The sail from Chacachacare to Los Testigos was a pleasure. We had about 90 miles to go, so it was to be an overnight passage again. We sailed out in the early afternoon to a light easterly breeze. This was almost the first time we sailed fully with the wind. Before now we had the wind on the quarter at best. Out of the bag came our colourful drifter. Throughout the afternoon we played with the spinnaker and combinations of the main, genoa and drifter. The wind picked up and we ended up with 15-20 knots from slightly off the starboard stern, and we just left the big nylon drifter up, poled out to port. The seas were only around three to four feet high and we were going fast. It was exhilarating.
We had been tempted to sail along the Venezuelan shore, and perhaps stop at one of the villages, but in the last year or so the area’s reputation for dangerous crime had increased. We were now in one of the few piracy-prone areas on our path so we sailed well offshore. It was a shame. The area was incredibly beautiful with a high mountain range dropping down to the sea. There are still jaguars in the jungle there. The cruising guide warned of vampire bats, which bite you while you sleep and lick at the blood. Their saliva has an anesthetic in it so that you can't feel it, and an anticoagulant to keep the bleeding going. We put up the screens at night after reading that.
The sun set and as usual the wind dropped slightly during the night, but we still made great time. Morning saw a long, low group of islands off our bow. Our first stop was a bay with a long white beach. There were only a few boats there, and none near us. We were quite exposed there but the water was crystal clear. I had a moment of madness and swam ashore for a run along the beach. It was a lot hotter on shore. All we had to do was listen to the weather, cook, eat and relax, and gradually we could feel the worries of life in Trinidad fall away. We spent a few days there and then moved to a bay called Playa Real. This was a more crowded anchorage tucked in behind a little island. The beach was beautiful and there was no swell. We walked over to the other side of the point to a surf beach and did some body surfing. There was a small group of fisherman’s shacks on the beach and we watched them fix their nets during the day. We hung out there a few more days, then decided to move on to Margarita.

Isla Margarita

From the Testigos to Margarita is only about 45 miles, so it was an easy day sail over. This was to be where we checked into the country officially, and we weren’t looking forward to it. The South American love of paperwork was legendary. We sailed into Porlamar bay in the late afternoon and went ashore to find out what the deal was. In South America most administrative tasks are done by agents, who for a fee will take the dozens of copies of crew lists, customs declarations, tax papers, ownership papers and many others to the right places and stand in line for hours for you. The agent at Porlamar was called Juan, and his business was called Marina Juan even though there was no marina. He just had a long dinghy dock where a guy sat watching your dinghy for tips. We immediately went to the yacht club for dinner, and that is where our first pleasant surprise was.
Beers were 14 cents each, in the bar! An entire case of 24 beers cost $4. Later we were to encounter more amazing prices. Diesel fuel was 13 cents a GALLON at the fuel dock, or you could get it delivered to the boat for twice that. Fillet steak was five dollars a kilo. You could go to a restaurant for ten bucks a head, including a few drinks.
The downside to this was poverty. Drugs were plentiful and cheap, being right next to Columbia probably didn’t help, and one of the yachties ended up having to bribe their way out of jail after buying coke from the wrong guy. Two weeks inside was very good for his Spanish. The place was corrupt and crime ridden. The Chief of Police’s son had been stabbed to death on the Porlamar beach the week before we got there. You had to be very careful. You couldn’t use the ATMs without risking having your card cloned, and some of the bank managers couldn’t be trusted not to clone them either. Theft off boats at night was common. The Americans organised night watches and patrols. While we were there a French couple were anchored off the next island south of us when a group of hooded men invaded their boat. They did the right thing and offered no resistance but they shot the man in the leg while they were leaving anyway. He had a badly broken leg and spent weeks in hospital.
Even with the crime, we loved the place. There was a Latin vibrancy that we hadn’t come across since Miami. Margarita is one of the biggest party towns in the Caribbean. At night families were out shopping, eating and drinking coffee. Venezuela had recently experienced boom and bust in the oil market and everywhere you looked there were abandoned high-rise apartments and hotels, but on the street trade was brisk and people seemed happy. Again we found ourselves shopping. We stocked up on medicines in particular (available without prescription), as well as fresh vegetables and booze. Good rum was a dollar a bottle, and we bought enough to keep us going until the Pacific. ¾ Time and the Vagrant were there, and we had a few parties and hung out on the beach with them.
A couple of weeks passed and we had had enough. It was time to find some seclusion again.

Isla Tortuga, Los Roches and Las Aves

From Margarita we sailed to Isla Tortuga, where we met Barry and Amanda from Darwin’s Passage, a big Trintella 49. Barry was a semi-retired biology professor, and Amanda was a reasearcher in the same field. They would eat anything, being particularly fond of sea-urchins. We spent a couple of days there at Playa Caldera, then cruised through the Los Roques and Las Aves. We spent the next weeks touring the islands and reefs, doing lots of snorkelling and spear fishing with Darwin’s Passage and a French boat we met, Sadhana, owned by Michel, Isabelle and Claire. The sailing between the islands was fantastic, with brisk trade winds and a following current giving us average speeds of six to seven knots. We were beginning to think this sailing lark was easy.
Los Roques was an extensive reef complex dotted with low rocky islands. There was an extensive lagoon with strong winds and flat waters. These islands were very popular with boats from the mainland, and every weekend they were crowded with Venezuelan party boats.
The diving was fantastic. We pulled out the hookah and dived the drop-off at the south end of the islands. The reef dropped from 20ft to 120ft. We drift dived this spot repeatedly, motoring out, then diving down and holding onto the dinghy anchor while drifting along in crystal clear water.
In the Las Aves we anchored behind an island absolutely covered in birds. Hence the name. You could hold up a piece of popcorn and the gulls would take it from your fingers. There were nests everywhere with snow white baby Boobies peeking out of them. Extensive reefs stretched north from these islands, and we anchored in the lagoons behind the main reef for days. The spear fishing was good though there were quite aggressive little reef sharks around. Each night we pooled our catch and ate on one of the bigger boats. Both Barry and Michel were excellent chefs. Michel had the typically Frenchman’s love of food. We were normally alone in the anchorages, and we anchored far apart so that when we were finished socializing we had privacy again. Anchored behind a reef far from land-- this was what our trip was meant to be.
We were sitting in our cockpit one evening drinking our rum and crystal lights when Alison raised the topic of Christmas. During this stage of the trip we were in no hurry. We had made it south of the Hurricane belt in July, and we did not plan to arrive in French Polynesia until April, which was the end of the southern cyclone season. This would mean leaving Panama mid February, so we had plenty of time. Alison wanted to be near a phone to call home, so we decided on moving on to Bonaire. We talked to Barry and Amanda the next day and found they had similar plans. Sadhana agreed and so we planned to have a final barbeque, then sail across to Bonaire the next day.
The BBQ was not a success. We dinghied a couple of miles south to the nearest island. When we got there the beach was alive with sandflies. I decided then that a hand spear was the perfect implement to pole us ashore with, and promptly shoved a razor sharp point straight through our inflatable dinghy’s tube. Nice move. We tried fixing it there while being eaten alive and finally gave up and raced back to True Blue with Alison’s thumb over the hole. As soon as we arrived we hoisted it out of the water before it sank. I was not in a good mood. The others persisted for a while before retreating to one of the boats. I fixed our dinghy and then we had dinner on Darwin’s Passage instead.
Looking back on Venezuela, I think it is one of our favourite areas in the Caribbean. The Las Aves was truly secluded. This was very different from the West Indies. You can sail all the way from Maine to Trinidad and never have to sail more than 80 miles. We met one couple on Hog island who had never had their mainsail up. They just motor-sailed everywhere, and good on them. The distances in Venezuela were longer, and it was harder to get back. There was the slight danger of piracy and the greater danger of being robbed. These combined to limit the number of boats, and gave an adventurous flavour to our time there.
The sail to Bonaire was a sleigh ride. The first part of the trip was in the lee of the extensive Las Aves reef system, so we had flat seas and a great breeze. December was getting towards what passed for winter in the Venezuela, and the trade winds were getting stronger. We were nearing the roughest part of the Caribbean too. Wind funnels past the top of Columbia and the swells have room to build up after passing the eastern island chain. That day, though, conditions were great. We got away first (as the small boats always will) and led the race all the way to Bonaire despite being 18ft shorter. Apparently it isn’t how big the boat is, it’s how you use it… anyway we raced Darwin’s Passage along the lee of Bonaire-- neck and neck. The arid south end of the island gave way to a pleasant looking town, full of colourful buildings in the Mediterranean style. Bonaire belongs to the Dutch, and we were back to civilisation.