Coro Cathedral

Two days after Cuba we arrived in Puerto Guaranao, Venezuala. Around the start of the voyage this port of call was changed from Maracaibo because, I heard, this area is more pro Chavez and because it suited the organised tours better. From a tourist perspective Guaranai town offered nothing. The shuttle buses were late and then dropped passengers off in a no-mans land at the port entrance at the mercy of extortionist taxi prices. Perhaps unsurprisingly there was a mugging there and so the drop off point was changed. We caught a cab off the road into town and 7 of us piled in. In town Gaby, with her native gift of Spanish, negotiated 2 wide arsed, 1960’s, pimpin American rides for us to Coro, an hour away. We pulled over on the highway and ate our first empanadas (savory, filled thingys).

Articola Beach

The drivers tried to change the price on arrival but there would be none of that. Coro, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, looked like something out of a movie set. The town centre was graced by some vibrant colored churches and architecture but was completely devoid of locals. Everyone apparently is at the beach on Sundays. So after a mission to find any restaurant that was open, we hooked up a MR T van to Villa Marina beach. The driver was a prick and dropped us a 20 minute walk to the nice part of the beach. The nice part was packed. Suped up cars lined the roads pumping out Regaeton beats and competing for attention. The water was refreshing and blue, but the girls found that it was crawling with unwanted male attention. At a waterfront restaurant we ate pretty well and found out the black market rate for dollars is nearly twice as good as the official rate. Come nightfall the beach streets didn’t look so safe, with groups of guys and a lot of alcohol, and I was the only guy with 7 Gringo girlies. A taxi finally arrived at the restaurant and we got at least halfway home before the gearbox failed. It might’ve been scary if Gaby hadn’t been listening in on their cellphone call for help to their company:
‘Yeah we have a car problem, but come quick! You won’t believe it. We have a car with 7 gringos and their paying us 40,000bs! We don’t want them to leave!’
Er, like, where would we go.. I guess $7 each was too much for a 1 hour taxi in an oil rich country. Rumour had it that petrol in Venezuala is only 5c a litre. We headed for a Peace Boat organised fiesta and conveniently missed the speeches. The band was good and we had a bit of a dance, but like the PB fiesta in Cuba it didn’t have much soul.

Drinking cervecas with a few friends

Day 2 and the port shuttle bus chaos happened all over again. Our plan was to do a bit of hiking in the hills, but the taxis would only lower their prices from ‘outrageous’ to ‘crazy’. We threw in the hiking idea and went to Aticola Beach which we’d heard was nice and found everything we needed - a shady tree, sand and clear water and of course cervacas (beer). A little walk down the end of the beach were brightly coloured boat sheds, a lighthouse and wild cacti. In a little restaurant on the beach front we enjoyed great food and also the surprise of an iguana in the doorway. Apparently iguana empanadas are on the menu in these parts.

Next stop? Panama!

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