Before telling you about my favorite place in Venezuela, let me share that when I was asked to write about my country, the first question that popped into my mind was, “So, what are you going to write about?” My brain lit up like fireworks. I was caught between the excitement of sitting in front of a keyboard again to write more than 140 characters (after nearly two years of social media writing) and the adrenaline rushing through me as I recalled all the wonderful experiences I had traveling through my beloved Venezuela.
The second thing you should know to understand this journey we’re about to embark on is that my parents are happily divorced. Since I can remember, I’ve split my vacations between them. Each has a unique and fun style, but they are also incredibly different. While I was lucky to experience some of the most beautiful destinations in Venezuela with my family, it was the eastern part of the country that defined much of my childhood and my entire life.
My maternal family had a tradition: visiting Margarita, the Pearl of the Caribbean, every September like clockwork. My paternal family, on the other hand, always made a stop in Puerto La Cruz.
Both cities are in eastern Venezuela, where warm weather reigns and fried corn-flour empanadas by the beach are a staple. While Margarita and Puerto La Cruz share similarities, over the years, I realized that your experiences in either place can be vastly different depending on the company you keep.
The Rituals Begin
Margarita is home to the Basilica of Our Lady of the Valley, and my maternal grandfather promised to visit it every September during its festivities, in gratitude for the health and blessings he’s always enjoyed. Thanks to this faithful promise, his children and grandchildren reaped the benefits, too. Traveling to the island each year was a given. In addition to sometimes joining my grandfather at the shrine, we had a few unshakable family rituals.
Margarita boasts stunning beaches and, during its golden age, was a perfect shopping destination due to its duty-free status. Our adventure began in Caracas, our starting point. From there, we’d head to Puerto La Cruz, board a ferry, and finally embark on ten days of family fun. One day was reserved for draining our bank accounts and maxing out credit cards on treats and wardrobe additions for the year, while the remaining nine days were blissfully spent soaking up the sun like little mermaids.
When it came to splashing around, our two favorite beaches were Playa El Agua and Playa Parguito, located side by side. These expansive beaches were among the most popular with tourists, featuring strong waves and a warm breeze that tousled your hair in the best way. Those days were divine. Each person had their preferred activity, and for us grandchildren, it was all about staying in the water until our fingers turned pruney. We were skilled in the water, and jumping over the massive waves was a thrilling pastime.
My beloved grandmother adored beach shopping. No artisan, whether from Argentina or any corner of the globe, failed to celebrate our presence as we bought every necklace in sight. My grandfather, on the other hand, loved watching us. He’d sit there, utterly captivated by how much fun we were having. Eventually, he’d catch our attention and flash a knowing smile, as if saying, “I see you, little bird.” My aunt and mom each had their own quirks: one basking in the sun solo, the other sporting a different majestic hat every day and orchestrating family photo shoots for posterity.
Food Rituals: A Feast of Memories
As you’d expect, culinary rituals were an essential part of our journeys. On our itinerary, a stop at the famous Mercado de Conejeros was non-negotiable. Just thinking about it brings back the heat they tried to combat with high ceilings and rows of identical food stalls. Here, you could indulge in empanadas stuffed with cheese, beef, chicken, pabellón (a classic Venezuelan dish), seafood—anything you wanted. But our ultimate favorites were the cazón empanadas, made with a small shark that’s shredded and cooked with a magical ingredient: ají dulce. The flavor was unforgettable! And to drink? The options were endless.
On the beach, we couldn’t resist fried fish or shrimp prepared in any style. But the true magic began when a distinctive character from the Venezuelan Caribbean coast appeared: the oyster vendor. All of us—grandchildren, parents, grandparents—gathered around for our round of fresh oysters. What a treat! Each bite was pure freshness, bursting with the flavors of lemon and salt. It was more than just a meal; it was an experience that delighted all the senses.
“Let’s Go to the Puerto!”
As September ended, we returned to school routines with bronzed skin and the typical Margarita braids in our hair. But soon, Holy Week, Carnival, or school holidays arrived, and with them, trips with my dad—adventures that were entirely different. To my maternal family, he was the free spirit, the bohemian who stopped to admire the flowers along the road.
In Puerto La Cruz, we always stayed at my paternal grandparents’ house, located in a modest neighborhood brimming with community spirit. Neighbors would bring out their chairs in the evenings to enjoy the breeze that offered relief from the day’s heat.
One of our favorite pastimes at that house was the countless hose showers. My first one happened when I was just months old. For my dad, I think it was akin to The Lion King introducing Simba to the animal kingdom—a gesture filled with enthusiasm and adventure.
My favorite beach on these trips was Isla de Plata, part of Mochima National Park, which spans the Sucre and Anzoátegui states in eastern Venezuela. The park is a treasure trove of islands with bays, deep waters, white sand beaches, coral reefs, and mountainous zones with lush vegetation.
At Isla de Plata, the main goal was absolute relaxation. You could float in the crystalline water until you almost fell asleep or swim up to the permitted boundary.
Beyond the beaches, Puerto La Cruz offered much to fall in love with. A walk along Paseo Colón was an unmissable ritual during my childhood. This seaside boulevard came alive at night, radiating the joy characteristic of coastal towns worldwide. It was teeming with artisans, but I vividly remember one who crafted glass figurines, allowing passersby to watch the entire process.
We’d stroll from one end to the other, always stopping at the famous cross and the pirate statue for photos. Across the street were hotels and restaurants of every kind. Puerto La Cruz had a significant Arab population, and their food was everywhere. It was on these streets that I first tried falafel and shawarma, and every time I returned, I’d make sure to enjoy them again.
The Best of Both Worlds
My grandparents owned a liquor store in Puerto La Cruz, and for me, it’s an indelible memory. From selling gum and chocolates to stocking up on all the beach essentials a kid could need, the store was a daily stop. Whether it was a quick hello or grabbing provisions before heading to Lecherías—one of the city’s most beautiful and exclusive areas filled with luxurious homes, ports, and yachts of all sizes—it was a constant in our routine.
Unlike my maternal family, who cherished routines for their reliability, my dad thrived on adventure and the thrill of the unknown. With him, every trip was about discovering something new. His choices leaned toward seaside inns with colorful hammocks, rooms devoid of televisions, and vibrant woven blankets that matched the flowers in the yard. Vacations with my mom, on the other hand, were a luxurious affair, spent in five-star hotels where the pillows smelled like roses, the beds felt like warm embraces, the pools boasted artificial waves, and the menus were endless.
With my dad, vacations meant winding mountain roads leading to boats that ferried us to hidden beaches, savoring every detail of the journey, or hiking through forested trails. With my mom, it was swimming in a magnificent park with dolphins, living life on the edge of excitement.
With my dad, it was meeting a new cousin or uncle—our sprawling family welcomed us warmly every time we arrived in Puerto La Cruz. With my mom, it was the ultimate relaxation: massages by the beach or the exhilaration of sliding down Margarita’s tallest water slide.
Though the destinations were often similar, the experiences reflected their contrasting personalities. Yet, the true treasure of my favorite places in Venezuela wasn’t just the adventures or the luxuries—it was the love, the laughter, and the joy of being with my family.
