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Published: April 7th 2009
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How many people are going? The accent sounded familiar.
So far, I have three, replied Eric. When it was time to write down our passport details I wasn't surprised in the least.
I turned to him and said:
Majhen svet, a ne? / Small world, isn't it? I'm not sure if it was my Ljubljana dialect or the fact he hadn't heard Slovenian spoken in a while, but it took Bostjan a couple of moments to understand that I was addressing him in his native tongue.
I always meet Slovenians in Venezuela.
That night Tom, Bosti and I did our best to free Cuba. It was good to let loose. The following days would be a test of strength and stamina.
Up at six and off by ten, our group had grown to eight. It was a motley crew. Andrew had played professional football for Luton until a knee injury left him retired at 26. Now, aged 30, his claim to fame was a string of beer commercials in Colombia and having limed at carnival in Trinidad. His mate, Simon, had been laid off, so decided to go travel. They were joined by
Ricky the Dutchman, chauffeur to the rich. I now know that the dash of the new S class has night vision and can be used to spot wild boars at night. I shall bring a rifle and go hunting in one some day.
Haagen (but no Dazs) was an ex Stasi agent who now doubled as a geologist. He proudly showed us a picture of his portly Congolese girlfriend while we feigned interest. Henry was the laughing stock. A Brit living in Andorra, he works as a musician and freelance filmmaker. On Roraima he carried around his medium format camera and kept us all waiting with his snail's pace. When told by the guide there was a bushmaster snake that had lived along the path to the summit before it was killed, he promptly stuffed his passport and credit cards down his socks to protect his ankles from bites. What immigration later thought at the sight of his water and sweat filled passport is anybody's guess.
That leaves the two Slovenians. Bostjan? Well, out of courtesy, his background will remain undisclosed. Me? If you don't know me by now...send me an e-mail. Girls only! And don't forget to
add a picture 😉
2h53min. That was all. The knee injury from Torres del Paine was still fresh in my mind and I did not want to overdo it. Team Slovenia set off early and went at a slow but steady pace. The last leg up the mountain. Base camp to the summit via la Escalera. 1.800m to 2.650m. Piece of cake! Smarna gora is tougher. Hell, even a run up Castle Hill in Ljubljana burns up more calories. The rain was a nuisance. The water fall filled my long boots with water. But nothing could take away the sensation of reaching the top. Roraima, you're mine!
Bostjan and I spent the next half an hour freezing top side until one of the porters (oh, the luxury!) came up and showed us the way to our
hotel. This, a cave with an overhang would be our home for two nights. The rain continued to fall while the others trickled in. We took shelter around a fire and tried to warm ourselves but in vain. Until the meal... Three helpings later my body started burning the extra fuel. And warming me up. Finally, after hours and hours at the
summit, my mind was free to enjoy the top...if we could see it. The clouds kept coming in off the jungle to the east and below. The rain was relentless. And night was upon us at the ungodly hour of 6 o'clock. It took a healthy helping of Magic Juice to keep the body clock ticking that night.
At five fifteen, Bostjan woke me up. I had been shutting my eyes and trying to sleep for the past eleven hours but now I was fully awake. The sight outside could not be neglected. A perfect morning and a Sun about to rise drew me out of the tent and into the open. I pulled on my wet long boots, grabbed my camera and off I was. Nobody was going to stop me. Coffee, tea? Screw you, I'm taking pictures! 100% photography mode. Nothing could stand in my way. When the golden hour was over, I was finally persuaded to go for a hike. And what a view! Marco, our guide, admitted he hadn't had this kind of luck with the weather the whole season. The morning was clear. The sky gorgeous. Hardly a cloud dared to dart into this
scene from the edge of our table top paradise. And it lasted and lasted. After the horror of having to go up to the
Lost World in rain, the gods had shown mercy on us. The sights were magical, the pictures great and the memories we would take with us unforgettable. My decision to head north from Salvador had turned out to be a good one. What I had missed out on due to bad weather years ago, now lay before me in all its glory. Roraima for president!
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carolina
non-member comment
Bravo!If you arent a writer yet,you can become one right away.And what a an adventurer,thats exactly what travelling is about.I will miss you for a month,then.