I have already written a review of Venezuela in general, but Angel Falls didn’t deserve to be squished into a couple of paragraphs of a larger review. It’s a sight on a grand scale, and deserves an opinion of its very own.
If you’re interested in facts, Angel Falls is the highest waterfall (longest uninterrupted drop) in the world. While its flow is a fraction of the water that tumbles over Niagara, it falls 16 times as far – that’s nearly a kilometre, straight down. It falls, a tributary of the Rio Carrao, from the top of Auyantepui – The Mountain of the God of Evil – a name the local Pemón tribe bestowed upon it.
The reason the waterfall is so unique is due to the unusual landscape. Auyantepui is one of many tepuis dotted around this area of South America. They are flat topped, sheer-sided, massive remnants of compacted silt from prehistoric times, their surroundings eroded away over millennia. Because of their inaccessibility, many of the plants living on their plateaus have evolved independently from surrounding tepuis and from the floor below, or have hardly evolved at all. Some species are endemic only to their particular mountain, or are the only living examples of plants thought otherwise to be extinct.
They were given the name Angel Falls as they were ‘discovered’ by Jimmy Angel – an American gold prospector in the 1930’s. He was canvassing the area for potential prospecting sites and landed on the top of Auyantepui. Trouble was, it was all boggy on the top, his wheels got stuck, and he couldn’t take off again. He and his team survived the adventure, but it took them over a week to find their way down. Their plane made it down some years later and now stands, restored, in the gardens of Ciudad Bolívar’s little airport. I dread to think of the lengths people must have gone to in order to get it there.
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We had underestimated quite how remote the falls are. Situated in the south east of the country, towards the Brazilian border, the most notable feature on a map is that there isn’t much else of note nearby. The nearest village, Canaima, is 50km from the falls, and situated in dense jungle. The only access to Canaima is by air, an hour’s Cessna flight from Ciudad Bolívar, its closest city.
The only route to the falls from Canaima is by air, or by boat; a 7 hour trip, over occasional rapids, up a river that isn’t always reliable in the dry season. There are no roads.
Given it was somewhere I’d heard of as a child, and given that I’d assumed we were going there, it was a shame when we realised in Caracas that it was unlikely we’d be able to afford it.
Research is not our strong point when it comes to holidays, we prefer to buy our guidebook at the airport, hop on a plane, and work out the details when we get there. We had made the concession of buying our guidebook beforehand, but only with the intention of getting a discount off the cover price. We still didn’t really read it until we were on the plane.
The Lonely Planet estimates that the cheapest trip to see the falls, a quick fly-past peek with the whole trip from Ciudad Bolívar lasting just one day, would cost around $120 USD. Even then, if it is cloudy, you may not see the falls at all, and if the weather conditions more unfavourable still, you may have to turn back without even getting as far as the tepui it falls from, with no hope of a refund – it’s just the luck of the draw. The book lists prices for more relaxed 2 and 3 day tours around the $250-$500 mark per person.
We brushed our disappointment aside quickly and got on with thinking about all the other places we could visit instead. Setbacks like this rarely distract us for long – there’s no point in wasting time crying over spilt leche when you’re on holiday and there’s places to go and things to do.
We later met a Canadian chap in Santa Fé, however, who had heard from two different backpackers that a company in Ciudad Bolívar was running very good tours, everything included, for $180 for four days. He only knew the name of the tour operator – Adrenaline Tours, but we noted it down, and mulled it over while we visited Isla de Margarita.
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We knew we were taking a risk going to Ciudad Bolívar, as it was drawing very close to Christmas, and even if the rumour turned out to be true, the tours may not be running over the holiday period. Our return flight was for the 30th, so at the very latest, we would have to start our tour on Christmas Day, if they were even running, and that would be cutting it fine.
But Ciudad Bolívar sounded pleasant enough to take the risk, and so we left Margarita earlier than planned. After all, this would be a once-in-a-lifetime deal. It was now or never, carpe diem, and all those other clichés.
We needn’t have worried. Francisco from Adrenaline Tours was at the bus station, dropping off some Japanese tourists. He wasted no time at all in introducing himself to us, and we steeled ourselves to the inevitable rambling sales pitch. All we really wanted to do was find a bed and some food, but we knew it was in our interests to listen. We were probably going to book with them anyway, and given our schedule, the sooner the better. But he rattled through what he had to say, handed us a leaflet, and told us to come to his office in the morning, after we’d shopped around to see what the other operators were offering.
We nearly left him then to look after his Japanese charges, except I asked where we would need to catch a carrito into town. I got the same answer I’d received already (and hadn’t wanted to hear), carritos didn’t run after 7pm and we’d have to get a taxi. But Francisco had an idea – after he’d sorted out the Japanese duo he’d need to get a cab into town himself, back to the office. If we could wait 10 minutes he’d be done, take us back to the office, phone whichever hotel we’d decided to stay in to reserve us a room, give us a quick rundown of the tour and then his business partner could run us to the hotel.
At 9pm, it was the best offer we were going to get.
The walls of the office were covered with glowing praise in every language from people who had taken previous tours about their price, level of service, etc etc. When they’d run out of space on the walls, people had written their comments in a large hard backed book. The testimonials were impressive, and unusually for us, we didn’t bother shopping around.
The deal was for 3 days/2 nights, flights to and from Canaima, a night in a jungle camp, boat trip to the falls, food and accommodation (sleeping in hammocks) included, for $180 USD. If you then wanted to stay an extra night, you could have a hammock for free, but you’d have to feed yourself, thus making it the 4-day trip we’d heard about. To take a flight over the falls could be arranged, but would be an extra $40, and with still the same risks of not actually seeing it.
Adrenaline can make it cheaper than the other tour companies by one very subtle difference. Where most tours take a flight directly from Ciudad Bolívar, Adrenaline drive you to the furthest town accessible by road, la Paragua. This takes 3 hours, but then it’s only a 25-minute flight to Canaima. Since it’s the flight that costs, this works out as a substantial saving, and the scenery on the way to la Paragua is nice enough anyway.
Except things don’t always work out as planned. I was ill the next day and we had to postpone. The staff at Adrenaline were sympathetic and accommodating. The issue of postponing for a day was not an issue at all. My partner was given a bottle of mineral water to take back to me, with instructions to make sure I got lots of rest and water. They even offered to take me to the hospital, all part of the service. Tour operators around the world could do with taking tips from Adrenaline’s customer care policy.
I recovered, and we set off on the 23rd December. We met our fellow travellers (1 Dutch, 2 Belgian, 1 Costa Rican) at the office at 7am. We were given breakfast and a snack-pack for the journey, and then set off for Ciudad Bolívar’s airport, where we swapped the Costa Rican for two other travellers (1 French, 1 Swiss).
The Costa Rican chap had opted to upgrade to the direct flight from Ciudad Bolívar, and we met up with him again later, but it was gratifying to discover that our new co-travellers who had booked elsewhere had paid more than we had for the same journey, even more than the Costa Rican chap with his upgrade. Presumably, their tour operators paid the same as we did and then added their cut on top.
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The 3 hour drive to la Paragua was pleasant enough. It was a good road, though deserted, through occasional villages, with mountains in the distance, hills, and rolling countryside dotted with palms in between. It gave us a good chance to get to know the others, but only the Dutch girl spoke English – the majority of conversations were in French.
The 25-minute flight over virgin jungle was breathtaking, awe-inspiring and terrifying all at once. I’m not afraid of flying, and my dad can fly single-prop planes, so it’s not like I haven’t been up in a small plane before. The plane itself was in good shape too, much better than many light, single-prop aircraft you’d find in this country. I had complete confidence in the pilot, he does the journey back and forth so many times a day he could probably do it blindfold, if that were allowed, but fortunately he didn’t.
The apprehension just came from the knowledge that if you were to need to make an emergency landing in the UK, there’s a fair number of roads and fields you could attempt to do it in. Here there was just jungle, and the slightest buffeting made me realise just how vulnerable we could be. I knew the best option would be to land in a river in these circumstances, and there were plenty of those too, but they weren’t playing ball either, meandering all over the place. These weren’t the sort of thoughts that are good to dwell upon, so I got my camera out and became snap-happy instead. There was plenty to photograph.
You land, meet up with the others who flew from Bolívar, have lunch, and then you get into the boats, two large dugout canoes for the 17 of us, and make your way on the 4 hour trip to the jungle camp. We were lucky; it had rained the night before, so we didn’t have to get out at any of the rapids and walk, or even push it past any of the shallow spots. We made good time.
The scenery changes little in the four hours. The boat winds upstream, jungle meeting the water on both sides. The occasional kingfisher, heron, and smaller birds add interest, and my boyfriend saw a toucan, but I was too slow and missed it. We both saw the captivating sight of a humming bird, though. While completely black, with an oily sheen, and therefore not particularly exciting to look at, watching its movement was entrancing, like watching a magician perform a particularly impressive and apparently impossible trick.
I tried to explain what I was pointing at to Paul, the elderly French gentleman beside me, but the best I could manage was “a bird like a helicopter”. ‘A’ level French doesn’t equip you with the necessary language for pointing out wildlife. “Libellule?” he offered. I was clutching at straws, the word sounded familiar and so I nodded. It was only when we got back to the UK that I realised I knew what libellule was – a dragonfly. No wonder he hadn’t looked overly excited. Sorry Paul.
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The base camp was at the foot of Auyantepui and the sight of the mountain looming towards us, reflected in the river with the last bronze rays of sun falling on it, was magnificent.
The camp was less so, but better than I’d expected. It was barely 2 minutes walk from the riverbank, a large, rectangular, open-sided, corrugated-roofed structure, constructed from large wooden poles. You couldn’t see it from the river, but it fitted its clearing well, the well-rusted roof blending in with the surrounding trees. Amazingly, there were flushing toilets and even cold-water showers, but by the time we arrived, we were quite wet enough.
Sleeping overnight in a hammock wasn’t something I was overly eager about, but in the event, it was absolutely fine. I had visions of creepy crawlies making my life hell, or the hammock tipping me onto the floor every time I flinched, or even collapsing altogether, and at the very least I expected excruciating backache.
I needn’t have worried, the hammocks were strung securely from the supports of the huge roof, I didn’t see a single bug, and it’s quite simple to sleep in a hammock. You just lie diagonally across it, forcing it flat. You can lie on your side, back, or front, and can even turn in your sleep without waking up. It did get a bit chilly in the middle of the night, but we’d been given blankets and had been advised to wear something warm too. I was astounded at how well I slept, and at the lack of aching when I woke up.
We were woken at dawn, had a good breakfast, and at 7am we were back in the canoes on our way to the falls. At this time of the morning, the sun barely up, it was pretty chilly in the canoes, especially as we were ascending occasional rapids and getting periodically soaked.
It had rained constantly and heavily throughout the night, but as soon as the sun rose, it stopped. This happened often in Venezuela, and here it meant we made good progress upriver again.
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Auyantepui is “E” shaped. Our camp was at the entrance to the first gap between the promontories of the mountain. Angel Falls is situated halfway down the second gap; el Cañón del Diablo (devil’s canyon). This doesn’t sound very far, but it is one of the largest tepuis, and it’s another 3 to 4 hours by boat around the central promontory to the falls.
We saw at least three other waterfalls on our way around, but none were particularly big, and all made contact with the sides of the mountain before too long. You’d think we’d be able to hear them, but even when we stopped to wait for the other boat to catch us up, the trees absorbed all the noise.
You can’t see Angel Falls from where the boat stops, but it’s just a short walk along the riverbank to see them, to a natural pool created by the side of the river. The best views, however are had from Mirador Laime, which is an hour and a half’s trek through the jungle.
The trek starts innocently enough. It’s flat for about half the way, but the path is tricky, winding through the trees and traversing the criss-cross of thick roots which protrude from the ground, trying to catch your feet and trip you as you walk. They’ve been polished by the wear of tourists’ feet and are slippy too. There is nothing else to mark your path, you just follow the person in front.
After a while of this, the path ascends sharply. Here someone has been thoughtful and put up a guard rail and even cut some rough steps, but it’s still hard work. Eventually you arrive at a rocky outcrop, where Mother Nature has thoughtfully provided a small rock bathing pool to wash away the perspiration. Here, you’re so close it is impossible to take a picture of the falls in their entirety in one camera shot. The view facing the other way was pretty spectacular too (it’s attached to my other opinion – I gave it the title “totally junglicious”).
The view from here is unobscured by trees, but it’s still not that close to the base of the falls – la Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s throat), but it isn’t safe to venture closer. The one thing that does obscure the falls is the cloud. The whole time we were there, there was only perhaps a 30 second interval where the falls were completely visible. Most of the time you can see quite a lot of it, just not the top. Some of the time it was almost completely obscured.
Frankly, I’m glad we didn’t take a flight – we saw a couple of planes and helicopters, as tiny as mosquitoes against the enormous backdrop. They only buzzed around a couple of times and then left. It would be so disappointing to get that far just for a few minutes and then leave. We were there for several hours.
Once everyone had got back to the riverside, we had lunch, wonderful grilled chicken prepared by some of the Pemón guides. They ate a turtle our canoe’s navigator had plucked from the river earlier the previous day! Hardly anyone spoke. I’d like to think it was the majesty of the sight of the falls, but really everyone was just too knackered. Descending from the mirador was hardly any easier than ascending, and harder on the knees too, but I did see a stick-insect the length of my forearm.
We left at about 1pm and made our way back to the base camp to pick up our belongings. After a cup of tea, it was back into the boat and onwards to Canaima. This isn’t always the schedule, often people stay back at base camp another night, which would have been great, but our guide wanted to get back for a party in the village. It was Christmas Eve.
Christmas morning I was woken by wild monkeys brushing past my hammock and bouncing on the nearby roof.
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We decided not to stay the extra “free” day after all. We had just enough time if we left that day to head back to the beach at Santa Fé. The snorkelling there was too much of a draw, but not before we had seen some more waterfalls – still part of the tour.
Canaima is situated on a lagoon by more waterfalls, which you can see as the plane comes in to land. These are much smaller, but they are still picturesque, and one of them is even more special, as it is possible to walk completely behind it. I have been behind a waterfall before, but nothing on this scale, and never behind the whole thing.
These falls also provide all the electricity the village could need, as there is a hydroelectric station. This didn’t seem quite so great at 2am when the music was still blaring, but it was because it was Christmas, and I am assured the village is normally tranquil. Another reason for us to leave early, though.
The flight and subsequent journey back were as beautiful as before but more subdued. There were only three of us going back that way that day, and after the flight, which was just as scary, we slept most of the way.
It would be an amazing sight at any time of year, not just Christmas, and apart from the planes and helicopters flying past occasionally, our group of 17 were the only people there that day.
It’s beautiful, and in my opinion, although I've listed it as a disadvantage, it's all the better for its remote setting.
