1. (1) Riding through Venezuela in a hurry

2. (2) Esperantists in Valencia

(1) Riding through Venezuela in a hurry

Venezuelan border was on the south edge of the Guiana Highlands after a ride ascending from the Amazon basin. As its altitude is about 1,000m, the air is cool and it is comfortable to ride. In addition, the road becomes good. So you can enjoy a fine view around you, not paying much attention to the potholes anymore. The view of the highlands is magnificent. I enjoyed a good ride after a long interval. Mt. Roraima is exposed to view to the right along the Guyanan border after 50-60km trip from the border town Santa Elena. There are around 100 flat-topped mountains called tepuis on the Guiana Highlands. Many of them stand around here and Mt. Roraima is one of them. If you go farther north, you see a mountain that looks like a derby hat this time on your left hand. According to its location in the map, it must be a mountain that has Angel Falls, the world's highest waterfall of nearly 1,000m in length. There is no road to access the waterfall. You have to fly to see the waterfall. The comfortable highlands ended after about 200-km trip and the road went down the mountain. The grassland turned to the jungle and it became hot again. El Dorado was the only town at a distance of 300km from Santa Elena. The name of the town also attracted me. I decided to stay there. It was a small town and I could find a hotel easily. The two-story hotel had a large parking lot. The rooms on the second story had an air conditioner, but I took a room with a fan on the ground floor because I didn't want to carry up the luggage. The room cost only US$4. However, the room was dingy and there was no tap water. A large plastic bucket with colored water was placed in the bathroom. So I refrained from excreting night soil and used drinking water to wash my face and to brush my teeth. Besides, I had something to worry about. Some tables were placed on the corner of the parking and not a few men were drinking beer there. They kept drinking till late at night.

People told me in Brazil that thieves are ubiquitous in Venezuela and that I would have to pay special attention to the bike. And, it happened. In Santa Elena someone took the compass written by Chinese characters that I fixed to the handle bar. It had never been stolen till then. Fortunately it was not a serious loss as I had a spare. Remembering this, in El Dorado I was worrying about the drunks in the parking. Luckily the bike was still there when I got up in the morning. However, when I started riding, the bike swayed and was unstable. The tires of the two wheels lacked air. The drunks must have pulled the air out. There wasn't any space to park the bike along the road in the jungle. And, if you stop a bike with tubeless tires stuck with a nail or something, the air will completely go out. I slowed down the bike and kept going to the next town. When I stopped the bike at a gas station in order to charge the tires, the front tire became flat. There was a hole in the tire. For lack of sufficient air pressure, the tire had a puncture. Unfortunately, the compressor of the gas station was out of order. I heard that there was a shop to repair tires 1km ahead. I rode dreadfully, for fear that the tire might come off the rim. I had a flat tire for the first time during this journey. The Orinoco has its origin near the Brazilian border and flows along the hem of the Guiana Highlands, as if drawing a semicircle, to the central part of Venezuela and then flows east to the Atlantic. As I came closer to the Orinoco in the north, the jungle gradually disappeared. There was Ciudad Guayana, the first large city from the border at the entrance of the huge Orinoco delta. Venezuela has oil fields in this delta and near Lake Maracaibo in the west end. As Venezuela is an oil-producing country, gasoline is inexpensive. It is extraordinary cheap. High-octane gasoline costs 4 cents per liter and normal gasoline costs less than 3 cents. As the gasoline in Brazil cost about 70 cents, I had to pay about $23 when I traveled 500km a day. In addition, the condition of the engine became bad in Brazil as the rumor says that alcohol is mixed into the gasoline. In Venezuela, the quality of gasoline was good although it was almost free. As a result, the fuel consumption became lower and the BMW recovered its original power. I usually charged gasoline after riding 150km in Venezuela and paid about 35 cents at a gas station. I even wondered how they could pay the workers. Most roads were good in Venezuela. The reason must be that most of them are toll roads. However, this country doesn't charge on motorcycles either. I once paid for a bridge over the Orinoco. Surprisingly, the charge was only 2 cents.

Venezuela is a good country for a motorcycle trip as the expenses are negligible, however, there is a problem. I couldn't use my bank and credit cards for any ATM. I tried at some banks. Most of them don't have English menus. So you have to respond to Spanish. The change of the menu was too quick. The ATM didn't wait for your respond more than one second. Before I read half of an instruction, the procedure was cancelled. At one of the banks, the procedure kept going without receiving my secret number. And, at the last stage the machine said, "No". Something like this often happens to anything in Latin America. But, it did happen even to a computer business! I wanted to shout, 'I want to talk to the programmers of these programs". I gave up the banks and changed dollar bills at moneychangers. The official rate was 1,920 bolivars for one dollar, but they gave me 2,500. I couldn't use the cards, but I got more money in return.

Concerning the computer system of this country, there was another problem besides the stupid programs of the banks. When I sent my e-mails at a cybercafe in Santa Elena, it took several minutes to send one e-mail. After that I downloaded the free software for sound data of around 4 MB and, to my surprise, it took 96 minutes. A short-tempered person cannot travel in this country.

As I arrived at Ciudad Guayana earlier than I expected, I kept riding to Ciudad Bolivar about 100km west along the Orinoco. Ciudad Bolivar is located along the Orinoco and was named after Simon Bolivar who liberated South America from domination by Spain. I had met some people from this city in the Guiana Highlands and had heard that there weren't budget hotels with a parking in the center of the city, but that there was a new hotel with a parking in a short distance from the center. The hotel that I arrived was a good hotel. The woman at the reception told me that the hotel was opened two days before and was a four-star hotel. She told me the charge was $13.5. As usual I tried to bargain, but in vain. After dusk, I was going out of the gate of the hotel for supper. At the gate there were three guards, each holding an about 40cm-long gun. Ｉthought this place was not safe. One of them said to me, "It is dangerous around here. You must not walk even during the day. Otherwise, you will be totally ripped off". In this hotel a large pool was already completed, but a restaurant was still under construction. I had my Chinese supper ordered by telephone and had it in my room. The delivered Chinese food was expensive, but not delicious. The ordered beer was not delivered. The hotel charged me as much as 60 cents for the telephone. You could buy 15 liters of gasoline for that money! And, even if it was really a four-star hotel, the hotel was like a jail to me because I couldn't go out. The costs of hotels and restaurants in Venezuela were mostly the same as in Brazil. However, a set of table and chair, a telephone, a refrigerator, and an ashtray disappeared from a hotel room. A missing ashtray made me unhappy although smoking is allowed in Venezuelan restaurants unlike in Brazil. Moreover, the hotels in Venezuela don't serve breakfast, in spite of the same cost, while rich breakfast was given in every hotel in Brazil. The restaurants in Venezuela don't have a buffet supper and have only an a la carte supper. I missed Brazil.

To make bad things worse, the women working at hotels, restaurants and shops are less friendly than in Brazil. Smiles disappeared from the faces of half of the Venezuelan women, although their inhospitality was not so bad as the women in Ecuador and Chile. Some of the women seemed to be angry. I missed Brazil all the more.

I headed toward Caracas, the capital facing the Caribbean Sea. I, however, didn't visit the capital that was reported to be unsafe. I went straight to Valencia, 150km west of Caracas, because an Esperantist was waiting for me. In Venezuela I usually stayed two nights in one place and moved to another place. But in Velencia I stayed five nights. The Esperantist Paul told me there are vicious policemen in Venezuela as well.

I came into view of the mountains at last in Valencia. They belong to the northern edge of the Andes. The mountains become higher further in the west. When the Andes reach Colombia from the south, the mountain range branches into three. In Venezuela the easternmost range branches again into two, hemming Lake Maracaibo. The range east of the lake is called the Merida Mountains. I came back to the Andes at last.

After leaving Valencia I was riding on an easy country road like the one through a golf course. There was a police check every time I came to a small town. But fortunately, I could get through without being stopped several times. I saw another check ahead. I rode toward the police, thinking "Again? These tax-eaters will surely sink the nation like in Japan". Then, the police stopped me this time. After checking my passport, driver's license, the permit and the registration of the motorcycle, one of the policemen finally told me that healthcare card was missing. I became sure that the police were asking a bribe. Another policeman asked me, "Do you have dollars?" I told a lie, "I don't have dollars because we use yen in Japan, but I have Venezuelan money" and showed the banknotes in my wallet to him. The other police might have thought he didn't want to waste time and told me openly, "We need money for lunch". I didn't want to be involved in the police like them. I asked, "How much?" The police answered, "5,000 bolivars ($2)". I was sure I had some 5,000 notes, however, I found a 10,000 note at first in the wallet. I gave it to the police because I didn't want to give time for the police to see other large-sum notes. I was ripped off by the police in the same way as in Colombia and Argentina.

The roundtrip ticket to the top costs $17. You change the cable car at three stations on the way. When I went up, it began to cloud before the second stop and then a thick cloud covered everything. When the cable car arrived at the top of the mountain, some children shouted for joy. They saw snow in the mountain. It was hard to breathe and it was cold on the peak. The road from Merida to Colombia once runs down the mountains to the lowland in the south of Lake Maracaibo. It got hot again. After I rode for a while, the road went up the mountain again. It showered although the sky was clear when I left the hotel. There was a large town in a valley after the trip of about 50km, and the road went down to the town. The distance from the town to San Antonio del Tachira, a border town to Colombia, is about 30km. The road once again goes up the mountain and makes a gradual, long descent. I had the idea of staying a night in Tachira and crossing the border in the early morning of the next day. As it was cool in the night in Merida, I could sleep well. I expected a cool night again in Tachira. It would be hot on the foot of the mountain. So I rode, hoping I would arrive at Tachira sooner. But the border town was on the foot of the mountain. It was hot again. Soon after the border, the road will go up to the top of the Andes. It has always been hot since I arrived in San Paulo in Brazil. It will soon get cold on the contrary. I have ridden through Venezuela for only 18 days. It was 11 months ago when I left Colombia. I have finished riding around South America and have come back to the Andes, to the border of Colombia.

(2) Esperantists in Valencia

Paul Gon&#231alves, an Esperantist who lives in Valencia, Venezuela, is a 21-year-old university student. He majors in modern languages. He visited my Website and sent me e-mail on February 25 when I was still in Ushuaia in Patagonia. He was the only Esperantist whom I would meet in Venezuela. It took just half a year for me to come to Venezuela from Ushuaia, however, he was waiting for me.

Valencia is a city of two million inhabitants about 150km west of the capital Caracas. I arrived in the city on September 2 after riding 1,300km from the border. As it was hot, I took a shower and drank beer as soon as I arrived at a hotel. Then I called him. 40 minutes later, he came to my hotel by his mother's white Ford. I was surprised at his tall figure when I met him. He was as tall as 190cm.

We went back to the hotel at six-thirty in the evening. Paul went to his class of German language and came back to pick me up at eight-thirty. The car was a blue Ford that time. In addition, there was a young beautiful woman in the driver's seat. Surprisingly, Paul told me she was also an Esperantist. Her name is Lisette and she studies electrical engineering at a university. To tell the truth, Paul also majored in electrical engineering before and Lisette was his classmate. Paul studied electrical engineering for two and a half years, however, he got interested more in languages and changed the university. She took us to her membership club that had a swimming pool and a football ground. After walking around the site of the club, we went to a restaurant of the clubhouse. Andres joined us soon later. Andres is also an Esperantist. He is a professor who teaches English, Spanish and Japanese. He taught Japanese to Paul before. As his wife is a second generation Chinese, he also can speak Chinese. And, although his wife cannot write Chinese ideograms, he can write as many as 2,500 ideograms. I might not be able to write 2,500 anymore, because I have recently been using a word processor. But anyway, it is preternatural that a foreigner can write so many ideograms. There are four Esperantists in Valencia. The last one of the four is now traveling in Europe. On the very day when I arrived in Valencia, all the Esperantists in the city welcomed me. On the dot of the appointed eight o'clock of the next morning, Lisette came to my hotel with Paul by her car. They had the idea of taking me to a restaurant that has typical Venezuelan breakfast. I don't seek to gain knowledge of unknown food listed in a menu except seafood. Because of this, I have always had only bread for breakfast during the last three years and three months. Thanks to them I came to know about what kind of breakfast the local people eat.

I wanted to know about two things in Venezuela. One of them is whether I can sell my BMW in this country or not, and the other is how much a round-trip ticket to Japan from Venezuela costs. Colombia prohibits the import of used vehicles. I won't be able to sell the BMW, nor register it when I go back to Colombia. In Ecuador, the neighboring country in the south, the customs officer stamped the record of my motorcycle on the passport. So I can't sell it in the country. Concerning how to sell it in Venezuela, Paul already let me know about the Web page of a motorcycle shop Tsumoto about half a year ago. The name Tsumoto implies a Japanese shop. So, I was thinking about visiting the shop to get more information. But, when I entered Venezuela, the same record was stamped on the passport. This made it unable for me to sell the bike in this country as well. Another information I wanted was about an airplane ticket. I hear the tickets sold in Colombia are most expensive in South America. According to my guidebook, the most inexpensive tickets are sold in Venezuela. If this is true and if the fare differs a lot, I will fly from Venezuela when I pay a visit to Japan. Paul and Lisette took me to a travel agency. The fare was $1,500. Paul told me that he would send me a piece of e-mail about the latest fare of the agency before my departure. Esperanto friends are helpful for any things.

On the third day, Paul came to the hotel at nine in the morning and took me to the ancient battlefield of Carabobo, 25km southwest of Valencia. He was accompanied by his brother Felipe of 11 years. When we arrived at the battlefield, the ceremony of the changing of the guard like the one at Buckingham Palace happened to begin in front of the large monument. This is the place where Simon Bolivar, the hero of South America, beat the Spanish army for the first time. In 1921, Simon Bolivar led his army of 10,000 soldiers to fight against the Spanish army of 12,000. Although he had auxiliaries of 125 British soldiers, his army was inferior in number. Nevertheless, the battle was over in only an hour and Bolivar got the victory. 4,000 people died in an hour. Among the dead soldiers of Bolivar there were also women who disguised themselves as men. They were revealed to be women when buried. Bolivar, who won this battle, soon liberated Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia feverishly. Bolivia was named after Bolivar. After entering Venezuela, I rode through only country towns as far as Valencia. There was no cybercafe in those country towns. In Ciudad Bolivar, the sole large city where I visited on the way, I stayed in a hotel not far from the center of the city. On account of the insecurity of the neighborhood, I couldn't go out of the hotel even during the day. Accordingly I couldn't access the Internet. As a result I could neither send nor receive the e-mails except in the border town of Santa Elena. But Paul's computer was connected with the Internet. In addition, as he had LAN in his house, I could connect my PC as easily as in a cybercafe. The communication velocity was unbelievably low in Santa Elena and it took as long as 96 minutes to download free software of about 4 MB. In spite of the same country of Venezuela, the velocity of the telephone line in Paul's place was very high. Thanks to this, I could finish updating my Web page in a minute. I accessed the Internet for two days in his place. His family allowed me to smoke even in the room. After finishing the job on the Internet, I played dominoes with Paul, his father Luiz and his friend Miguel. I saw some people playing this game every day on the boat sailing the Amazon, but I had never played it. This game is played with four people like mah-jongg, using similar tiles to mah-jongg. However, unlike mah-jongg, two pairs compete in the game. Luiz was my partner and he named our pair "samurai". "Samurai" won the game. His wife was a warm-hearted person and she served food and beer to us while we were playing. Moreover, Paul and Luiz took me to a bingo place. I had heard about this game in the Japanese hostel in Buenos Aires before, but I never saw it till then.

Monday, the fifth day in Valencia, was a busy day. Paul had written a letter of my introduction and had come into contact with his college, a newspaper and a TV station so that I could talk about my journey. Paul came to see me at the hotel just on time of the appointed eight in the morning. That morning I didn't get in his car, but rode on my BMW. The college was on the foot of the mountain in about 30-minute trip. This college is a private college and has the courses of English, French German and Japanese language. The national universities of this country are free of charge. Paul became a dropout from electrical engineering of one of those free universities and entered this private college. Paul is an only Esperantist in the college. Only one or two students are majoring in Japanese. I spoke in Spanish at a high school in Neuquen, Argentina, but I spoke in English in this college because the college taught languages and all the students understood English. After meeting the president and the vice president of the college, we had a light lunch and headed toward the TV station. It was a public TV whose name was NC-TV. I expected the interview would be made in English. But the woman announcer asked me questions in Spanish. So I answered in my poor Spanish. I couldn't understand some of the questions. Paul interpreted them into Esperanto. We went to the newspaper next. I rode on the BMW again. It was the newspaper "El Carabobe&#241o" that had a large building. The interview was in English here as well. However, I felt easy because unlike the television a camera was not filming.