A World of Water

The story · 1 days

I want to begin this new adventure with a toast. A toast to this wonderful country, and the best place to do it is surely in the water, because this country is full of it. You find water everywhere, in its most varied forms, in colours of so many different shades. From the calm emerald greens of the Los Roques archipelago, through the browns pushed by invisible currents of the many rivers, to the mighty waterfalls where white spray rises hundreds of metres, and to the rain that often falls in buckets from the sky. People live on the water, wash in it, work on it; history passes along rivers and seas. A journey planned from home. Planned so as to be able to reach some of the most interesting places for us.

A few days of relaxation on paradise beaches at Los Roques, canoeing in the footsteps of Alejandro de Humboldt along the Autana river in the Amazon region, hunting the pink dolphin in the Orinoco delta, up the rapids to reach Angel Falls, the highest waterfall in the world and then....I saw truly fascinating places and met many good people. A new adventure begins; my friend Daniel, Spanish, met on the journey, called it an Aventura Puta Madre, and soon it will be clear why. After two days spent in the urban jungle of Caracas, amid traffic, blaring car horns at any time of day, music at disco volume practically everywhere and being careful not to be flattened by speeding buses, we look at each other and, without even speaking, head off to buy plane tickets to escape and go to paradise.

About an hour's flight is enough to be catapulted into an ocean at first deep and impetuous, then becoming so placid and transparent as soon as it meets the dazzling white beaches or the many coral reefs that form the Los Roques archipelago. There are more than 140, between coral islets, uninhabited sand-only islets and the island of Gran Roque. The largest and the most inhabited. Descending with the plane it really feels like landing on the beach. On the other hand the runway is right beside the beach with its little harbour from where boats leave for the other islands. Many people set off from Caracas for the day to get a bit of sea and return in the evening — as normal for us as taking the car — whereas this was an unexpected and very exciting arrival. We go into the waiting room, a straw roof right on the beach, they bring our luggage and off we go, looking for a posada.

One thing strikes us immediately: as soon as the plane's propellers stop, a great silence; there are no speeding buses, no cars, no noise, only the wind and the waves. We walk on the sand; the whole little town was built on the sand. There are no tarmacked roads, the houses are single-storey, brightly coloured, pastel-coloured doll's houses, immaculately kept flower-festooned favours in the shade of very tall trees. A small square, clearly also of sand, tells us we are in the centre. Centre in a manner of speaking: in ten minutes on foot you can walk round the whole town. Walking with shoes makes us uncomfortable, off with everything, we immerse ourselves completely in the relaxing atmosphere of this incredible paradise. The first thing that comes to mind is to move here. Many Italians have already done so; most of the posadas belong to fellow countrymen.

And why not us? Perhaps because we haven't yet found the ideal place to live, perhaps because life must be lived by travelling, to get to know things, to learn to live, to learn to travel, and maybe one day, very far off, we will find the true paradise.

Day 13 Aug 2006

This time I'm travelling alone. The time has come to liven up the trip. I take a bus from Caracas. It leaves at eight in the evening and in about fifteen hours you arrive at Puerto Ayacucho, in the Amazonas region, on the border with Colombia. After more than an hour of city traffic, the bus leaves the city. The scenery changes, green hills take the place of the bleak houses of the outskirts. Soon it gets dark, between one film and another, obviously at full volume, I manage to get a few naps in. Then sleep takes over and I start dreaming. I dream I'm travelling, on a bus, in a country still unknown to me, I dream I'm heading towards a new adventure, I feel as if I'm lying on a bus seat but at the same time as if I'm on a boat. A very loud noise suddenly wakes me, they're iron chains banging on the floor of the boat. So I wasn't dreaming.

We're fording the Apure river on an enormous barge full of trucks, buses and people on foot crossing from one bank to the other. It's one of the many fords you cross to reach your destination. Great chances to stretch your legs and chat with your fellow travellers. A few downpours liven up the journey even more and, after about fifteen hours, I'm at my destination. Once I've found a place to stay, I meet up with Victor Emanuel who helps me organise a canoe excursion along the Autana river. I join three other Venezuelan guys and a Spaniard. We get our gear ready, camp stove, provisions and plenty of beer, load everything onto the jeep and the following morning at dawn we head to the port of Samariapo, from where we set off by canoe.

An incredible atmosphere, a constant bustle of people busy loading and unloading goods, bargaining, passengers waiting for their canoe, impatient at the chronic delay. Scenes of normal life, and in the middle of all this there I am too, part of an ordinary day in an ordinary port on an ordinary river in an ordinary region, the Amazon.