“If happiness is the goal – and it should be, then adventures should be a priority.”

Richard Branson 

Today’s Venezuela is violent, poverty-stricken and one of the countries with a “Do Not Travel” recommendation from the U.S. State Department. That was not the case in June 1971 when my husband and I spent our honeymoon there. It was then under the leadership of President Rafael Caldera who helped forge an unprecedented period of civilian democratic rule. Its oil production peaked the year before and Caldera made a visit to the U.S. to meet with President Nixon who committed to increasing the market share of Venezuelan petroleum exports to the United States. We were free to visit and enjoy the wild natural beauty of the country.

We flew from New York to Caracas via Viasa, the now-defunct, international airline of Venezuela. We were provided with a menu booklet, then dinner and an aperitif were served.

Since Caracas is close to the northern Caribbean coast of the country, we started with some idyllic beach days at a nearby seaside resort in Macuto. As was usual in those days, the hotel kept our passports during our stay.

When it was time for us to leave for Caracas, we were a bit disconcerted when the Macuto hotel insisted on keeping our passports. They insisted it was required and assured us they’d be forwarded to our next hotel. We took their word for it, hoped for the best and moved on to explore the capital city.

My memories of Caracas are a blend of mountain vistas, massive traffic jams, wolf-whistles because my mid-length pencil skirt had a slit up the front that reached just above my knees, shopping with the local currency (bolivars) and the importance of being respectful at the a giant equestrian statue of Simon Bolivar who led Venezuela and several other counties to independence from the Spanish Empire.

Our first venture away from the city was by gondola. The Teleférico de Caracas ascended El Ávila Mountain within El Ávila National Park. The view from the top showed the city of Caracas on one side and the coastline on the other. There was a tower with steps leading to a building, so we headed up to have an even higher vantage point. We stopped when an armed soldier wearing a cape rushed out the door and pointed his rifle at us. Backing down with hands up and eyes wide, we apologized and used the ignorant tourist excuse.

Our next adventure was a long day trip via Avensa, a small regional airline, also now defunct, to remote Canaima National Park, the sixth biggest national park in the world. It’s located in southeastern Venezuela between the borders of Brazil and Guyana and is home to indigenous Pemon Indians. The only ways to get there are by air or water.

We flew over miles of jungle and part of the Orinoco River until we landed at Canaima Airport. We were then driven to a jungle camp on the banks of a lagoon on the Carrao River where we had lunch under a thatched roof shelter at an open-air restaurant. Plates were turned upside-down until food was served, we assumed to keep them clean from insects, dust or both. The water they poured into our drinking glasses was tea colored. It was safe to drink, the color coming from natural tannins in the water.

After lunch, we walked over to a sandy beach, boarded a boat and crossed the lagoon to get close to a cluster of powerfully wide waterfalls (Ucaima, Golondrina, Wadaima and Hacha Falls). They all had the same yellowish-brown tint as the drinking water.

Our next journey was to go further into the park by plane to see Angel Falls, the world's highest uninterrupted waterfall. It drops over the edge of a tepuis (table-top mountain) with a height of 3,212 feet and a plunge of 2,648 feet. Surrounded by a thick jungle, it’s one of the least accessible tourist attractions in South America and can only be seen when flying by it in a plane or riding near it in a boat. It requires some flying skill and luck to reach as it depends on weather conditions. I remember how the winds buffeted our plane as the pilot navigated the canyon but we were fortunate to have no clouds blocking our view, as sometimes was known to happen.

Following that spectacular ride, the plane headed back toward Caracas and we soon headed into a heavy rain storm. The rocking and rolling of the plane didn’t bother us too much. Our nerves ramped up when saw the flight attendants stuffing paper into places where the rain was leaking into the cabin. To calm everyone down, thy handed out small nips of alcohol.

At the end of the day, we did arrive back in the city safe and sound. It was a wonderful adventure to a park which has since been declared (in 1994) a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. It’s off-limits right now, but it would be cool to go back and visit Angel Falls by water in a dugout canoe sometime.

For one of our last adventures in Venezuela, we rented a car. We had heard about what was once called a “lost” German village in the mountains west of Caracas. We located Colonia Tovar on the map and headed out onto a highway. At some point, we took a wrong turn and stopped to ask directions. A young man pointed up to the mountains, said the way was hard to describe and offered to go with us. He hopped in and soon we were on steep mountain roads with no guardrails. There were occasional crosses near the edge and he yelled, “Muerto!” at each one. It was nerve wracking but we couldn’t turn around.

When we did finally pull into the village, we learned it was 7,000 feet above sea level. We had come up the steep side and it soon became evident it wasn’t worth the effort. Colonia Tovar was a Disneyesque version of a German town and was filled with tourists, most of whom by the way, had arrived via a direct superhighway from the city. We took a fast look around and went back to Caracas the quick way. It took us over three hours to get there and less than an hour and a half to return. 

When our adventurous honeymoon was coming to an end, we checked out of our hotel and requested our passports, but they didn’t have them. The beach hotel in Macuto had forgotten to send them but promised to have someone bring them right away. Worry about missing our return flight to New York loomed as we waited. When they finally arrived, we had a frantic ride to the airport, where we found out our plane had already boarded. The people at the reservation desk called and had the plane held then they hustled us across a field dotted with rifle-toting soldiers. It was a dramatic end to our stay.

All in all, our honeymoon was romantic and memorable with lots of adventure thrown in–just the way we liked it.