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"Stock up in Grenada! Shelves are bare in Venezuelan
grocery stores!" "It's a scary, violent country."
"Chavez says Americans are cockroaches that should be
driven from their country." "It's so hard to get
supplies in Venezuela, you have to take your own sandpaper."
These are some of the things we heard about Venezuela as we
headed down-island this Spring. Based on insurance restrictions,
we had two choices for hurricane season: Trinidad or Venezuela.
Both countries have had security issues, primarily dinghy
thefts but also some shoreside incidents and, rarely, boat
boardings. Every cruiser we talked to had a different opinion,
only adding to our confusion rather than making the right
decision obvious. We ultimately chose Venezuela, but with
strong misgivings.
At sunset on July 3rd, we depart Grenada for the 90-mile
overnight sail to the Venezuelan out-islands of Los Testigos
(The Witnesses). Columbus named these islands such because
they gave testament to the existence of the equatorial current.
Fortunately, the current is mostly favorable for our southwest
heading. After six months of beating upwind, we find ourselves
taking the unfamiliar downwind point of sail. The sun rises
Wednesday morning to reveal a dark greenish-brown water. As
we arrive in the Los Testigos archipelago, the water is a
bright lime-green. The cruising guide attributes this color
to effluent from the Orinoco River.
We drop anchor off a stretch of white beach on the biggest
island, Testigo Grande. Customs and Immigration aren't available
here, so visiting boats must check in with the Guarda Costa
station on Isla Iguana Grande, a smaller island about a mile
away. Being not only Americans, but also Texans, we're a bit
anxious about how a branch of the Venezuelan military may
receive us. President Hugo Chavez has been warning the military
to prepare for an imminent U.S. invasion. Our fears prove
unfounded. The young soldier who completes our paperwork is
courteous and efficient. With our presence legalized, we take
a walk down the beach through the sleepy fishing village.
Everyone we pass says "Hola" and greets us with
a smile. Later that evening, since it's July 4th, we tune
the Ipod to Willie Nelson singing America the Beautiful and
choke back a tear.
We spend three days relaxing at Los Testigos while a tropical
wave passes. About 160 people live on these islands and earn
their livelihood through fishing. There aren't any businesses
here. Since there isn't an airport or a ferry, locals who
want to shop must travel by pirogue to the mainland. One couple
operates a restaurant out of their house, but they only accept
Bolivars (Bs), the Venezuelan currency. Since we only have
U.S. and E.C. dollars, we eat our meals on the boat. While
the wave passes, Nick takes another look at our broken anchor
windlass. Oil is dripping out the motor--not a good sign.
If things are as bad in Venezuela as we've heard, how will
we ever resolve this problem?
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Playa Tamarindo, Testigo Grande
La Casa Verde. These folks will cook you
a meal if you have the correct currency.
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