Creepy Crawly "Motel No Tell"

The phone on the bedside table is ringing. It takes me a second to realize where I am.
Damn! I overslept! I pick up the phone and the lady tells me that my 12 hours are up and I have to be out in 10 minutes. It was a terrible night. The "No Tell Motel" was a long building that consisted of garage boxes with attached bedrooms. The other side of the building was identical with a long hallway in the middle with a door to every room for the maids to make up the room and check if everything was still there and in one piece. The price list on the wall listed exactly what it would cost if you took or broke something. They would not let you out of the complex until the room was checked. All the rooms being connected by the hallway was what kept me awake.
The first thing I learned about Venezuelan people was that they are passionate, wild, have incredible stamina and damn are they loud! At 2 AM it finally got quiet so I had 4 hours of sleep.
I rushed out of bed, into my clothes, packed my stuff and finally put on my jacket only to throw it off again as something big crawled up my neck. My reflexes take over and I wipe off the back of my head and watch a 10 inch/25cm giant centipede fall on the floor. WOW! I take a step back as I check my jacket for more of his venomous friends. I did not think I needed to do my routine check while sleeping inside. Mental note to self: ALWAYS check your gear for bugs!
Pretty much life size Giant Centipede coming out of my jacket. I admit, it freaked me out!
I ride out and a few minutes later the gate opens as a sign that I left everything as I found it. From the moment you ride in till the moment you ride out you don't see another human being.
It is still quiet on the road but it is already hot and humid. Time to find higher grounds and cool air. After a delicious breakfast for a dollar and a full gas tank for FREE (they wouldn't let me pay) I continue my route along Lago de Maracaibo. The first oil rigs show up and before long the side of the road is dotted with them. Big banners make me think Hugo Chavez is still alive. He is everywhere. Every government built housing complex carries his name or his picture.
The road ahead is... just amazing!
The moment when I first start seeing mountains in the distance is always magical to me. I pick a small winding road on the map to get over the mountain range towards Merida, the adventure capital of Venezuela. As I turn left the road starts climbing, the forest gets thicker and greener and in no time cool air flows through the vents of my KliM gear. After months of heat this was just amazing. I am thankful for being where I am and doing what I love most and then... I am home. Holanda! It is not on the map so it comes as a surprise. It is nothing like the flat country I am from and it even boasted a beautiful waterfall.
Home in Venezuela!

You won't find this in the real Holanda!
The road becomes smaller and there is hardly any traffic. The hairpin corners turn sharper and I am truly enjoying the ride. I would have loved to share this experience with Azure but her not being here and not being able to talk while riding brings a peace. The kind of peace that allows you to think about life and what you want to do with it.

With a smile from ear to ear I ride into a nice town where I park the bike at the main square. There is a nice church, and some statues and uniformed students make for a great atmosphere. There is free wifi as well. I take a break and absorb it all for a while. The locals start coming over to the bike and everyone wants a picture. I am far away from the border now and I feel safe here.
Nice artwork in La Azulita.

Nice stained glass in the back of the church.
Back on the bike, the winding roads continue up into the clouds and here and there I get to ride on dirt.
Twisties into the clouds!
This is very promising. People, mostly farmers, are friendly and wave as I ride by. Then I get to the other side and a lush deep valley opens up with Merida's suburbs scattered all over the place.
Check out that dirt road going up the other mountain! Paradise found!
What a view and what a great place to call home for a week...
PS: I am sorry for the lack of bike pictures. I am just so used to taking pictures of Azure and her bike all the time. It's hard being a one man show!

First Impressions of Venezuela

There I was, riding through Venezuela. The first day, the first impressions, the feeling of not knowing what you are getting yourself into and... being all by myself. Not being able to share these moments with Azure was weird. I found myself talking to the camera a lot this first day. I rode through the small town of Paraguaipoa and learned that signage was not abundant, or rather, not there. I asked some people for directions and everyone, including the police, was happy to help. As I got closer to the Gulf of Venezuela the wind picked up and beautiful white salt flats backed by sand dunes formed the horizon. The native people lived in wooden shacks on the side of the road. They made their living by collecting and selling salt, with donkeys being their main means of transport.
The result of a hard days work collecting salt.

Gas station Lineup...
I was told to get my Venezuelan third party insurance at a gas station in San Rafael. I spot the little "seguro" shop behind a long lineup of vehicles in front of the gas station. I'm glad I filled up my tank for a higher rate at the border. The youngsters that are running the shop are very helpful and while we talk first impressions and politics they sell me an insurance for a year for a dollar and a half. They realize that I am shocked by how cheap it is and joke about there being positive aspects of this socialist government as well.
The Seguro shop where I got my Third Party Insurance.
It is hot, extremely hot, as I get closer to Maracaibo. The side of the road is covered with garbage. Traffic consists of very old and rusty gangster style cars, old overloaded trucks and horse drawn carriages. There is still no signage and the only way to go is to keep asking people for directions. Finally a bus driver tells me to follow him to the center of town where I will be able to get on a highway. I tag along and enjoy being able to look around for a bit. People look surprised as I ride by, some of them pointing at me and staring me down. Apart from being alone I am having a great time.

Garbage everywhere... There is simply no system in place to collect it in most towns.

The most common car around here.
The bus driver signals for me to come along side and gives me his final directions. I should have studied harder the last two days. I only get half of what he says as the light turns green and he speeds of leaving me in a big black cloud. Great! I keep riding and end up on top of a hill. In the distance I can see a long bridge. It has to be the bridge over Lago de Maracaibo. I finally know where I am going. Sort of... I somehow miss the turnoff and end up riding past the massive structure. When I realize this I ride past a McDonalds. I had not eaten all day. I tried to resist but after looking at the sun I realized I did not have a lot of time to get over the bridge and out of the city and hopefully find a good place to sleep.

I ride into the parking lot and a guard armed with a shotgun comes out and gestures to park the bike in a spot he could see from his spot at the door. Serious stuff, going to McD's. They welcome me in and start by telling me about everything they have run out off. Wow. Half the menu is not available. I ask why this is the case and the reply simply is that they could not buy what they needed. I ordered a simplified burger, half the ingredients were not there, a coke and fries. The fries were Yucca fries as potatoes were not available. I instantly regret killing my dads Yucca plants when I was young because it's thorny leaves had almost poked my eyes out. The fries, made out of the roots are delicious! After many chats with people who were interested in the journey I walk back to the bike, tip the security guard who gives me perfect directions to the bridge and ride off. The Sun is setting.
Gusts of wind push me all over the place. It is a long bridge and there is a lot of traffic. I am happy to be on the other side. I am even happier to see my first Venezuelan love hotel. With the Sun going down behind the smog of Maracaibo I opt for the Second Love Hotel. There was no wifi but for 5 dollars I have a bed for the night and more importantly, the bike is in a closed garage right next to my room. I have not been able to find a Sim card for my phone. This simply seems to be too difficult to get for a foreigner. Not being able to tell Azure how things went I push the OK button on the SPOT and know she will zoom in on the SPOT map and work out that I am spending my first night in a Love hotel. It crosses my mind that she would probably be the only girlfriend or wife in the world that would be happy to find out her other half would be in such an establishment. It makes me smile for a second, only to be reminded that I will be sleeping in the massive bed by myself that night.

To Venezuela, or Not to Venezuela?

Maicao Border Crossing
For days we were going back and forth on what we should do. Azure was going back to the USA to be with her Mom, but what about me? There were so many options: Go back to The Netherlands to see my family, go back to the US, stay in Colombia, go to Curacao and try to find work or follow the road less traveled into Venezuela. A flight to Holland was too expensive. The US would only let me in for 90 days and we needed to still be there in August for a wedding. I don't like backtracking, so Colombia would have to wait for Azure's return. Curacao is too touristy. So Venezuela was the only option.
Writing it down like this makes me wonder why it took me so long to make a decision. But I guess all the negative media attention concerning Venezuela gave me doubts about traveling there. But how often have I found the exact opposite of what the media says to be true? Is this not what it is all about: Get to know the real world, the real people. After a short chat with Paul Hastings, a fellow overlander from Australia who had recently ventured into Venezuela, the decision was made.
Article in the Guardian just before crossing into Venezuela...
Venezuela here I come!
After storing Azure's bike at Chachi's (between the border of Colombia and Venezuela) we went to the Venezuelan border to get some information (you can move around freely on the Colombian side without checking out).
While Azure was chatting with the officials inside, a nice soldier answered all of my questions: "No, Dutch citizens don't need a visa or return ticket or hotel booking while entering overland". "You would get a 90 day visa and the bike would be no problem as well". "It was safe enough to enter Venezuela". He also told me that I would not be able to arrange my bike permit during the weekend as the office would be closed. This was very good to know as I was planning to head for Venezuela the next morning.
I already felt very good about going. What a nice guy.
We raced back to our hotel in Maicao. It had gotten dark and we didn't want to dally so close to the border. Back at the hotel, reality hit me: I had exactly two days to work on my Spanish, as I had largely been relying on Azure for communication up until now. I needed supplies, a lot of cash money to exchange for Venezuelan Bolivar (Azure kindly emptied her stashes of currency ). And I needed to completely repack.
Filling up the tank before crossing. Although gas is much cheaper (almost for free) on the other side, gas stations near the border on the Venezuelan side are overrun with gas smugglers who sell it at a big profit in Colombia. This means long line ups or no gas at all...

My excitement turned into sadness when I saw Azure repacking her bags. After almost four years of traveling together I would be on my own again. I would not be able to share this new adventure with her. But this was the path that was shown to us.
The last thing that needed to be done before setting off for the border was change some money. 200 US Dollar to be precise. As the man handed me bundle after bundle of 100, 100 Bolivares bills my mouth and eyes opened further and further. And the exchange rate was not even that good. I stood perplexed for about 5 minutes. How was I even going to check if he gave me the right amount? I decided to check one bundle and then just go for it. I needed to get over the border, not count money in an office all day! (the official set rate is 6.8 Bolivar for 1 Dollar. The black market rate varies from 260 to over 300 Bolivares for a Dollar. So never pay with a card in Venezuela.)
200 US Dollar turned into 52,000 Venezuelan Bolivares. Feeling like a king!
As I rode to the border I realized that I had actually enjoyed myself in the town that the "Lying Planet" describes as "gritty and dangerous." The market was nice and the people were helpful. Hopefully, I would have the same experience on the other side. The soldier that came over to check me out at the border started chatting to me and with my newly obtained vocabulary I stuttered away. When his eye fell on the map on the side of the box he pointed at the black line and asked: "Tu"? I nodded. "MUCHOS COJONES!" he said out loud. To make sure I understood he grabbed his balls Michael Jackson Style (without the other arm in the sky) and repeated himself: MUCHOS COJONES!
The line up to The border. Gotta love riding a bike!
I left the bike with the soldier and went to get my passport stamped in. I was given a small piece of paper to fill out and 2 minutes later I was back at the bike with a 90 day visa (free!). That was a new record! And best of all; there were no helpers at all! Welcome to Venezuela! I asked where I was to arrange my bike permit and was told I had to go further down the road. I stopped at a checkpoint and was told to keep going. 5Km into Venezuela the big Aduana building appeared.
A warm welcome! The Aduana building is to the left.
I parked the bike and a female Soldier directed me to an office and assured me she would watch the bike. I went into the office and could see my bike through a window. There were a few people pointing at the map. All good. The friendly man behind the desk requested 2 copies of my passport, 2 copies of my drivers license and 2 copies of my bike paperwork. Then he made 2 copies of my Colombian insurance. In the mean time, people started talking to me. As they noticed I was not "fluent" in Spanish they switched to perfect English. I love this place! :) We talked travels and politics for a while and they translated for me. 10 minutes later I was outside with another soldier checking the Vin of the bike. Back inside I signed my permit and I was ready to go. All I needed to do furthermore was to get myself third party insurance somewhere down the road in a town. Really... this was it. The country that a certain, above mentioned, guidebook tells you not to go to with your own vehicle because of all the paperwork, actually welcomes you in in less than 45 minutes!
Back at the bike I found a 5 year old girl posing with the bike. I had a chat with her parents and off I went. I was so excited to ride in yet another amazing country. So much to see, so much to learn...

TAXI!!!

Where there's a will, there's a way!

We woke up early, paid for our love hotel room and rode through the gate. We arrived back at the hotel with a courtyard in Maicao by noon and I proceeded to unpack and repack my bike, finding ways to stuff as much as possible into my Hepco & Becker dry bags (excellent travel luggage, fyi).

By 5pm, we were on our way to Chachi’s place between borders and we spend a couple of hours making a perfect space for my bike in one of Chachi’s garage units (moving random things like cartons of used oil) and disconnecting the battery, etc. I kissed my bike goodbye (really, I did, several times) and felt really good about leaving her under Chachi’s watchful eye.

Snug as a bug...

...And all tucked in.

I asked Chachi if there was anything I could bring her back from the states. I was thinking something along the line of some American novelty. So I was

shocked when she started describing Mac cosmetics and high end sunscreen. WHAT!

They could not get over the size of my bike

Before we left the border, we headed to the Venezuelan side so I could ask some questions for Roel since his plan was to cross the following day. When we had originally gone to check out Chachi’s place days before, a Colombian policeman asked if we were both going to go to Venezuela and when we responded that I (the American) would not, he said “Good” and then made a gesture of a knife cutting his throat… meant to convey that “they” would kill me if I crossed the border.

So when I went to the Venezuelan officials to inquire about the process for Roel’s crossing, I tried to conceal my heritage. They kept asking why only my partner was crossing and I wasn’t, and eventually I gave up the fact that I was American and hence couldn’t obtain a visa at the border. I was apprehensive for a moment, wondering what their reaction would be. Their faces fell, they lamented that I would not be able to visit their beautiful country, which they were obviously very proud of.

And then they asked: Your partner is Dutch? Do you not have another passport that you could enter Venezuela with?

HAH! Love these people!

After speaking with several people, we determined that it would not actually be possible for Roel to cross on the next day (Sunday) or Monday because the customs office would be closed. He was extremely disappointed that he would have to wait it out in Maicao, which doesn’t have a whole lot to offer. But eventually, we figured everything happens for a reason, and this would give him an opportunity to work on his Spanish now that he finally had a good reason to stop relying on me - bahahahahaha!

Early the next morning, I boarded a bus bound for Cartagena. The following 11 hours were fraught with misery I’m not looking forward to repeating on the return journey.
1. When not riding a motorcycle, I am afflicted with terrible motion-sickness.
2. They would not allow me to keep my luggage with me and agreed to lock it in a cabinet at the back of the bus.
During one of a few checkpoint stops, they made all of the passengers disembark while the police and driver went back on the bus. Never a good sign. I only found out when they threw me and a few other passengers off of the bus at what seemed to be a random intersection where we were thankfully guided to another bus to take us the rest of the way to Cartagena, that rather than coming off of the bus to ask the ONLY white girl on the bus to unlock her obviously white girl luggage, they just cut it open to remove EVERYTHING and go through it. Should have packed my remaining tampons on top. Lesson learned. The only thing that appears to be missing after all of that is my razor, which admittedly, is a nice men’s razor. Oh well.
3. Getting to the bus stop at night is a sketchy experience. Especially when all you hear about is cab scams and lone women being raped. (Mom, I hope you’re not reading this.) When I finally agreed to taking a cab, I made a big show of taking photos of the cabbie’s license plates and credentials and told him I was sending it to my boyfriend who had friends in the police. I felt moderately better. They laughed. And then when we were stopped at an intersection and another cabbie pulled up alongside ours, looked at me, pointed at the side of my cab, and wagged his finger “NO” before pulling off as the light turned green, I was again, terrified.

This experience made me realize how much I have taken for-granted the sense of security I derive from traveling independently by motorcycle (rather than public transportation). Sure, Roel's imposing 6'4" figure doesn't hurt my sense of security, but I've traveled alone in the past, albeit in a car, and it's really the dependence on public transportation that irks me.

I miss my bike, already.

I finally threw myself out of the cab as he pulled up to the hotel Roel and I stayed at (and changed my tire at) in Cartagena. They welcomed me back and helped me to my room.

It's Juan Valdez territory.

My Mom's birthday was coming up, so I FINALLY had an excuse to do a little souvenir shopping

The next morning, they called me a cab, and before I knew it, I was covering the space traversed by bike in a matter of months, in the course of a few short hours.

Landing in Miami, with it’s rosy orange tinted horizon as the sun set on perfectly  manicured lawns and neatly arranged highways was only the beginning of the reverse culture shock I was about to experience.

Finding Chachi

 

We had done some research and sent out messages to the Horizons Unlimited community to find out about storage possibilities for the bikes somewhere in Colombia or Ecuador. There were several possibilities, with varying costs, but the issue we kept encountering was that our TVIPs (Temporary Vehicle Import Permits) would expire while we were in the US OR our time away from South America would have to be curtailed to under 89 days. With two weddings, time scheduled for QT with both families 89 days would leave very little time for getting a job.

Gasoline is available EVERYWHERE near the border... and for cheap as it's coming across the border form Venezuela.

We had heard about a woman who operated a storage facility between the borders of Venezuela and Colombia where a TVIP would not be an issue, but we were not able to get any concrete, up to date information about her. So, from the Guajira Peninsula, we headed to the border to investigate on our own, only knowing to ask for a Wayuu woman named “Chachi.”

Roel stayed with the bikes once we arrived at the border and I headed off in search of Chachi. I found the place where cars were stored and asked the woman in a blue mumu sitting in front of the gate if she knew of Chachi and if I could speak with her. She said she knew her but that she was not around, and what did I want to know. I wouldn’t say she was unfriendly, but she was definitely not friendly. I explained our situation and she opened the gate and led me through to have a look at the storage options. She explained the pricing and I told her I would need to return with my partner after discussing what she had said.

We moved the bikes in front of the storage area, and I stayed with the bikes while Roel went to talk with the woman and look at the space. He walked out and said he had met Chachi and thought the space was good.

We then walked in together and I asked him where Chachi was. He gestured to the woman in the blue mumu and she sheepishly looked at me and admitted she was Chachi. Her attitude had changed markedly since I first spoke with her. It seems I should have sent Roel in first to charm her.

Chachi and our potential storage space... looks like some room needs to me made in there.

The lock-able garage spaces with field spaces open on the right.

Chachi's family home is just across from the garages and next to the field.

The price range for outdoor versus indoor spaces was 4,000 to 6,000 pesos. But we got the idea this price was not set in stone. She is a real business woman. Regardless, not bad and a huge relief to finally have an option.

Hotel Trebol... home sweet home in Maicao... rooms available with fans or aircon.

The bikes parked right outside of our room.

We headed back to town and found a motel with a courtyard we could ride the bikes into. I called my Mom immediately to get an update on her health, and after 30 seconds of straight hacking, I made the decision that this would be my last week in Colombia. I booked my flight for 5 days later. And felt a sense of peace that a decision had finally been made and I would soon be with my Mom.

Our heads heavy with options, we enjoyed air-conditioning for the first time in a week and passed out. We got up the next day and decided the best way to spend my last days in Colombia would be to check out the world-renowned Festival de la Leyenda Vallenata in Valledupar.

This little guy was intent on scribbling on EVERY page of our notebook

On our way, I noticed a higher level of military presence than I have seen anywhere else in the world, perhaps in response to the FARC attack the week prior. We were actually questioned briefly at one checkpoint until a senior official with the most remarkably bright eyes I have ever seen, intervened and immediately welcomed us to their area and offered directions to the festival.

 

We met up with Cisco and enjoyed the music, dancing and ceremonies before getting caught in a torrential downpour and finding a love hotel complete with an erotic etching, telling price list and our own perfect private garage for the bikes.

CISCO!!!!!

 

 

Some cultural performances took place throughout the afternoon.

 

 

 

It's hard to tell from the photo, but in a matter of minutes, there was 5 inches of water in the street.

Funny, I've never seen a price list like this before!

Unique hotel, ahem, art.

The perfect way to end one of my last weeks in Colombia.

Our Mosko Moto Gear Review

 

We followed the dirt tracks out of town and before long we were riding on salt planes again. Salt Planes, as far as the eye could see. The heat made the horizon glisten. It was such a remote and harsh area but at the same time so incredibly beautiful.

 

And only because of our setup were we able to fully appreciate it: In these remote, hot areas, water is the main concern and this is where the Mosko Moto Bags on the front of the Africa Twin come in. With over 10 liters of water in each of the 25 liter bags we were able to call Pilon de Azucar home for two days. And we were able to share water with those we came upon who were broken down, including a family we encountered on the salt planes.

First breakdown encounter of the day... roughly 20 minutes into our ride. These guys had a flat and had been working at it for a while. We lent them our tools for a bit and shared our water with them before continuing on our way.

For a while, we could see nothing but shimmering heat on the horizon. Then there was a dot. As we got closer the dot became five dots. A family of 4 next to their broken down motorbike. They were literally in the middle of the salt flats with no shade in the blistering heat. Before I went to work on the guy’s bike, Azure dug a water bottle out of one of the Mosko’s and gave it to the mother who was very grateful and eagerly poured water in her toddler’s mouth. The guy thought he was not getting any spark but could not work out why. We messed around with the wiring but it would not work. I took one of my used spark plugs I carry as a spare to clarify the culprit. It worked, and somehow it was the same size spark plug! They thanked us, most of all for the water, and turned into one dot again as they rode off into the distance. We downed a bottle of water ourselves before getting back onto the bikes. We were amazed that in all of the time we were stopped with them, not a single vehicle or bike stopped and at least 3 went by during that hour. Who knows how long they had been there before we rode up. 

After 8 months of putting the Mosko’s to the test on a day to day basis, it’s time for a review.

We first learned about Mosko Moto at the Overland Expo in 2014. About a year later, at the Horizons Unlimited meeting in California I managed to get my hands on a set of Mosko Moto Scouts and mounted them on my crash bars while Pete, one of the founders of Mosko, was busy selling his products hand over fist. The bags fit and looked much better than my old soft bags that needed to be replaced (a squirrel had eaten through them in Idaho to get to Azure’s granola). Pete figured out what I was doing and admitted that he had never thought of having the bags on the front of a bike. He knew of our journey and decided to send us off with a set of Scouts for a unique kind of product testing... on the front of a motorcycle.

Mounting the Mosko's was very easy. It is a very strong construction with two plates with a 45 degree angle hooking into each other. The bags are very sturdy and even when they are empty they hold their shape. They consist of a very tough waterproof outer layer with a removable drybag inside. If you do manage to damage the outer bag, whatever is inside of the dry bag will still be dry. Smart design. I have dropped the bike a couple of times since mounting the bags. They have never come off and you can hardly see a mark on the bags which attests to the durability of both the frame and the bags construction.

All the Mosko bags have military type webbing on the outside so you can attach a Mosko Mole or any military pouches for more storage space. It’s a convenient place to store a water or gas bottle, wet clothes or in my case, flip flops...

The military-type webbing on the side is where I usually keep my flip flops, but a Mosko Mole pouch also attaches here for even more storage capacity.

 

The double layer means that if the outer bag gets damaged, the dry bag will still key all of your stuff dry.

After riding the Mosko’s through many heavy downpours and several deep rivers I have found them to be completely waterproof. I love having the extra storage space on the front of the Africa Twin. Whether it is an extra can of oil (for Azure’s bike) or a big load of groceries and drinking water to be able to stay of the beaten track for a few days, it really makes traveling life a lot easier and more comfortable.

What I like most about the Mosko design is the mounting system: you can take them off and put them on the bike in a matter of seconds. If we’re not camping out next to the bikes, the bags come off and come inside wherever we are staying.

 

The mount on my front crash bars

The latch on the back of the bag, that clips onto the mount.

The only point of improvement I can think of is the possibility to put a padlock on the locking mechanism so it’s not too easy to steal the bags in case you leave the bike somewhere.

Mosko Moto is a small American owned company, founded by riders and run by riders, which strives to make the best possible soft luggage. And they're good people. You can follow and contribute to their product development on their website, by sending in your own ideas for improvements. For more information and the full array of Mosko Moto bags and equipment check out www.moskomoto.com If you're interested in a set of bags please get in touch with us via our facebook.com/MyTicketToRide page or mytickettoride.com for a code for free shipping in the US or a special deal on international orders.