Author: Igor

Our final stop in Venezuela before embarking on the decisive crossing of the Caribbean Sea to Bonaire brought us to the remote Islas Las Aves. Approaching the islands under the cover of darkness, we were guided only by the faint light of a searchlight from the Coast Guard station. As we tuned into VHF channel 16, a calm, pleasant female voice in English asked who we were and where we were headed on this dark and stormy night.

We explained that we planned to drop anchor in the bay opposite the station. In response, a stream of Spanish followed—unfortunately, beyond our understanding. Without further ado, we anchored for the night, hoping all was in order.

The following morning, a small boat approached us carrying three Coast Guard officers, who came aboard to check our documents and conduct a ship inspection—our fourth one so far. This time, their curiosity focused on the contents of our first aid kit. Thankfully, there was no drug inspection, and their demeanor was polite and friendly throughout.

Despite their limited English, the officers smiled warmly and made an effort to communicate. Together, we even compared the names of the months in Spanish and English, delighting in how similar they sounded. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and the language exchange left everyone smiling.

Seizing the moment, we asked if we could explore the shores of the nearby islands. To our delight, they granted us permission for the entire next day, with the simple request that we report back to them when we departed.

Grateful for their hospitality, we looked forward to an unexpected extra day in this beautiful and tranquil corner of Venezuela. Thank you, kind sailors, for letting us linger just a little longer on your enchanting islands!

Dos Mosquises, part of the stunning Los Roques archipelago, is a pair of islands known for their ecological significance, rich history, and breathtaking beauty. These islands are home to the Los Roques Scientific Foundation, an archaeological site, and a magnificent beach that captivates every visitor.

Since the 1970s, the Los Roques Scientific Foundation has been a hub for research and environmental education. Its founders played a key role in the creation of the Los Roques National Park, and the foundation continues to contribute to vital studies in coral reef biology, fisheries, anthropology, and the archaeology of the archipelago.

After landing on the island, our first stop was the turtle breeding center, where sea turtles are nurtured in large tanks filled with fresh, running seawater. Edgar, one of the three caretakers, kindly gave us a tour, explaining the fascinating process. Newly hatched turtles are collected and raised in these controlled conditions to ensure their survival. After about a year, once they are stronger and have a better chance of thriving in the wild, they are released back into the ocean—a vital step in preserving these beautiful creatures.

Edgar also guided us to an incredible archaeological site. In 1982, Polish archaeologists Andrzej and Maria Antczak unearthed hundreds of ritual ceramic figurines on this island, dating back to the 13th-15th centuries AD. During this pre-Columbian era, the Amerindians—aboriginal inhabitants of the mainland (present-day Venezuela)—embarked on sea expeditions to Dos Mosquises to harvest the Queen Conch. These ancient mariners brought their cultural artifacts, including ceramic figurines, on their canoes. It is believed that these figurines were likely used in ritual ceremonies, providing a fascinating glimpse into their spiritual and cultural practices.

Beyond its cultural and ecological treasures, Dos Mosquises is a paradise for nature lovers. Strolling along the pristine shoreline, we were treated to the sight of abundant birdlife and vibrant coral reefs teeming with marine life.

Our time on this remarkable island was truly unforgettable—an enriching blend of history, conservation, and natural wonder.

On the second day of our stay on the beautiful island Grand Los Testigos, we decided to sail over to the neighboring North Observation Bay, home to a small fishing village. We were eager to meet Venezuelan fishermen on their native land, having previously lived near them in Coral Cove Marina, where they generously shared their fresh catch with us.

We anchored right in front of the village, which boasted a picturesque beach. The village was quiet, likely because it was the weekend, and many of the fishermen had traveled to the mainland. One boat, however, was bustling with activity—women were preparing nets, and men were equipping the boat for fishing.

Launching our SUP, we paddled to shore like primitive seafarers on a pirogue—or maybe the reverse. On the beach, we found an elderly couple sitting in their yard among the smoky haze of a fire meant to ward off mosquitoes. They were calmly mending nets. Our limited Spanish got us through a polite greeting, and though we couldn’t converse much, the simplicity of the scene left an impression.

We wandered along the shore, adding to our collection of photo memories. When we reached the far end of the beach, a commotion drew us back to where we had first arrived. A cacophony of frigatebirds circled above an incoming boat, their cries signaling an exciting find. As we hurried back, we discovered a feeding frenzy as the birds snatched discarded fish scraps from the water.

A friendly woman approached us, holding a freshly caught and still very much alive spiny lobster. She offered it to us with the words: “No dinero” (No money). This put us in a tough spot—our unspoken rule is to avoid killing beautiful sea creatures. Years ago, during a trip to Nova Scotia in 2005, we’d bought a live lobster for a birthday dinner, only to end up releasing it into the ocean. Since then, we’ve avoided live lobsters, spiny lobsters, crabs, and even fish when possible. But here, faced with a generous gift from the heart of the fishing village, we had to make a choice.

Iryna, ever the diplomat, asked if we could trade the lobster for a dead fish instead. The villagers were happy to oblige and offered us a large tuna, which they called Bonito. It was more than enough for three delicious dinners. Thank you, kind residents of the fishing village!

As we prepared to leave, a woman approached us with a simple but heartfelt request—did we have Wi-Fi on board? Her daughter needed to get in touch. We gladly shared our password, and it was heartwarming to see the connection bring joy.

Whether it’s fish or the Internet, sharing what you have is a beautiful rule of neighborliness—and one we’re happy to live by.