle.  The Venezuelan passport officer wanted a hard copy of Tania’s Colombian visa (why it was of any concern to him is beyond us but there is a first for everything!) so we had to now walk into town to find a print shop and then come back and join the line again.

When everything was finally complete, we hopped into Mr Jones and attempted to drive through to Colombia only to be stopped 50m later and informed this border crossing was for pedestrians only and that we needed to turn around and drive the 5km to the post we had visited the first time.  Except when we attempted to do this, a Venezuelan customs official wanted to see our TIP which of course had already been cancelled and no manner of trying to explain the whole process to him and his colleagues made any progress.  He eventually requested us to drive into the yard attached to the customs office to resolve the issue, which we did, and when Stuart parked in one of the many parking bays (there was not a single other car in sight) a different official insisted we move 5 parking bays over and further away from the building – if ever there was a display of meaningless power this was it and it was too much for Stuart who duly started to rant in his bestest worse Spanish at the multitude of officials standing around doing nothing!  This seemed to do the trick and fairly quickly a “jefe” (Spanish for boss) arrived and we got some action – we were free to drive the 5km to the other border post and exit Venezuela.

Below are links to other pages that complement this travel diary entry: