How To Cut Your Budget in Half in Venezuela

(NOTE: This is the first draft of an How-To type article that I hope to publish somewhere. Let me know what you think!)

Venezuelan Coffee- Made with Socialism!

Call it what you will: El Mercado Negro (The Black Market) or more accurately, El Mercado Paralelo (The Parallel Market) for currency will save your wallet in Venezuela.   If the phrase “currency black market” gives you the jungle sweats, fear not- in Venezuela the informal market for foreign currency is anything but shady, and people from all backgrounds use it regularly.  

Venezuela has only one currency, the Bolivar Fuerte (Bs.F), but two types of money are available to visitors- the cheap kind and the expensive kind.  Since 2003 the government has placed a freeze on the value of the Bolivar, matching the U.S. dollar at 4.23 Bs.F.  (It’s actually more complicated than that, but this is the rate you will get from a cajero (ATM) or currency exchange.)  At this exchange rate your travel budget will seem more European than South American, perhaps one reason that Venezuela receives considerably fewer visitors than nearby Colombia or Ecuador.  In the Mercado Paralelo, however, one can receive a rate nearly twice as favorable- around eight to ten Bs.F to the Dollar (as of 2011).  Ka-ching!  Think of all the arepas con queso you’ll enjoy with savings like that (not to mention a wildlife viewing trip to Los Llanos.)

As the black market value of the Bolivar will fluctuate, it will be necessary to ask around to get a current quote.  (There is no “official” black market quote, at risk of being obvious).  If arriving to Venezuela by air this may take a bit of patience, if traveling overland from Colombia or Brazil- just ask anyone near the border.  The ”unofficial” exchange rate is a household subject and in no way taboo.  It should be noted that the act of trading currency through unofficial channels is indeed illegal, but the act is common enough that the chances of problems with law enforcement are zero to none.

In general there are two ways to acquire Venezuelan Bolivares in the Mercado Paralelo- selling Dollars/Euros, or exchanging Colombian Pesos/Brazilian Reales at a border town.  Which method you use depends on your mode of arrival and level of comfort.  

Selling Dollars
As in many countries, Venezuelans buy foreign currencies like the dollar as a household investment (dollars by far being preferred).  Using this method means you will carry whatever sum of dollars you wish to exchange on your physical person in to Venezuela.  

Many individuals and businesses will be willing to purchase dollars from you, though it may be difficult to arrange before you are in the country unless you have trustworthy contacts.  If you choose this route, it should not be necessary to exchange in a border town as people throughout the country will be willing to purchase dollars.  For the casual tourist, reliable places to ask about selling include hotels/hostels and tour/guide companies.  Feel comfortable asking the staff about this topic- as mentioned earlier, it’s not taboo or secret.  At the same time, be respectful and ask at a moment when staff are not too busy.

Exchanging Currency at the Border
Trading currency at the border is a less preferable alternative to selling dollars in-country if you are an easily-stressed traveler, but it is common and really quite simple to pull off.  If you are arriving overland, you’ll probably want to trade your remaining pesos or reales for pocket change.

Arrival by Airport- You will be approached by persistent young men palming wads of cash once you clear customs (¿Vas a cambiar?  ¿Vas a cambiar?).  If you’re not  overwhelmed and jet-lagged, perhaps you can exchange a small amount here, enough to tide you over for a few days.  Airports are the most obvious feeding frenzy for trick-bill-folding sharks prowling the waters of gullible tourists.  It is not recommended to exchange large amounts of currency at the Airport, unless you are experienced.   

Arrival Overland from Colombia-  If you are crossing over to Venezuela via Maicao or Cucuta, you may exchange Colombian Pesos for Bolivares in border towns.  The bus must stop in the border customs station en route from Colombia to Venezuela.

Traders will approach you when you de-board the bus/taxi for customs procedures.  Do not let them convince you that you must hurry because the bus/taxi is going to leave without you.  Go in to the Colombian customs building first to get your passport stamp, then deal with the traders.  If several traders are present, take a minute or two to shop around amongst them for the best rate, if only to show them that you´re not an easy sucker.  Insist that they count out each bill for you, and be watchful of any odd ways of folding bills.

Arrival Overland from Brazil- From Brazil, an overland route exists from Boa Vista.  To acquire Venezuelan Bolivares at mercado paraelelo rates, use an ATM in Brazil to acquire Brazilian Reais and exchange these for Bolivares in the border town of Santa Elena.  Again, you will be approached by traders waving cash at you upon de-boarding the bus here.  

General Tips
1.) Make alliances, trust no one.  Don’t trust people just because they are wearing a government uniform, and especially don’t trust people just because they are friendly.  With that said, accept that most people out there want to help you rather than rob you.  The snoring, overweight guy spilling over in to your seat on the long bus ride, for example- chat him up a little bit if you can, no matter how terrible your Spanish is.  He may be the one glaring over your shoulder with a watchful eye at your currency trader at the border as bills are counted out for you.

2.) Be prepared, know your numbers in advance. Know what exchange rate you are ready to accept before you begin bartering, know how much money you are going to trade, and know how much money you should receive.  (Note that Bolivares no longer have three zeros written with each denomination.  One Bolivar is “1”, rather than “1.000”).  It´s not a bad idea to have a calculator handy (like the one on a cell phone or iPod).

3.) Keep cool. Make it clear to your trader that you are the seller, he is the buyer.  You are in charge of this transaction.  If an unacceptable rate is offered, try someone else rather than put up a fuss.  

With a little preparation and confidence, you´ll be able to afford traveling in Venezuela.  As with any travel advice, simply having confidence in a positive outcome is your best ally.  If you´re still skeptical about the idea, the words of Mark Twain are apropos: “I have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.”

Links to research current rates for Dollars to Bolivares

Lonely Planet´s ThornTree Forum
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/thorntree/index.jspa
Virtual Tourist
http://forum.virtualtourist.com
→ If you are planning to reserve a tour or hotel in advance, inquire about exchnage rates via email.

Other notes:

• U.S. State Dept. Travel Website

"While visiting Venezuela, U.S. citizens are encouraged to carry as little U.S. currency as possible[...]. Due to the poor security situation, the embassy does not recommend changing money at the international airport. Visitors should bring a major credit card, but should be aware of widespread pilfering of credit card data to make unauthorized transactions. Travelers’ checks are not recommended as they are honored in only a few locations. It is possible to exchange U.S. currency at approved exchange offices near major hotel chains in Caracas (personal checks are not accepted) and at commercial banks with some restrictions. Due to currency regulations, hotels cannot provide currency exchange. There are ATMs throughout Venezuela. Malfunctions are common, however, and travelers should be careful to use only those in well-lit public places. ATM data has also been hacked and used to make unauthorized withdrawals from user’s accounts. ATMs are also targeted by street gangs in order to rob people making withdrawals."

• Venezuela WikiTravel page:

WikiTravel Venezuela

• A good, but slightly outdated blog article on the subject here:

Venezuela’s Black Market Money Exchange

El Estilo Parapente

A few weeks ago in Venezuela I mentioned a group of pilots I was with being followed around by a film crew.  I've posted the final result below.  The show is an alternative-sports/activities program called, "El Estilo."  I'm not anywhere in the video, but I was there for a lot of it!  It's really well done and fun even if you don't speak a word of Spanish:

The Wing Folders of Las Gonzales

Las Gonzalez approaches quickly under my feet.  A small press of pastel single floors crowded around the bridge over the Rio Chama, I can just make out the blue Bodega at the corner where I would later spend afternoons with a 7-Up (say it “Siete-Arriba!) explaining to the curious in halting Spanish that Alaska isn’t really that cold.  Coming in to focus are bright heaps of orange carrots and dark cabbage greens overflowing from farm delivery trucks in to main street.  The vegetables are destined for MerCal, a chain of government-subsidized grocery outlets.  (“It’s great!” a friend later explained.  “Chavez pays for it all!”)  I would learn soon enough that the praise was not incredulous.

Wind fills my ears.  I’ve aimed myself for a large gravel pit at the edge of town criss-crossed with dead electrical wires, flying in figure-eight patterns to descend.  As I’m about to land I notice a little boy sprint out from the bushes to where I am about to come down.  Curious- but, time to focus.  I only have one opportunity to land.  Winds are strong, so I pump the brakes lightly to slow velocity and... flare hard three feet above the ground to collapse the wing- yes!  Another safe flight complete. Touchdown.

And there he is.  “Te Ayudo?”  Can I help you?  He’s about six years old, and speaking of touchdowns- his t-shirt says “Football Champ” in English and shows a picture of an American football.  The cuteness factor is out of control.  But I am ready for this, I was told this would happen by Ludvig, a fellow paraglider-traveler from Norway I met earlier.  “Venezuela is different, man,” he said in English without a trace of accent.  He had just spent several weeks there taking his introductory course there with a character named “El Maracucho, who I would meet later.  “At the fly site at Las Gonzales when you land there’s all these kids that run up to you and ask if they can help fold your wing.  There’s these big apartment complexes across the road that Chavez built for the survivors of some rural village that collapsed in a landslide.  So, there’s these kids that run across the road over to the LZ when they see people landing.  Some of them ask for money, but most of them do it because they want to learn to fly some day too.  There’s kind of this whole generation of kids in government housing there that grow up with the idea that if they put in some years of helping people fold up their wings and carry gear, they’ll get to learn to fly one day.”  

Paragliding is usually a prohibitively expensive sport, so it’s an incredible story that kids from less privileged families would learn to become pilots too.  Last month at the Colombian National Cup I briefly met Joglin, a local pilot here who at age 19 won his division in an XC race and was a talented acrobatic pilot to boot.  On top of that he seemed humble about all of it.  He had started out just like this little boy.

I have six Bolivares in my pocket, I ask the little boy how much he charges.  “Diez bolos!” Ten Bolivares! ($1.25) he says firmly.  I ask him his name (Ronaldo), how many years of experience he has (six years, he says), and if he wants to fly someday too.  He nods his head.  After some haggling I talk him down to six bolos and he starts fast at work of the task of bunching up my glider.  He works with the confidence of having watched the routine many times, and the hopeless haphazardness of a six year old.  As we work together to fold up the wing he asks me if I know how to do a Helicopter (an advanced acro maneauver).  I don’t, so he proceeds to explain to me a series of weight shifts and brake applications in Spanish too rapid for me understand.  As he is incomprehensible, I have to believe he knows what he is talking about (the same phenomenon as with college professors).

Once everything is packed up I fish the money out of my pocket for Ronaldo and he scurries away with a “Gracias!”  Coming in next in for landing are the several tandem pilots and their German tourist passengers that I came here with from Merida, a city about a half an hour away.  The Gemans are as titillated as anyone I’ve ever met after their first flight.  I help the other pilots with their equipment and we chat a bit.  

“So you said you came here for an SIV course in Urribantes (another fly site nearby)?” one asks me.  SIV is a French acronym for Simulation d’Incident en Vol, a course where one practices emergency paragliding maneuvers over a body of water and is a rite-of-passage for newish pilots like myself.  “Who’s teaching that?”  I give him the name El Maracucho and he throws up his hands in disgust.  “That guy!” he says incredulously.  “I really recommend you watch yourself around him.  I have seen him recommend fairly advanced things to students that I wouldn’t be comfortable with, even over a lake.  You do a full stall incorrectly and you’ll end up wrapped up inside your wing like an arepa [a sometimes taco-like local dish].  Look, I’ve taught SIV courses before too and I don’t know how much experience you have, but just don’t feel like you have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”  Copy that, sir, I think to myself.  What have I gotten myself in to, exactly?  The question already in my mind had been: will I be comfortable performing maneuvers instructed in another language?  Am I now being told that my contacts here are of a dubious nature?

We drive back to Las Gonzalez to store the tandem pilots flight equipment in a small room of the Bodega (something like a bare-bones convenience store/liquour store/bar) by the bridge.  As the Germans muse over mid-flight souveneir photos on a computer screen, I hear my name called from across the street.  “Psst! Baynameen!”  Peering out the door of a flaking blue wall across the street is El Maracucho, who I recognize from several weeks back in Colombia when he and his young proteges had come to Bucaramanga for Colombian National Cup.  One morning several days after the competition I walked out to an empty launch field and saw him sitting alone with the horizon, waiting to hear if the only road back to Venezuela had been cleared of landslides yet.  We had chatted a bit about Venezuela.  “I can’t believe how expensive things are here!” he decried.  He held up a jug of water.  “This water cost me about $4000 pesos ($2.00 U.S).  In Venezuela, I can fill up my gas tank for that.”  I’ve got to see this, I thought to myself.  He told me about the SIV course in a few weeks- sign me up, I say.  We exchanged information and parted ways, planning to meet up later.  And here I am.

“How was the flight Baynameen?” he smiles at me.  “I saw you came in a little low.  That’s not good.  Give yourself more elevation to do figure eights or you’ll land in the river.”  A true teacher always has something to offer.  “Sorry I couldn’t come over there across the street to say hello, those guys aren’t exactly my best friends, I don’t know if they told you anything.  Anyways, so glad you made it here!  We’ll clear off the bed for you and you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.  We’ll be heading out to Urribantes on Friday.”  He explains how to catch the bus back out here tomorrow.  The pilots across the street make a time-to-leave motion, I say I’ll be back tomorrow with my things.

The next morning I treat myself to an eight dollar and 30 minute taxi ride from Merida rather than a two dollar and three hour bus trip.  Lunch is ready when I arrive, arepa and rice with lentils.  Inside a spiderweb of electrical wires is strung across the middle of the living room/bedroom piled high with dozens of threadbare harnesses and wings, several teenage boys (who all refer to Maracucho as Vieja, old lady) are sprawled across a mattress watching the Discovery channel in Spanish.  Fernando, Chepi, Felix, etc. are all paraglider pilots mentored by Maracucho from young ages, all dark complexioned and teenagerly as teenagers anywhere.  They also spent many an afternoon helping pilots fold their wings in their younger years.  Maracucho’s house appears to be the happening bachelor pad in town where a constant ebb of people wander in and out to see what’s up.  It will be my home for ten days here.  “Que pasa chamos,” I offer.  Fist bumps all around.  I find my lunch and take a seat atop the mountain of gear in the corner and watch Semana de Tiburones with the guys.  During commercial breaks I get an introduction to Venezuela shouted at me from various corners- health care is free, university is free, oil is cheap, food is cheap, everything else is expensive.  Much has changed in the last ten years, they explain without details- Shark Week is back on.

Later that afternoon we walk down to the local fishing spot at the river, me with my lightweight collapsible backpacker rod and reel and they with bamboo poles.  People stare at me and my ostentatious fishing technology on the way through town.  (Didn’t catch anything.)  In the evening, Maracucho explains the strange cross-street interaction from earlier that afternoon.  “I used to work for those guys,” he explains while an eyepatched Bill O’Reilly-like character points at a world map on the TV outlining the route of Obama’s recent diplomacy trip around the Pacific crest.  The purpose of these meetings is to solidify alliances in the face of the Chineese threat to U.S. supremacy, he asserts.  “But they wanted me to work exclusively for them, they wanted me to not do any tandem flights not booked through them.  Screw that, I said, so I walked.  Next year when I’m back on my feet a little more I’m going to put an addition on top of this here house and use the downstairs as an office like they’ve got across the street.”  The eyepatched TV pundit moves on to National news, explaining that a new law has been passed in response to a national milk shortage.  Dairy producers went on strike several weeks ago to demand a better price, so legislation was passed allowing the State to assess and purchase their property in order to return it to productivity.  “I don’t understand all of this, really,” says Maracucho.  “I think the world would be so much simpler if everyone spent a lot more time smoking porro and making love...”

The next day, a half dozen or so visiting pilots show up from various locales.  Plans change.  Apparently some people in the SIV course have cancelled and it’s no longer economical to travel to Urribantes with the smaller group.  We’ll do the course at a local, smaller lake nearby instead, as I understand it.  (I understand about 50% of what’s going on during an average day.  One-on-one conversation at a slow pace is easy for me, but catching the details of group conversation is still a distant goal.  Progress in fluency is not linear.)   A film crew from Caracas arrives, they’ll be collecting footage this weekend for an alternative-sports TV program, “El Estilo,”.  They’re dreadlocked and excitable and of an incomprehensible accent.  One of them, Marko, is excited to practice his English on me:  “I so glad you here because you like a teacher for me!  It’s like taboo speak English in Caracas man, it’s like you do it to be funny sometime and everyone give you the evil eye.”  As we chat he is rolling the largest joint I could have ever imagined possible.  “Venezuelan blunt,” he explains.

As night falls someone turns up the volume on the Rumba blaring from the Bodega next door.  A dozen or so locals mill around it’s concrete steps and dance in the empty street.  Strangers keep buying me beers until I finally refuse.  I feel like I’ve found that thing that travelers search for- a genuine experience.  Almost no one is trying to speak English to me, no one is trying to sell me bracelets or drugs.  This night would be happening whether I was here or not.  At some point I make my way back to the house and clear my bunk bed of paragliding gear and fall asleep with a humming TV by my pillow and Electronica coming through the wall.  The next morning at 7:30 a.m. all of the two square meters of floor space is full of sleeping bodies and someone has strung a hammock across the kitchen.  People are still dancing outside in the twilight.  Ganja fumes waft through the house.  After a breakfast of Envueltos (fried plantain in sweet dough) from down the street and several hours of impatient milling around, I and about a dozen people and all our gear cram in to an SUV headed towards the lake.

At the lake, more milling around.  There is an interaction of some sort with the local search and rescue group and Maracucho, some waving of hands.  We drink coffee sold from street carts in thimble sized plastic cups and people do their best to include me in conversation.  At some signal that I miss we all pile back in to the SUV and return back to where we started this morning, at the base of the local fly site Tierra Negra.  Half an hour of Jeep trails later we’re up top at launch, with winds too strong for my comfort level.  “We’re going to practice some of the simpler maneuvers today,” explains Maracucho.  “Asymmetric collapse, crescents, and B-Line stalls.”  He describes which lines to pull in for each of the maneuvers.  “They are all perfectly safe, nothing will happen.”  At that, he launches in to the horizon with a tandem passenger.  Joglin takes off as well and does a little hot-dogging for the film crew.  Several thousand feet above ground over the canyon, everyone gasps as we see his wing suddenly crumple (as he performs a B-line stall) and drop out of the sky like an anvil.  Three seconds of gut wrenching free fall later his wing re-inflates, and he rides up a band of ridge lift to return several minutes later for a top-landing and spectators applause.  “Que deporte mas Extremo!” declares one little boy.
The wind howls, I decide not to fly.  “My stomach says it’s not a good Idea, “ I explain.  Several others agree and we ride back down to Las Gonzales.  As we descend condensation forms on the windshield and soon the sky is wet.  Flying is done for the day.  

In the evening I am with Joglin at his family’s apartment looking at paragliding acro videos on YouTube.  The Infinity, the MacTwist, the Misty Flip- they all look absolutely insane and the names remind me of boastful pubescent skateboarders.  Joglin wants to go to Austria next year to some sort of acro pilot mecca where a tram up a mountain is located adjacent to a lake where one can practice maneuvers with a body of water below.  I understand the appeal but I just can’t get in to the idea of it, I never will.  I extend the invitation to Alaska and pull up some pictures of glaciers and wildlife and landscapes on the computer to give him an idea.  

“So what did you know about Venezuela before you came here?” he asks at some point in the evening.  “What did you think if this place?  What do Americans think about Venezuela?”  I tell him that I didn’t know much, I give him my seventh grade geography knowledge.  Lots of jungles, lots of mountains.  It’s where Simon Bolivar was born.  And, well, you guys have a little bit of a crazy president. Haha.

Silence.

“Yo soy de Chavez,” he says firmly.  And indeed, why not?  

“Obviously he’s been a great president for this country,” I interject making a lame attempt to regain credibility.  “But you gotta admit, the guy says some pretty strong stuff sometimes, no?”  We laugh it off together, myself more so than him.  I do my best to explain the idiom, “Put your foot in your mouth.”  It’s a funny enough image to redeem my offense.  Soon enough we’re back to YouTube videos of Synchro Spirals and the like.

The next day, more rain.  The SIV course isn’t happening.  I’m told that we’ll have more time to do the maneuvers of an SIV course over the next week I’m here, the only thing we won’t be able to do is practice using the emergency parachute.  We’ll see, I say.  

Las Gonzales keeps me for another full week.  I make my way up launch either by an hour and a half hike or hitching a ride with the rare Jeep headed uphill to remote villages back in the mountains.  I bite my tongue at seeing the guys use old equipment I wouldn’t trust my own life to, occasionally barefoot or helmetless.  These are the young wing-folders who earned the privilege of flying, but at what risk?  Is it worth it?  It’s easy or me to ask when I can afford to buy modern equipment.  With each flight I consider my life, if it’s worth it to suspend myself midair for a while.  I shudder at the thought of the idea of flying ever seeming routine.

For my questions I have no answers. What I know is that with each flight I am grateful for the community I have found, for the freedom and focus I have found in the sport.  I’ve not been disappointed in finding friends to show me around wherever I go.  And some of them even have yet to turn ten years old.

Fly Site: Tierra Negra, Merida, Venezuela

ParaglidingEarth Link

The launch site for Tierra Negra (N 08°28'47.8", W 71°18'46.2") is about a 45 minute ride outside of Merida, Venezuela just above the village of Las Gonzales.  This is one of the main sites for the local flying community and is used by several tandem flight operations.  Ridge soaring, as well as thermaling and XC flights are possible at Tierra Negra on the right day.  There is about 800 meters of elevation gain from the launch to the LZ, so even if you don’t catch any lift the ride down is 15-25 minutes.  Panoramic views of the Andes above the Rio Chama makes this an unforgettable flight.

If you only have a day or two here, the best option may be to try and catch a ride out to the site with a tandem guide taking a passenger out.  Transportation was about 50 Bolivares (Nov. 2011)- Venezuela’s exchange rate is a tricky subject, depending on your rate this between 5$ and 10$.

I do not recommend going solo to this site at least for the first time.  The LZ is a large, safe gravelly area- but requires a good briefing from fellow pilots.  The LZ is not visible from launch, and there are (dead) power lines crossing part of the LZ.

At the LZ, expect to have entrepeneuring children run up and ask if they can help fold your wing!

Flyable days per year: 300
Best times of the day: 9:30 a.m to 11:30 a.m., 3:00 p.m. to 5:30 p.m.
Best Months: Year round, December-February best for thermic conditions
Cost: N/A
How to get there:  
1.) Go with a local pilot- Contact a local pilot at one of several tandem guide operations listed below (“Websites”).  This is recommended for at least the first time.  Transportation cost will be around 50 Bolivares (6$ U.S.) round trip from Merida..

2.) Taxi- From Merida to Las Gonzales, cost is appx. 75 Bolivares.  From Las Gonzales to Tierra Negra, cost is appx. 70 Bolivares.  Depending on your rate, total cost would between 20$ and 40$ U.S..

3.) Public transportation to Las Gonzales- from the main Terminal de Pasajeros in Merida, look for a bus headed to one of the following locations: Lagunillas, San Juan, or El Vigia.  (Be warned that buses in Venezuela do not follow planned schedules, but depart when they are full or close to full).  These buses all head Westbound out of town on the main highway.  Your destination is an obvious bright red pedestrian bridge crossing over the road about 30 minutes away from the Terminal.  There is a “Tierra Negra” highway sign showing a picture of a paraglider one km. or so before your destination.  If your Spanish fails you, write out “Las Gonzales” on a piece of paper and show it to the driver.

Las Gonzales is a tiny town on the South side of the highway.  Follow the road towards the mountains to the South and there is a bridge crossing a creek.  You’re now in town, continue walking South towards the mountains.  There is an old bridge crossing the Rio Chama.  The blue Bodega at the corner by this bridge frequently has pilots, or locals who know pilots, hanging out with a Pepsi or Polar Ice.  This is best place to wait to see if there are trucks going up the mountain to catch a ride with.  Trucks are infrequent, but between 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. is reliably a good bet for hitching a ride.

On foot, it’s about 1.5 - 2 hours hike up to the launch site, a large grassy ridge where the road flattens out.  I was lucky enough to find a place to stay in Las Gonzales, thus saving a daily commute from Merida.

Websites:
Facebook: “Parapente Merida Bandasbteam” - Local pilot(s) who live in Las Gonzales.  
Xtreme Adventours:http://www.xatours.com.ve
Parapente Merida:  http://www.parapentemerida.com