Maraven – The Irish Rover

Caracas, 1978

Until I moved to Caracas in 1978, I had never lived anywhere within easy access to mountains.

The landscape around where I grew up on the north coast of Ulster, could be described as ‘gently undulating’, and it would be an exaggeration to describe the ‘mountains’ in the north of Ireland as anything more than ‘cuddly little hills’.

Likewise, Toronto and London are as vertically challenged as a slightly creased table cloth. There are small mountains inland from Sydney, but they are at least a two-hour drive away. On a rare day, clear of smog, from Los Angeles, with binoculars one can sometimes see the Rockies, but again a long drive. And Lagos is on the vast delta of the river Niger.

So, on that morning in November 1978, when I was shown to my new office on the seventh floor of Maraven, in Caracas, and I looked across the adjacent city airport and saw that massive green wall rising from the northern suburbs, I felt so fortunate to have the opportunity to be there.

Pico Oriental (2640 m), with the city aitport in the foreground (from internet)

The mountain at which I was looking, was the western end of El Parque Nacional El Ávila, that stretches for 80 km along the north coast, and is about 16 km wide. The highest point is Pico Naiguatá at 2765 m, with Caracas at about 1000 m.

For quite a while, the mountains were ever present in my mind, but by necessity they were in the background; I was busy settling in, getting my bearings, coping with the challenges of a new job, and above all, wrestling with the Spanish language.

But eventually the urge to climb that mountain and walk along the ridge was irresistible. I asked around the office, but nobody seemed to have ever climbed the mountain, nor did they seem to know anything about the access paths.

It was my new friend and eventually my constant companion, Ivonne, who inquired at an information office somewhere in the city, and obtained some documentation. So, one Saturday morning we set off to climb Pico Oriental.

There was nothing technically challenging about the climb; it was like going up steep stairs for 2-3 hours. And it was a very warm day. But the views from the top were incredible, with Caracas on one side, and the Caribbean far below on the other. And we could see planes flying below, and landing at the city airport, and on the other side, at the international airport of Maiquetía.

Over the next year on several weekends, we explored most of the paths on the mountain, accompanied by various permutations of Ivonne’s younger sisters – Maureen, Vilma and Dayra, and two of our colleagues from Maraven – Aiden Lehane and Laín Burgos-Lovece.

We went along the ridge as far as the Humbolt Hotel, at 2015 m, then deserted and decayed. It had been built in 1956, with a cable car climbing from Caracas in the valley and then down the other side to Macuto, at the coast. It was shut down in the early 1970’s, due to operational and technical issues with the cable car system. It was reopened in the late 1980’s as a School of Tourism.

lenvisiting-002 — Kaare & Lonny Plesner (Danish friends), with the author and Ivonne Garban, in 1979

Ivonne somehow obtained a faded copy of a document that gave the history of the ascent of Naiguatá, so one weekend we set off from Petare, in the eastern suburbs of Caracas.

naiguata-page-001-1 — The front page of an old 8-page document about Pico de Naiguatá

naiguata-page-003 — And a map showing some of the possible ascents to Naiguatá

Once more there was nothing technical about the climb, it was just long, and in the valley, the weather was hot that day. And once again the views were stunning.

1200px-scratching_the_sky — View of Naiguatá from the western ridge

Anfiteatro Pico Naiguata, Fila Maestra y Pico Oriental — Looking west from Naiguatá, with Caracas on the left, and the Caribbean on the right

Although there were several paths up the south side of Ávila, I never found one descending from the ridge on the north side, down to the Caribbean. The north side was reputed to be a naturalist’s paradise, with many different species of flora and fauna.

There was no road along the coast for the length of the park. The road ended at a beach club on the western end of the park, and just outside Higuerote on the eastern end. In between, there was about 50 km of a rough track, only suitable for a 4-wheel drive.

One day I decided that I was going to run and walk the 50 km. Ivonne drove me to Higuerote, and I started out just after the sunrise. We agreed to meet at the other end at 18:00, around sunset.

As crazy as it may seem today, I took nothing with me: no pack, no food, no water. I had just my running gear. And of course there were no mobile phones in those days.

But the distance for me, was a little more than that of a marathon, of which I had already done several. And a few weeks earlier I had run and walked 80 km in training in Caracas, so I was not in awe of the distance.

The going was rough in parts, particularly in the middle third, and it was hot and very humid in the sun. I drank from streams and surprisingly, I found several banana plants, with ripe fruit, possible descended from a long-vanished subsistence plot.

I had no concept of distance covered, but I had calculated on it taking no more than ten hours. When ten hours had elapsed and there was still no sign of civilisation, I started to feel a little uneasy, especially when it looked like it would not be long until the sun set. I began to regret the time had spent on those idyllic breaks that I had taken, sitting on the beach, or cooling my feet in the streams.

It was quite dark when I finally emerged from the bushes to find myself in the car park of the club at Naiguata. And there was Ivonne with one of her sisters, patiently waiting for me in my car.

Mission accomplished.

Since Caracas, I have had several opportunities to live close to mountains, and I have never lost my fascination for them.

But my memories of Ávila stand out above all others.

London and Lagos

1978

‘Would you be interested in a twelve-month contract in Venezuela with Maraven. It used to be the Shell company in Caracas before it was nationalized?’

That was the question that I was asked by my contact at P-E International. I had just completed a project of more than a year at Shell International in London, through his company, and he knew that I had traveled a lot in South and Central America, and that I was keen to return. I was very excited by the opportunity.

‘We don’t yet have a date for the interviews, but I will find you a short term contract to tide you over until then’.

He was as good as his word, and a few days later I started a small fixed-price development project with Ford in Dagenham. It was a horrible commute from where I lived in Hampstead in north London, but I was able to do a lot of the work at home, and carry out testing in Dagenham in the evenings, when there was less traffic. I worked at least twelve hours a day, seven days a week, and completed the development in just over a month. It proved to be a quite lucrative contract.

But still there was no confirmation of the interview date, so I went on a holiday to the U.S. with the intention of returning once everything was arranged.

About two weeks later I received the notification, returned to London, interviewed and a couple of days later, was informed that I was one of two applicants that had been selected, the other one being a P-E employee. The only problem was that it would take some time for Maraven to obtain 12-month renewable work permits. The wheels of bureaucracy can turn very slowly.

But Shell was keen for the ‘technology transfer’ to take place, so I was provided with a 3-month contract, to make modifications to a Shell drilling system in Nigeria. One week later I was in Lagos.

Lagos_0002

What followed were three amazing and unforgettable months of my life.

I shared a large four-bedroom apartment on Victoria Island with another P-E employee, and I was given the use of a robust Volkswagen. The work was interesting and I was provided with membership of the Ikoyi Club, with access to its restaurant, bar, squash and tennis courts, outdoor movies etc.

I exercised every day of the week playing rugby, tennis and squash, and running in handicapped races around the perimeter of the Ikoyi Golf Club, two or three times a week. I ended up fitter than I had ever been before.

There were parties every weekend and I will always associate the Bee Gees and Saturday Night Fever with Lagos; that recording was played over and over, with the exclusion of everything else.

There was a rugby match against a visiting team from Monrovia (Liberia), a trip to play Kano in the north and a seven-a-side competition.

Lagos Rugby Club 1978 — Who was the clown making faces?

And there was the 24-hour hike along the coast from Badagri, near the border with Benin, to Lagos, and the trip to Kainji Lake National Park in north-east Nigeria.

But they are stories for another day.

I left Lagos in early November and a few days later, via London and Los Angeles, I arrived in Caracas.

In 1987, I returned to Nigeria, as the UK Director of P-E (West Africa) Ltd, a Nigerian consulting services company.

And for the next eight years, I traveled regularly to Lagos and Port Harcourt for board meetings, visiting clients and entertaining staff.

When I left P-E International in 1996, my relationship with Nigeria came to an end. But I still retain very many warm memories of the people and the country.