Coro and Maracaibo, Venezuela

 

Coro

In three hour bus we were already in the new town and quickly found lodging we direct you to discover why the Lord had scomodo UNESCO to declare this place a World Heritage Site. Walking about the streets unable to us to one reason: more than a few traces of colonial origin, also kept in questionable conditions, there was not much more to justify this title. However, after the usual ritual of photos we immediately informed on time and prices of buses for Maracaibo. The program provided the following day by a morning spent among the sand dunes of the National Park Medanos de Coro (in the first suburbs of the city) and an afternoon dedicated to the journey toward the new goal.

Maracaibo

And so it was, as expected the time we spent in this town was too well and in the late afternoon the following day, after about three hours travel, we were in the central station of Maracaibo, one of the most dangerous of all Venezuela . Port city dedicated to the mining of expensive black gold, Maracaibo can hardly be called a city made for tourists to and beyond the typical bridge that crosses the bay there was really something to see. We stopped in this great city, guests of our Venezuelan uncle, approximately five or six days to organize our crossed the border between Venezuela and Colombia (according to all superpericoloso and where does a lot of fashion for the seizure of the tourists) and to define the details of our airline ticket in which we modified a question.

At three hours of a dark morning we rose from our bed directly to the bus station to begin the crossing of the border. Introduce yourself in perfect time, the bus was well thought of not doing so: without a precise reason, the half that we had to escort to the frontier had not been submitted to the appointment. After a brief consultation we decided that it would be useless to return to bed and try again the following morning (with the risk that repeated the same thing!), The only solution you can come to fear was to turn a collective taxi. And so it loaded the luggage and in the company of two Colombian (mother and daughter) we have come to the border. The trip was quiet until about ten kilometers from the border from where they began an endless number of checkpoints (either cocaine smuggler!) Which have slowed down a lot of our gait. In the end we did and after the usual practice and stamps in the passport that our driver led us beyond the Colombian border to a bus station where we were the right time to have breakfast and to turn your next vehicle towards Santa Marta.