On the very first day, I step on a sea urchin on my second kite attempt. Two minutes later, to save myself a stupid-looking limp, I decide to step on a second sea urchin with my other foot. Now everything is symmetrical again.
It’s incredible how famous some small places are. The kite beach at El Yaque is just 50 metres long and world-famous. There are only 30 kiters there today. The kitebeach is completely in the lee of a small hill, which creates stupid eddies. Practically every kite collapses at least once at the start. Even mine.
On day two we get some food. In El Yaque there are only small, expensive mini marts. But we want to buy enough for a fortnight. That’s only possible in Porlamar, 20 kilometres away. We wait in vain for an hour opposite the local police station for the bus.
The passing cars all come straight from the streets of San Francisco. They are at least 30 years old and roar like rutting stags. Petrol is practically free in Venezuela. Some bumpers are only held in place telekinetically. The shock absorbers of the muscle cars, all of which are suitable for pimps, are leaf springs. The bumps in front of the checkpoint were stolen from the Dominicans by the Margarines.
A woman gives us a lift to Porlamar. On the way, Chavez grins a few times from oversized socialism posters. Only rich people frequent the supermarket. No wonder. The average Venzuelan earns around 300 euros a month. Supermarket prices are well above German levels. Only beef is cheap at three euros per kilo of steak. We drive back to El Yaque with 40kg of food.
On the third day, I finally get some good kiting in. We start in the morning right outside the front door on the beach in front of the lagoon. Advantage: 500 metres of sideshore beach to ourselves, no surfers, no wind cover, 200 metres of standing area and flat water. The wind is very changeable. Not terribly gusty, but fluctuating between 10 and 20 knots every 5 minutes. After two hours on the water I have a sore adjuster muscle, after another four hours on land I have strawberry-red forearms. The next few days I have two options: either I kite as a Muslim in a burka or I go out at night.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.