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June 1999- After a late night on the town (by American standards) I got up at 6:00 AM on Saturday morning eager to get to Los Roques. I was going on a trip with the Hash House Harriers for a despedida (going away party) for Paul, our Hash Master. Los Roques is a national park 60 miles off the coast of Venezuela that is made up of 240 small islands and keys. The national park status ensures that the area is relatively free of growth and commercial development. I picked up Jean Phillipe and Cecilia before setting off for the airport. Once I had picked them both up it was only 7:20 AM and we still had plenty of time before our scheduled meeting with the other Hashers at 8:30 (or so I thought…) I asked Cecilia how to get on the freeway from her apartment but she did not know the answer. How can you not know how to get on the freeway from your own apartment?! Since Ceci didn't know how to enter the freeway I followed Jean Phillipe's directions (big mistake). I should explain that the streets in Caracas are unlike those in the United States. Roads wind around each other and end abruptly and street signs are nonexistent. We asked three different people for directions and received three entirely different answers. The person whom we listened to managed to park us downtown right in the middle of Caracas's open market. After freeing ourselves from that situation we plunged deeper into the heart of the city and at one point actually passed over the freeway. I had lost all patience by this point and was starting to worry about meeting the others on time. After nearly an hour (at 8:15 AM) we managed to get on the freeway, albeit in the wrong direction. This was of little concern to me at this point. I turned around the first chance that I had and stomped on the gas. It is a good thing that Venezuela does not have any traffic laws because I would have been breaking all of them. I was not going to be late for Los Roques! We arrived at the airport at 8:45 to find that our gate had been changed and our flight was delayed for reasons unknown. |
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At 11:30 we were finally landing in Los Roques. Gazing out the window of the plane you saw paradise before you. The seascape was filled with white sand beaches and sailboats dotting the clear blue water. Although the runway was awful short on Gran Roque we managed to landing with (very little) room to spare. Once filling out our tourist cards our group met up with two Hashers who had come to Los Roques a day earlier. They showed us to our respective Paso's before we converged at the dock. Soon after we were loaded into boats and heading out to the nearby Francisqui. Once there we just relaxed in the sun. The white sand beaches blazed under the hot sun, but their corral composition allowed us walk around barefoot without burning our feet. I explored the island and took some pictures that afternoon. I also brought my snorkeling gear along and put it to use at a reef on the eastern side of the key. I saw many beautiful fish, although none of them were as colorful as the fish I had seen the month before in Moroccoy. The most impressive were the parrotfish with blue, red, and yellow stripes on its green body and a black fish with florescent blue fins. In addition to their brilliant colors the parrotfish were entertaining because you could watch them eating vegetation off the corral. |
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Late in the afternoon we headed back to Gran Roque, where Paul warned us not to take showers yet due to the water rationing on the island. Everyone went to their rooms to put on their running shoes and met up on the beach shortly after. A few of the rebellious ones had taken showers but would later be punished for their disobedience. Andre had come to the island early to set up a run for us. He informed us that the run would be flat but we "might" get a little wet. We all knew what that meant! Although Gran Roque is the largest of the keys in Los Roques (it is the only volcanic island, the others are all corral) it is still not very big. This ensured a relatively short run. The Roqueros were curious about what we were doing and asked if they could run too. "Of course!" we told them but as they started asking more questions they became more confused. "What do I get if I win?" they wanted to know. We tried to explain that they would just have to drink beer, but everyone did that regardless of whether they won or not. The locals then decided to sit this hash out and just observe. After running around town (there are only about five streets in the town) we found ourselves dashing down the runway of the airstrip. As I had observed during our landing, there wasn't anything at the end of the runway… anything but water at least. After much protesting Andre assured us that this was the right direction and soon we were wading through a mangrove in waist deep, brackish water. After 300 meters of that however we were back on dry land. This deposited us on the north side of the island, which was comprised of rough seas and jagged volcanic boulders. It was quite a different landscape from the white corral beach where we had spent the afternoon. Once navigating our way through the rocks we started heading back towards town. After everyone finished we assembled for the traditional circle and the bewildered locals watched as we sang songs and poured beer over our heads. At sunset everyone went back to his or her rooms to cleanup before we converged again for dinner. A wonderful little posada served us a delicious (if somewhat random) meal of potato salad, spaghetti, and fresh mero. The fish was fantastic, as you would expect on a Caribbean island. Large quantities of alcohol were consumed that evening as we passed the time watching pelicans dive for fish and observing the locals alternate between bingo and salsa dancing in the town square. Their behavior seemed as strange to us as ours must have appeared to them. At midnight I returned to my uncomfortably hot room to sleep under a mosquito net for the night. |
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Sunday morning we arose fairly early in the day and ate a breakfast of pancakes and orange juice before setting sail for Crasqui. The sea was rather rough on Sunday and I was soaked to the bone by the time the half-hour boat ride came to an end. The island we went to on Sunday contained several abandoned shacks that had previously served local fishermen. As with Saturday, we all just relaxed and lounged the time away. I did some more snorkeling and saw a big lobster and some barracuda before a group of jellyfish ended my swim. The boats were to take us back to Gran Roque at 2:00 PM but they were twenty minutes late. For this reason we arrived to the main island at 2:45, soaking wet once again. Paul told us to meet at the airstrip at 3:00 PM sharp for our 3:30 flight, which did not afford us much time. I dashed back to my room and rinsed off the saltwater before throwing all my things in my bag. As soon as I got to the airstrip (at 3:15) I grabbed an ice chest and boarded the plane. When the door closed behind me to take off twenty of the twenty-nine people in our party where on board. We informed the crew about this but they did not seem to care. The plane took off shortly there after as we stared out the window at our remaining companions. The story winds down from this point. Once arriving at the airport everyone parted ways and headed home. According to Jean Phillipe (who was left behind) the rest of the group left the island on the 5:00 PM flight. Since he had come to the airport with me (and I wasn't about to wait around for him) Jean Phillipe secured a ride home with Luis. However once arriving to the airport Luis went straight to his car while Jean Phillipe went to get his baggage and the Frenchman had to take a bus back to Caracas. A suitable conclusion after having gotten me lost of Saturday morning. |
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