Mount Roraima? You bet your ass I did.

2.73km up. About 30km there, and about 30km back.

It felt great.

My kneees are still (more than a week later as I write) reminding me about it occasionally, but they have got fairly friendly about it.

I struggled a bit on the climb down (and, being last on that particular leg, suppose I am now officially a rotten egg) but otherwise rather surprised myself- and now at least feel like I have done something resembling training for the Inca trail (something my apathetic last three months at work did not lend themsleves to).

My skills at "walking" up clay walls, and piles of rocks, and bouncing tigger like from boulder to boulder have improved vastly (or, more accurately, have in some minor way made themselves felt- I am still pret-ty rubbish at most of those things by ordinary human standards).

Day 1, after the hour on the road, then the hour on the dirt track, we had been promised chicken sandwiches to start the trek. Turns out by "chicken sandwiches" they really just meant "bread".

12km walk. Got to camp not long before dark (and I'll take this opportunity to say that the guide told me I was a very strong woman! And beautiful? Um. Thanks Neville...).
Puri Puri are like sandflies or mosquitos. They hang out on the savanah. They are small, but they draw blood. And like most other blood lovin bitey things, I am like crack to them. I could take this opportunity to draw a parallel between crack and how much Stevo got bitten when he went to the toilet, but I am far too couth.
Anyway- they bite and bite (to the tune of itchy and scratchy, both of which I was before the end of day 1).

By the way, having learned my lesson in Thailand that the group leading hard outs get the longest breaks I was determined to feign fitness and follow this approach for the easier parts of the walks at least. It is a solid approach, which sometimes sees you getting five or ten more minutes on your ass than you may otherwise get. Laziness is a great motivator.


Day 2 got us to base camp (about 10km) for lunch and a wee swim, then up the side of the mountain (about 8km). During the latter stage of which Lopez, the porter, told me he had never seen a strong woman like me (he must have thought I was carrying food etc...which I was most assuredly not...). He seem disappointed when, on being asked, I told him I had no religion. And very disappointed when, again on being asked, I told him I was in fact the staggering sum of 30 years of age. Otherwise a very cool and interesting guy (and Neville's nephew as it turns out). Got a few good stories from him on Amerindian medicinal plants, history of the area, and a bit of faimly history (his, not mine).

We stayed in Hotel San Fransisco. A "hotel" up Roraima is actually a cave you can camp in. Pret-ty ace.

Dinner in the dark on the first night up the mountain, in anticipation of which the french guys and I had a singalong. Mostly involved all of us going ´blah blah blah´ to the tune of whatever cheesy pop song we were then punishing as we didn´t pick anything that any of us knew the words to.

Day 3 we went for a wander (with the guide- even if the place you want to get to is in sight, Roirama is like Alice through the looking glass and you will invariably get lost or end up where you started- if you are lucky).

Great views of Venezuela and Guyana from above the height of the clouds (or occasionally in the clouds), saw some tiny yellow bellied endemic frogs (they literally had yellow bellies, but may have also been cowards. Can´t possibly comment), attempted the worst 4x4 pyramid ever, sucessfully completed one great 3x3, and followed that up with a rubbish, yet hilarious one that saw Erika stranded on the top on her stomach like a basking seal (a beached whale comparison would be both inaccurate and unfair).

The rest of this mission (Evening 3 and days 4 and 5 if I am going to be consistent) involved some rum, some Lionel Ritchie, a long and painful walk down the side of the mountain, more swimming, and a less painful walk back to camp (including three of us getting slightly lost and taking a rather delightful forest detour).

A rushed Jeep ride back to St Elena where we seamlessly managed to cross back into Brazil, just catch the bus at the last second, get to Boa Vista in time to book tickets on (and catch the next morning) the 7am bus to Guyana.