Christmas in Colombia

We set off from Merida to Maricaibo, and then from Maricaibo to Maico just past the Colombian border. We must have been stopped by military police about 7 times along the way. Each time the officer would make his way along the bus, checking peoples ID at random, and eventually asking to see our passports. On one occasion the guy asked to see our airport stamp. With a combination of broken spanish and sign language, I tried to explain that we didnt come on the plane, because of course that's bad for mother earth, and that we came on a boat. He continued to point at random pages in my passport wanting to see an airport stamp, and repeating a word i didn´t understand. In the end, he could see he wasn't getting anywhere with this simple grinning gringo, and after recieving what appeared to be a back hander from the bus driver's assistant, he left the bus and we continued. Obviously he´d wanted a bribe (the corrupt cops/military here will pick any bullshit excuse), but had got sick of this simple grinning gringo. Not quite sure what was going on, but we saw the bus conductor give many of the cops back handers along the way, it´s pretty crazy.


The bus ride which was meant to take about 12 hours ended up taking almost 24, namely due to the delapidated dinosaur of a bus which we boarded in Maricaibo, thinking we'd save a few dollars. After every stop we´d begin a painful accelerration and lumber away in a cloud of dust and exhuast fumes, serenaded by a chorus of angry horn beeps from drivers unfortunate enough to be caught behind us.

We finally got to our destination that night - the little fishing village of Taganga. After a shower and some well deserved beers and food, we thankfully collapsed onto our bed. Next morning we were awoken by the sounds of tropical birds, and looked out of our window to see a beautiful blue sky and the sea!
Taganga was a great little place. During the brief walk along the road from our hostel to the sea front you´d bump into donkeys lazily chewing on crap, goats with their young nervously wandering around, chickens pecking in the dust and dogs playing and dozing in the shade. Children played in the sun, flying home-made kites in the ever-present forgiving breeze. The locals were really laid back and friendly, and you could buy amazing fresh fruit juice everywhere for $1. The fruit in Colombia is amazing, our firm favourtie being Maracuja (passion fruit). You cut the skin open to reveal a clump of sweet, delicious slime, which smells as amazing as it tastes, despite looking like yellow frogspawn. We spent a few days checking out the beaches nearby, which were horribly overcrowded due to it being Colombian holiday time and reading James Lovelocks' 'The revenge of Gaia'.


Went diving and it felt amazing to be underwater again. Had 4 dives and saw a few fish I'd never seen before, their names escape me now, along with Morray eels, a few different species of angel fish, and the highlight, my first Hawksbill turtle and on Christmas eve!

Met loads of great people, many of whom we'd met earlier in Venezuela and began planning Christmas festivities. The Colombians actually celebrate Christmas at 12 midnight on the 24th. The atmosphere was great throughout the town and we prepared for a night of serious rummage. They seem to love these ridiculous giagantic blow-up nativity scenes out here, every town we visited had them. Giant virgin Marys looking like somewhere between a monstrous smirf and the Michellin man, towered above huge cribs and ill-looking giant donkeys, all lit up with christmas lights. They're truly tac-tastic. To add to the tac, everywhere you went you were serenaded by the sounds of an awful medly of singing Christmas lights, playing the same mini 'mega-mix' over and over again, until you couldn't help imagining taking a rock and pummeling them to smitherines.
Christmas eve passed in a haze of cheap rum, and Christmas day was a rite-off as I suffered the most hideous hang over I've experienced for some time. I eventually sprang back to life after electrocuting myself trying to plug some Christmas lights in (that´ll teach me to curse the lights and we got started on a belated Christmas dinner, which wasn't very traditional but delicious all the same.




Boxing day saw us heading to the nearby Tayrona National park where we camped for 4 nights, next to the beach. At last, the tent had been errected!!! After more than 2 months of lugging the damn thing around, we actually put it to use.
The National park was gorgeous, amazing beaches and rock formations, and plenty of jungle walks, including one to a Pre-hispanic settlement called Pueblito, which is
still inhabited by Tayrona Indians. Saw a troop of amazing little monkeys but the
Toucans remained elusive. Loved cooking over an open fire once again, so satisfying, even with the hot smoke seering my pupils and lungs. And the stars! Frogs and toads sang their nocturnal chorus, glow worms flashed here and there, and a scan over the river with the torch would reveal the amber eyes of small Caimen lying in wait of passing fish.

Venezuela Pt II: Andes, fanny tours & a 3-wheeled bus

On arriving back in Santa Elena from our Roraima treck, we decided to get the bus that evening back to Cuidad Bolivar despite being knackered as doing the night buses saves on a night's accommodation. It was another 12 hour journey, but the coaches in Venezuela are similar to those in S.E. Asia; modern, efficient and comfortable, having reclining seats and ample leg space. But, like their Asian counterparts, the conductors seem to believe that all people boarding are actually Inuits from the Poles and that they must therefore recreate Arctic living conditions on the bus by blasting the air conditioning on full for the duration of the trip. As the full coaches set off, people in every seat begin to rummage in their bags and pull out jumpers, hats and blankets in anticipation of the incoming ice-age. I remember the first time in Thailand 3 years ago where I foolishly boarded night bus in my beach attire. Never again. Now I always take the trusty sleeping bag.



We arrived early the next morning and spent another night in Ciudad Bolivar, where we met Stephanie (Germany) and Rickie (Sweden) who accompanyed us on the following night to our next location, the city of Merida in the North-West. This was a 20 plus hour journey, with a change in BarinasAs we got closer, the scenery became completely different, with the road winding around colourful little villages, farms and highland rivers full of trout. The people looked more like indigenous Andeans and wore traditional hats and ponchos. The climate changed from humid to cool and cloudy. Merida is located on a plateau formation in the valley of the Chama river, in the 400km long northern end of the Andes range that belong to Venezuela. It stands at an altitude of 1,630 m above sea level, and is surrounded by mountains including the highest Venezuelan summit: the Bolivar Peak.We loved it. It's a university city, so has a youthful vibrance about the place, and it feels really liberal and laid back. Combined with the charm of Andean culture, it made for a nice place to stay for a while. We first stayed in a lovely hostel with a terrace which looked out onto the nearby mountains and it felt like eating breakfast in the Alps every morning, with the pleasant slightly more comfortable temperature. We found a couple of Veggie restaurants, our favourite being restaurante vegetariano on Ave 3, Calle 27, where you could get a set menu for 7 bolivars, the cheapest set menu we'd seen. I think it was vegan. The only thing we disliked was the air pollution from the fleet of huge, ancient American cars that constantly patrolled the streets. Some of them looked as though they were about to disintagrate. They must get them cheap from the states.



We decided to do a week of Spanish lessons at the IOWA Institute. With it being low season, there weren't many travellers around, so the classes were very personal. We were impressed with the school and were enjoying being in Merida, and so 1 week of lessons became 2.




After spending some time going to bars to ask if I could DJ, and being told to come back, and going back and then been told to come back again, I finally got myself a set at Banana's cocktail bar. I got to play for about 4 hours, with the cocktails flowing freely to me & Colette (and plenty subtly finding their way to our friends. Well, maybe not that subtly..). It's pretty funny here, I'd noticed on the radio and in another bar that the DJ's always plug themselves on the mic, and so the bar manager continued to shove the mic in my face and order 'Habla'! Of course after a few cocktails it didn´t take much persuasion to get me on the mic (Yes Nick!) much to Colettes' disgust. "Soy DJ Defunkt de Inglaterra, terra, terra! Este es Drum & Bass, bass, bass! Que paso Merida?!".It went down well, and reminded me how much I miss mixing to a crowd. The aim is to get to play at least once in each country visited.



One day, we went with our good friends Eli (Eng) and Bert (Holland) to Llano del Hato to see Latin America's 2nd largest telescope. The plan was to check out the stars, and then just find a spot to throw up the tent for the night, and get the bus back again first thing in the morn. The bus journey along this road is amazing. We passed campsinos ploughing their fields with oxen-pulled ploughs, gorgeous little villages with houses painted yellow, blue and pink and then "BANG, SSSSSCCCCCRRRRRRRR". I thought we'd been hit by another vehicle, and looked out of the window to see a wheel roll past. Then we realised that it was actually our wheel, and it had fallen off, just like that. We literally grinded to a halt. It was hilareous, we were all just pissing ourselves! The passengers calmly collected their belongings, and got off the bus to wait for the next, as though a wheel gone AWOL was just a part of their daily routine. After finding his wheel, the driver joined us in waiting for the next bus, and left his 3-wheeled casualty for dead on the narrow mountain road.


After 2 more hours we stopped for food at a cute little cafe. An annoying local guy persistantly tried to impress us by roughly picking up a tiny decrepit kitten by it's flea-bitten tail, poor little bugger. He was soon scared away by Colette's scowl of disapproval.
We finally reached the telescopes to be informed that they were closed until the following week. We pleaded to be let in, for just a quick peep at the stars, but it was in vain, and so we decided to return to Merida! The day had neem a disaster, but we'd all had such fun!



We weighed up doing another treck (especially with tour operators with names such as 'fanny tours & adventures'), or some camping in the hills but in the end decided that it was time to move on, as we'd been in Venezuela for 5 weeks and spent a fair bit of money. Also, we reckoned we'd have plenty of chance to see animals such as Caimans, Piranas and Capyburas once we'd entered the Amazon. After some careful consideration, we decided that Colombia would be our next port of call. Most travellers we'd met were either on their way there, or on they're way back, and all who'd been had given rave reviews. So, risking the initiation of 4 simoultaneous heart attacks from our parents, we got ready to head West to Colombia..........

Wake up call

I recently read an article which left me feeling depressed and angry (http://www.monbiot.com/archives/2008/11/25/one-shot-left/). It certainly served as a wake up call and a stark reminder of the situation we´re facing.

It took me a while to decide on whether or not to do this trip. I felt that it would be a tad hedonistic to go swaning off around the world again, at such a critical point for the future of humanity and our planet. Shouldn't I be helping to plan and organise direct action in the UK, to pressure the Government into rapid and radical change?

Climate change activism is blooming in the UK at the moment, as more and more people wake up to the severity of our situation.

A growing number of people are loosing faith in our government's supposed will to seriously tackle climate change, and are sick of the rhetoric that surrounds it. They are realising that it could very soon be too late to turn things around and prevent 'run away' climate change, and that their children (not just their Grandchildren, or Great Grandchildren) will face problems more severe than any that have been experienced in the history of mankind. Hence the recent bloom in climate change-based activism in the UK, and in other countries.

When 57 activists shut down Stansted airport earlier this month to highlight the ludicrous plans for infinate airport expansion, at a time when the science says we need to drastically reduce this industry, it's not because they're 'idiots' or 'troublemakers'. They're not doing it for kicks. They really don't want to disrupt people's holidays - they know that without the masses onboard, things won't change. In fact they´d hoped the situation wouldn't become so drastic as to warrant this type of behaviour. But, when all other avenues for negotiation are closed down, what choice is left but to take your future back into your own hands?

When the Sufferagettes engaged in a programme of civil disobedience to fight for the right to vote for women, they were chastised, and told that they were wasting their time. But those ordinary women had made a brave commitment to stand up and act and they eventually made the change they knew was right.

And the same for the masses of brave black people in the states, who after years of oppression realised that non-violent direct action was the powerful tool which they needed to instigate a just social change. Lead by that amazing man Martin Luthur King, they overcame their fear of the law, and successfully created a better future for their prodigy. And King himself had studied Ghandi and India's mass movement for change earlier in the century. Again, non - violent resistance, or Satyagraha, was ultimately what lead to India's freedom from British rule.


So, the people who are being brave enough to challenge to stand up to the system today are only following in the age old tradition of civil disobedience. But this time, it´s not only about oppression, but about our collective future on this planet.

It must have been a terrible and stressful inconvenience for those whose travel plans had been ruined by that action. But the inconvenience that we will all face due to increased freak weather events, rising sea levels, loss of agricultural land and productivity and increased conflicts over dwindling resources will be far greater.


So, that article reminded me that we had decided that this trip would't just be about us. We planned to participate in many environmetal awareness projects, and to spread the word about climate camp and this new movement for global change. We also planned to learn new skills for for living in a changing world, gained through working on organic farms and permaculture projects.


So, with a renewed sense of urgency, we're preparing to enter the productive bulk of this trip, starting with a 2 weeks of spanish lessons to help us in communication in these issues. Then, in early January, we've organised a stint in an environmental education centre & organic farm in Ecuador. Here, we also hope to meet a prominent local environmental activist whose raising awareness about the effects of climate change in South America.


I will anyone who has read this to read the above article link if they haven't, or again if they have. It's too late to wait for someone else to make things better for us. The change has to come from ourselves.

Photos: Roraima, Venezuela

Venezuela - Enter Bush´s axis of evil. I mean oil. Soundtrack: car alarms and Reggaeton

After worrying about whether or not we had enough money for the tickets & departure tax etc we were relieved to finaly board the sea prowler and got ready for a pleasant 3 hour trip to Guiria, Venezuela´s north eastern port. Onboard, we met our first bunch of backpackers, an interesting mix; a spanish guy who´s traveling around working as a dive instructor, an American Christian missionary on his way to try and persuade indegenous people to adopt his beliefs, a German herbalist with only his mountain bike and tiny backpack on his way around the worlds' vertical axis (he'd already done a trip on his bike previously around the world laterally), and a guy from Liverpool who just seemed angry and annoyed at everything.

On arrival, I was in for a bit of a shock. Up until this point I was sure that my Spanish was adequate enough for getting around, and doing all the important things you need a different language for. However, my first dialogue with a taxi driver highlighted the fact that my Spanish was weak at best, and that much work needed to be done.

We headed straight to the local bank, only to find that none of the 4 cards we have between us worked in the machines, so after finding a hotel (the hostel we´d intended to use appeared to be shut), we went into a bank, phrasebooks in hand, to put my Spanish to its second test. This time, I was understood, and to our delight, our palms were crossed with silver.

It felt great to be back in Latin America. The reggae and socca that'd been our daily soundtrack in T&T was replaced with Salsa, Merengue and, unfortunately, Reggaeton - South America's answer to urban music. Despite my dislike for the latter, it took me straight back to my first visit to Latin America 3 years ago, when I travelled through Central America. Aaaah The hustle & Bustle in the streets, the smells of the street food, the music pumping from every possible nook & cranny, the piles of stinking rubbish in the street.....okay, this bit was horrible, in fact I´ve never seen dirtier, rubbish-filled streets like these before.

Anyway, we soon realised that Venezuela was going to add to the dent in our budget already caused by T&T. If only we´d have got our hands on those US dollars; you can change them for a good rate here, and more or less double your wealth. People want them here so that they can buy things overseas....as the Bolivar fuerte, isnt that ´fuerte´(strong) anywhere outside of Venezuela. In fact they're pretty worthless anywhere else. As a result, you can either get money at the official rate which at the time was 2.15 to $1 US, or you can change US dollars in most shops, for up to 5 to $1 US. This is the black market. And we had hardly any US with us. This wouldnt have been quite so annoying if we hadnt already lost a large fraction of our savings due to the devaluation of the British pound over the last few months. To add to this, the inflation in Venezuela over the last year has been very high, so everything was pretty expensive, in fact damn expensive.

After a couple of days in Guiria, weighing up our money situation and adapting to a new world, we got a bus to Cuidad Bolivar. Here I made a classic mistake. When we asked how long the bus would take, we were pleased to hear only 2 .5 hours. However, the number 2 sounds very much like the number 12 in Spanish. So, after 3 hours on the bus we asked how long it´d be only to discover that we had only 10 hours left, mas o menus. Ah, yes, the distances, how could I forget?! And there was us thinking that we were prepared for the trip with our meagre packed lunch.

Spent a few days in Cuidad Bolivar, which has some nice colourful colonial Spanish buildings, with cobbled streets and the works. There are a couple of beautiful old hostels, or posadas, to stay in, one of which was Posada Patria; a German-run building of no less than 275 years. It had an open courtyard with lots of plants, loads of cool artifacts on the walls, a lounge dedicated to Cuban Jazz, hammocks and a couple of randy tortoises who kept us entertained with their rather noisy and perculiar copulation sessions.

We also stayed in Don Carlos, another beautiful posada, whose belgium owner took delight in taking any opportunity to share his opinions on the country's political situation. We made a habit of asking pretty much anyone we came accross, mainly Venezuelans, what they thought of Senor Chavez to try to build a more accurate picture of whats really going on with the 'revolution'. And, we got some interesting insight. But more on this later.

Most travellers staying in this town are either on their way back from or heading to 2 of Venezuela´s most magnificant natural wonders; Angel falls, or Roraima in the National park of Cainama. We tried to find a way to check out Angel Falls without flying, but had no luck. Instead, we headed to Santa Elena on the Brazillian border to go on a 6 day treck to the top of the impressive Roraima; one of many huge table-top mountains (or 'Tepuis') that are scattered around the Canaima National park. Apparently they were the inspiration for Author Conan Doyle's 'The Lost World' (what a classic) and I can see why, the whole place did seem very Jurassic Park. It wouldn't have seemed so unusual if we'd passed a Diplodocus or two along the way. It was a stunning area, totally unique and formed from the oldest rocks on earth. After the second day, it still seemed implausible that we'd actually reach the top....the monstrous rocky sides jut vertically from the base of the mountain and dissapear into the clouds. It took 3 days to reach the plateau, stopping to camp along the way, and swimming & drinking the cool river water.

Canaima, the name of the park, derives from the novel "Canaima" by Venezuelan author Rómulo Gallegos, and means "spirit of evil" in the language of the Pemón, the indigenous inhabitants of the park. It didnt feel particularly evil though. At the top there are many endemic species, that is, plants and animals found nowhere else on earth. We found cool carnivorous plants like sundews, and tiny crawling black frogs. Unfortunatley, this century will probably spell the end of the road for many of these organisms. As things warm up, they won't be able to migrate any further up, as they already live on the top, so unless they rapidly evolve wings and fly to somewhere with a more suitable climate, they're f*cked. It's sobering to think that we may be some of the last people to see these lifeforms that have been in existance for so long.

It definately seemed like some other world-type shizzle on the top; big craters, crazy plants, crystal clear lakes and streams, and all surrounded by the white clouds below. Although, once again, the beauty was tainted by the touch of man, the paths strewn with plastic food wrappers and beer cans discarded by tourists and locals alike. By the end Colette and I had collected a bag full of other people´s waste.

We spent two days on top, the highlight being the amazing view once the clouds had cleared.

We were shattered by the end of it, and a bit damp & battered, but it was well worth the effort. On the evening of our return to Santa Elena, we took the bus back to Cuidad Bolivar and planned our next stop; Merida.

Trinidad & Tobago (soundtrack: Unknown ´Soca´ artists -´I´m gonna eat me some pork this Christmas´ & ´Big banana, small banana´)

As we got ready to disembark, we spotted several vultures circling above. Were they awaiting our arrival? A rep from the shipping company collected us, and took us to the immigration office, where he announced a few extra costs which hadn´t been mentioned, including a fee for the immigration officer to come out and see to us on a Sunday. We weren´t sure whether or not we were been had, but it was a reminder that we were now out on our own, and fair game to anyone and everyone who fancied trying their luck at releiving us of a few dollars! I reccomend that anyone wanting to travel by cargo ship should look into these 'extra costs', as we hadn't been prepared for them. At this point, we were warned about safety in and around the capitol, Port of Spain. ¨Don´t go here, don´t go there, and certainly don´t go out after dark¨. This would become a typical warning from the locals on the island. We'd heard a few things about Trinidad before we'd left ie ¨ooooooh, its dangerous there, be careful¨ etc etc, but these days thats a common response when talking about travel in places that are generally out of peoples´comfort zone. If I´d have listened to everyones tales of concern about different places to which I´d planned to travel, I probably wouldn´t have gone to study in Hull (¨oooooh, it´s rough there, becareful¨!).
So yeah, listen to people, be aware of the risks, do your research, be sensible, but don't live in fear. However, in this case some of the warnings turned out to be justified; the crime-rate in Trini is rocketing at the moment, with shootings and stabbings a daily reality. The murder rate for 2008 stood at 460 by the time we left, and is probably over 500 now, which is pretty crazy for a small island. However, many of these are gang and drug - related, and as we had no intention of taking drugs with gangsters, we kept clear of trouble. We´d no more desire to wander around Port of Spain at night time than we would in certain areas of Manchester, London or Hull. Common sense.

During the taxi ride to our guesthouse, we were introduced to the sounds of 'soca' music, with classics such as "I'm gunna eat me some pork this christmas", and "Big banana, small banana"- a fallic tale of the pros and cons of differning penis sizes.
After a day or two, we realised just how expensive it was going to be in Trini. Our guesthouse was owned by Colette's neighbours' wife, and was out in the middle of surburbia, with only taxis to take us anywhere (¨don't use buses - you 'll be mugged¨). Getting everywhere would incur a significant cost, not to mention being environmentally unsound.

And then came a ray of sunshine (not that we needed more sunshine - it was already reaching 32 degrees each day, and we were feeling pretty frazzled)....in the form of a Trini guy (Trini, not Trannie) called Kyle. His Russian girlfriend was using one of the rooms in the guesthouse as a beauty salon for her business, and so he visited on a regular basis. He imediately adopted us as friends, and drove us to a local supermarket to get some food, with there being no local shops. He was a self - employed blind fitter, and had recently spent some time working in London, where he'd met many friendly Brits who'd looked after him and treated him well. So, it seemed that he wished to make it his mission to treat us well in return; bring on the Karma! Meeting this great guy would define our short stay in Trinidad.

For a few days he insisted in driving us to various spots to partake in various Trini traditions. We stopped at Roti stalls to eat ´Rotis´ and ´Doubles´, simple snacks which had been introduced by the Island's Indian population (that is, immigrants from India, not indegenous Indians). These were a delight to us veggies; a snack consisting of chickpeas in a curry sauce, wrapped in a fried bread, all for about $1. Although, after a couple of days' indulgence, Colette persuaded me that the fried bread element rendered them from being a healthy option, and if I continued to consume them at that rate, I'd be heading for cardiac arrest. We stopped at roadside fruit stalls along small roads in valleys surrounded by lush, verdent vegetation where we drank fresh milk from coconuts hacked open by Rastas. We tried local delicacies such as salted chunks of dried mango dyed bright pink, a truly hideous concoction....why would one corrupt such a wonderful fruit in this way? We went to Trinidad's most popular beach - Maracas, where we ate 'cheese 'n' bakes, instead of the more popular 'shark 'n' bakes, of course. It angers me that publications such as Lonely planet still promote foods like this to travellers. Due to over-fishing, the world's shark population is in a dire state, and it won't be long until many species become exticnt. Not only will this be a tragic loss of an awsome creature that has been patrolling the seas since long before the dinosaurs even existed, but it will also prove devastating to the marine ecosystem as a whole by eliminating a vital top predator. Okay, rant over. For now.

Unfortunatley our priority in Trinidad was getting me to the hospital to make sure I hadnt sustained a fracture during an incident that occurred just before I left England. My right arm was in a removeable sling, which was a bit of a bugger, and made lugging the old backpack around even more of an arduous task. I had no idea how much it would cost, or how long it'd take for me to be seen to. But, Lady Luck appeared to be on our side once more; Alina, Kyles' girlfriend, had an aunty who worked in the hospital. With a single phonecall, a free X-ray and consultant was arranged! Back of the net! Only hitch was, the consultancy would be the day after our boat to Venezuela, so we'd have to stay an extra week for the next boat. What a shame; we'd have to go wait a few days on the neighbouring tropical island paridise of Tobago.

So, after spending a night at Kyles' where he cooked us some delicious food including fried plantain (his genorosity knew no limit!) we caught the boat to Tobago.

Here, we felt a little more free, as it's meant to be much safer than its big sister. We stayed in Bucco beach, a lovely little area which was quiet and had a wonderful beach and amazing sunsets. The locals seemed much more welcoming, and we were 2 of only about 6 tourists in the whole area. There was a jetty at the bottom of our path from which we could jump into the sea each morning. Did a bit of fishing too, which is a rare treat. Caught 5, retruned 3, and ate two. I no longer eat fish, unless I can catch them myself. Due to over-fishing, our once abundant oceans have been ravaged, and are about to be turned into a prehistoric slimey mess. Let me explain. With big predators often gone or greatly depleted, organisms lower on the food web grow more abundant, reducing their own prey in turn. Around the world, loss of fish, combined with increased nutrient inflow from pollution, has caused a bloom of primitive organisms in the ocean: the same algae, bacteria, and jellyfish that dominated the seas before the explosion of complex life 600 million years ago. This has been dubbed by some as “the rise of slime.” I've always had a deep interest in the ecology of the oceans and have a degree in Aquatic biology. I refuse to support an industry that is destroying such a vital ecosystem. However, very occasionally I use a rod and line to catch my dinner. This technique is very selective, and if you catch something thats too small, you can pop it back relatively unharmed to grow bigger and reproduce. And of course, you don't catch turtles, dolphins, birds and whales by accident. But, I suppose in order to be free from hypocrisy, I shouldn't even take the few that I do. But, when living in countries where it's not so easy to get a healthy, consistant protein intake as a vegetarian, a sustainably caught fish here and there I can justify. So, after abstaining from eating fish for over two years, the succulent, tastey flesh was a delicious treat.

One day we went on a little boat trip to do some snorkelling over whats left of the Caribbean's once flourishing coral reef. On the sunday night, the weekly 'Lime', or party, came to Bucco beach, for the notorious 'Sunday school'. This was really fun....there wereBBQ's set up (with a suprising amount of veggie options), soundsystems pumping, steel drum bands drumming, and artisan stalls. We also had the pleasure of meeting local legend...the one....the only......DJ MICROWAVE!!! Legend indeed. He carries his set up around in a microwave, and actually DJ´s from inside the microwave with the door open! DING! And what a fine selection of reggae old and new.

We met a Venezuelan guy who told us to take US dollars to venezuela, as you can get a good rate of exchange on the black market. We attempted to procure some, but missed the bank closing time, and decised to get some in Trinidad the next morning, before we caught the boat. In the end, we couldnt get any which later prooved to be a frustrating hiccup.

The next day we returned to Trinidad and our good man Kyle picked us up from the port. We stayed the night at his house again, where his lovely Mother made us feel most welcome - we talked about vegetarianism, the environment, Obama, and how these fit into her belief a practicing Jahova's witness.

"Are you sure you want to go to South America tommorrow? You can spend Christmas here y'know, we have a wicked Christmas and ting 'ere in Trini y'know!" repeated Kyle, bless him, he really wanted us to stay! He'd become great friend, and we shall definately be in touch.

The next morning, we had a bit of a panic as we couldn't draw any money out from all 4 cards. A wildgoose chase ensued, to what must have been almost every ATM on the island, yet we could not get more money. We pondered on the posibility of staying an extra week and getting money and US dollars, but decided that we were already week behind schedule due to the hospital, and we'd already spent too much money whilst on these islands. One week more was simply too much (much to Kyle's dissapointment). If only the boat was more frequent than once a week. If only we could fly! So, we decided we had enough money to get us to Venezuela where we would contact the banks. We said bye to our good friend, and boarded the sea prowler.

Summary

We left with mixed feelings about Trinidad & Tobago. If we hadn't have met Kyle, we may not have had such a good time. The current levels of violence and the horror stories that we'd heard, had marred our stay slightly. Trinidad seems to be a very divided island, with astonishing contrasts in the welfare of different social classes and a hefty dollop of racism (between the black and Indian communities). One minute you'd be driving past expensive, lavish neighbourhoods, then as if a line were drawn on the ground, you'd be passing impoverished slums, and you'd hear the click of the cars' central locking system as it was activated by the driver.

Sadly, despite the beauty of the island, its population doesn't seem to give a shit about keeping it tidy (obviously it may not be a priority of the poorer people, but what about the rest?) and everywhere we went the roadsides were littered with plastics.

One thing that struck us imediately about this island was the number of cars. Theres far too many. The roads are gridlocked at any point in the day, jammed with 4x4s and old, beat - up, over-sized American monsters. There is public transport, but I guess the old American ideal of personal car ownership is as strong as ever here, and as the island has significant oil reserves (for now), petrol is dirt cheap.

We enjoyed Tobago much more, as it is far more relaxed, and the locals were much friendlier, and there are less cars. But overall, this Caribbean chapter was a bonus; we wouldnt have visited if it weren't for the fact that this is where we'd disembark. We could have gone further and got off in Guyana, or Brazil, but for 90 euro per day each, we had to limit the passage to 12 days. And anyway, this was the closest stop to Venezuela where the trip would truly begin. We just had to come and see what the revolution is all about.

Photos: Trinidad & Tobago