Mount Roraima is a tepui, or table mountain, that rises to an imposing 2,810 metres above sea level. It is nestled in the southeastern corner of Venezuela close to the borders that Venezuela shares with Brazil and Guyana.
My story goes like this. I was sitting in an internet cafe in the small Venezuelan town of Santa Elena de Uairen where I had arrived the day before from Brazil. The border lies just 15km away. I had arrived with very little remaining Brazilian reales and limited US dollars. New country, new currency, no worries. I'll just go to an ATM and withdraw some bolivares and Bob's your uncle. Now, while that is entirely feasible it is not especially wise. You see the black market for currency exchange is thriving in Venezuela. If you withdraw cash from an ATM you will get the official rate of approximately 4 bolivares for $1 US whereas if you exchange cash on the street, be it the much sought greenback or Brazilan real you get a much, much better rate. For $1 US you get 7 bolivares. Almost double. So, withdrawing cash from an ATM means that everything becomes almost twice as expensive than if you have changed the aforesaid currencies on the street. So there I am in the internet cafe searching for a solution to my fix; little cash in any currency to change to get the much better rate. So, scaling a demanding mountain to reach a so called 'lost world' was not at the forefront of my cerebral processes. However, it was the focus of the guy sitting next to me. Enter Katzi, an affable Austrian who asks me whether I would at all be interested in joining he and his girlfriend in climbing Roraima independently, that is not in a travel company group that hires local porters to shoulder the burden of carrying food, cooking equipment, tents and all other manner of paraphernalia that weighs one's pack down. Katzi eagerley explained that by carrying all our own gear and independently hiring the local guide required that we could save a considerable amount of bolivares. Whilst I, at this stage barely had a bolivar to my name and hadn't even considered climbing Roraima, the idea of saving money in the predicament I was in was certainly appealing. After looking at some images of the spectacular mountain I was sold, provided I could sort out my moola dilemma. Thus, the seed of new adventure was sown.
At 6am the day after next we took off from Santa Elena for Paraitepui, a small indigenous village that serves as the gateway to the trek to the peak of Mount Roraima. The previous day was spent going back and forth from Venezuela to Brazil trying to sort out the damn money woes. Firstly I hitchhike the 15km back to the Brazilan border town of Pacaraima to try and withdraw money from an ATM at the bank of Brazil branch. The machine, unfortunately doesn't accept my card. Dejected, I hitch the 15km back to Santa Elena with a young Brazilian guy who was heading into Venezuela to fill up his car with the dirt cheap state subsidised petrol. I am resigned to having to withdraw cash from an ATM in Santa Elena and the consequent lower exchange. Chatting to the Hong Kong born and raised owner of the lodge where I am staying about my predicament I am told that there is a supermarket back on the Brazilian side of the border that will do cash advances albeit with a hefty commission that will leave me with an exchange rate roughly half way between the official and black market rate. In the circumstances it is my best option so it is back to Brazil once again. By this time I am more than familiar with this stretch of road! With money finally in my pocket I say a final farewell to Brazil and start the journey back to Santa Elena. By this time it seems that I have aroused the suspicion of the heavily armed Venezuelan army cum border officials as I am bundled off into a questioning room to be interviewed and searched. Thankfully, I am allowed into Venezuela again without too much drama.
So finally we are ready to begin the quest to scale this mountain. It is Katzi, his French girlfriend Cynthia, our guide Antonio, a proud father of a son born just the day before and I. The pack on my back is heavy but it feels good and I tackle the first stretch of the path with optimism and vigour. The only hiccups in the early stages are a few physically harmless falls on the slippery path that leave me muddy and a tad miffed. All in all the first day is successful. The most challenging aspect of the day is undoubtedly the second river crossing. While the water is only waist high, the current coupled with the heavy pack upsetting my balance makes it a difficult proposition. I am more than happy to negotiate the crossing without trouble. The surroundings are scenic, the path generally of a fairly gentle gradient and the mind strong. We arrive at our camp for the night with the knowledge that the next day will be the true test of one's mettle.
We set off early on day 2 and after a few hours arrive at the Roraima base camp from where the path changes dramatically. We now find ourselves in the midst of jungle on a narrow, steep and rocky path. As we climb some particularly steep parts of the trail I begin to question what I have got myself into and wonder how on earth we are going to be able to come down this same way. Luckily the weather is clear, rain would only make the path even more treacherous. As we take a lunch break on the narrow trail I mention this fortune to Katzi and Cynthia but wait, wait a minute there. I have spoken too soon. Torrential rain begins within the minute and my half eaten tuna sandwich suddenly turns very soggy.
The next part of the ascent is the most testing of the entire trek. The path demands that you follow the path of a running creek that winds its way up the steep side of the mountain, crossing under sheer drop waterfalls. With the constant threat of large rocks hurtling towards you this section of the trek is certainly not for the faint of heart. Drenched to the bone, with the weight of the pack increasing with the absorbed water despite my best attempts to cover it the journey to the summit of Roraima has converted into a true strength of mental and physical fortitude. I tell myself to be strong and push myself to make it to the top while my sense of logic and reasoning suggests that it will be quite a miracle if I actually make it. Determined I push on, focused on conquering this beast of nature and not letting it get the better of me. By this time I am on my own, there is no one else around to offer advice or support. It is me verus the mountain.
Finally arriving at the peak of Roraima in one piece is euphoric. The rain has not ceased so we take shelter under a boulder offering some protection from the inclemency. Later we make it to our camp place to pitch our tents and settle in to our new home for the next couple of days. The incessant rains and visibility reducing mist prevents any possibility of exploring the peak of the mountain to begin to reap some of the fruits of reward for our hard labour in toiling to reach this 'lost world'. Instead, after hanging out a variety of soaked clothing articles to hopefully dry, I retire to my tent for some much needed rest.
The following day the weather still hasn't improved, a thick fog blankets the peak of Roraima. Despite this we set out to explore a little of the moon-like landscapes. Antonio, our guide, who didn't seem particularly interested in guiding during the first couple of days and was indeed largely superfluous to our needs suddenly is of much value as he guides us to various points of interest on the intriguing tabletop of Roraima. Narrow canyons, unique flora and fauna such as lizards, birds and frogs and carnivorous plants add to the mysticism of this unique place. However our exploration is cut short when heavy rain once again rears its ugly head and we scurry back to the safety of camp. Once more we retire to our respective tents.
The highlight of the entire trek comes early the next morning. We awake to, unprecedented in our journey, completely clear skies and set off shortly after sunrise to 'la ventana', the window, to experience the most spectacular of views across the thickly forested valleys surrounding Roraima. It is extremely difficult to do justice to the supreme and sheer beauty of the vistas that surrounded us as we stood perched on the edge of this 'lost world' of Roraima peering over the edge.
After the highlight of visiting 'la ventana' in clear weather we make our way back to camp to pack up and begin the descent. En route, however, Katzi and I can't miss the chance of refreshing ourselves in the freezing natural springs on top of the mountain. I hope it will give me the required vigour to successfully negotiate the descent. The way down does prove to be as challenging as I had thought. By this stage I am more than ready to get back to civilisation but just as the ascent is a two day affair so is the descent. This time, Antonio, decides to forge ahead of us at a cracking pace in order to get to a camp where he can also get a meal as he has run out of food. Seemingly he also knew something that he didn't bother to inform us of. After the heavy rain of the past couple of days the more challenging of the river crosses is impassable. We have no choice but to pull up stumps for the day, camp on the far side of the river and hope and pray that we will be able to cross the next morning.
Luckily the river has subsided sufficiently to enable our passage the following morning. We have made it to the last day of the trek but still have quite a distance to cover before we are back to where we started 5 days ago. Inconceivably the path is even slipperier that it was on the previous days and I find myself spending quite a bit of time on the ground. At one point I find myself in hysterics, the only reaction that I could muster to my repeated slides eventuating with me toppling. Maybe had something to do with the shoes I was wearing which no doubt had seen better days. My ankles have swollen to a point where a stuffed Christmas turkey would look lean in comparison to their plumpness. I sing to pass the time and dream of arriving back. Finally, after hours of soul searching and coaxing of my own will I arrive back at the start of a trek. A large group of trekkers have arrived earlier and are eating a hot meal provided by their tour company on return. They look utterly exhausted and they only had to carry their personal effects and not their food and sleeping equipment. I earn their instant respect when I tell them that I have completed the journey unassisted in this way. A kindly German woman offers me the remainder of her hot meal which she says she cannot finish. I lean back, eating, in bliss.
