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beaches are wild and windy and flamingos flock in the pinkish salt beds in the north . A small town houses the workers who harvest the salt into small white heaps . Once again Google doesn ’ t know about it , but we found a reddish dirt road through the thorny bushes and cacti to the west of there .
The beaches were a camper ’ s paradise , but to our regret we had run out of water , so staying wasn ’ t an option . At times we had a choice between the deep sand along the beach and muddy puddles further inland . Snakes and lizards slithered across the path and giant red grasshoppers launched themselves at the bikes while birds of prey circled on the warm winds above . Eventually we came across a random concrete base for a bridge . Google found us again and we soon rode along the raised gravel of a road whose construction was abandoned long ago .
The sun had been blasting from a clear blue sky all day and we were dying of thirst by the time we reached town . An old man had conveniently parked his little wooden cart in the middle of the road where a speed bump slowed everyone down , and the shaved ice doused in fruity syrups looked too tempting to miss . It tasted bubble-gum-sweet , but it was refreshing , nonetheless .
It was time to turn back towards Colombia . While we were stopped for a drink in Cabimas , a green 4x4 pulled up to offer his hotel with safe parking and a generator in case of power outages . Eating dinner at a nearby grill , I noticed once again how skinny people were . It seemed what we had read about poverty and hunger was true . Yet no one begged , not even off us “ rich tourists ”. A very desperate person might ask if a restaurant had spare , and of course they would receive a small meal . But it was understood that life is difficult for everyone , and all did their best to survive without burdening others .
In the morning , we asked the hotel staff where to get petrol and they began phoning around . Eventually we were told to follow a lady moto taxi driver on a pink 125cc . She took us to the backyard of her house and filled up from her secret stash .
Throughout the day we were politely refused petrol wherever we went . A couple of guys overloaded with bags stuffed full of bread pulled over to chat and confirmed what had been dawning on us ; a referendum was being held , and no petrol would be sold for private use today . In the late afternoon , my bike chugged to a halt , and I finally emptied my canisters into the tank .
When the road suddenly broke off at the edge of a river , we decided not to heave the loaded bikes onto the
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