With only a bit of effort and thanks to his practice, he manages to drive a screw perfectly into the board by hand. Michael tries it as well: his screw goes in a bit wonky. But it goes in and out without any trouble – and all without an electrical drill.

We had already been near Mennonite communities in Bolivia and Paraguay, but somehow never made the detour. This time, it’s just one turning away, so we are very curious.

We’ve ended up with the Mennonites in Belize. There are many of them: some more traditional, some more modern; those with horse-drawn carriages and no electricity, and those with massive tractors and perfectly equipped DIY stores.

Welcome to Springfield!

The women wear blue dresses; the men wear black trousers with braces over white shirts. Most also wear a hat or a bonnet.

There are a few wind turbines and plenty of children everywhere, all of whom are busy. We stop at a sawmill. Is all of this really supposed to work without electricity? We can hardly believe it.

Ruben is repairing a saw when we approach him. He speaks Spanish, English, and Pennsylvania Dutch. His family came to Belize from Paraguay 30 years ago. At that time, Mennonites in Paraguay were being robbed constantly. Since there was already a community in Belize, they migrated there.

He shows us the saws. The drive system? Pure horsepower – the literal kind. They have horses walking in a carousel which powers the saws. But there is a backup solution in case no horses are available: water power. Water runs at high pressure through their PVC pipes and provides enough power to run even very modern woodworking machinery. Just like in Europe, only without electricity.

For their community, electricity is a threat to the cohesion; therefore, there is a tendency to reject anything electrical.

Ruben sends us on to his brother Martin, who is a carpenter. He is currently pulling a post out of the ground with his three boys. His wife and the other three children are standing nearby. They are just as interested in us as we are in them.

We speak German with them – they learn it in school because the Bible is read in German. At home they speak Pennsylvania Dutch, (it’s called Dutch probably from the similarity to the dialect word Deutsch for German. Alongside the old characteristics of the Palatine dialect, they use many loanwords from English in their German. So, Martin isn’t a Schreiner, he does Carpenterarwett (carpentry work) and they “farm” their land instead of bewirtschaften (cultivating) it.

It’s a bit hard to understand them when they speak their dialect to us, but it still works quite well. Even in the High German they learned for reading the Bible, you can sense the 18th or 19th-century origins. In any case, we can make ourselves understood; otherwise, they would also speak Spanish and English.

“Aha, caught you!” – or maybe not?

Further along in the village, a young lad is building huts – with a mains hook-up! “Aha, caught you,” we think. But the wooden huts are not for them; they are for sale. The work is well done, and the finished huts are loaded up and sold to outsiders.

They quiz us, and we are surprised by how much they know and how they use modern technology. They order parts from Amazon via third parties, be it doors or PVC pipes. They also have bank accounts and talk to their families in the USA on the phone, though not via their own mobile phones.

A two-year-old girl grimaces as her mother blows tobacco smoke directly into her face. Then they continue to dance around the fire. Meanwhile, the grandmother stands with her back to the fire in front of the main temple, smoking tobacco leaves and singing softly to herself.

Music plays and others circle the fire pit, performing alternating dance steps, sometimes with and sometimes without feathers. Suddenly, all falls silent, the shaman kneels down and recites a prayer.

We watched them for two hours in the main square of Tikal. It looked so authentic that we asked what was happening. Apparently, it was a real ceremony of this Mayan tribe. Rosalía, the 85-year-old grandmother, had requested it. Also Mayas need a permit to perform ceremonies like this, especially when involving fire.

One of these impressive cities was Tikal, where Rosalía was celebrating her fire ceremony with her family. The temples are impressive, the steps are steep, and the jungle is dense – also a perfect playground for spider monkeys.

At six o’clock in the morning, we walked alone through the ruins. The few other tourists had all climbed the 70-metre-high temple to watch the sunrise through the mist. We, on the other hand, let the impressive buildings, accompanied by the sounds of parrots chirping and howler monkeys roaring, work their magic on us.

It is estimated that up to 120 000 people once walked these same streets, at least during Tikal’s heyday. Remarkably, this was achieved in an area located in the middle of the tropical jungle with no natural water source. The people there lived exclusively on stored rainwater, which is another testament to the city’s advanced planning.

In general, Mayan culture was much more advanced than researchers had previously assumed. Tikal covers an area of up to 60 km², but most of it remains hidden beneath the tree canopy. It is difficult to see. This explains why it remained unknown for so long. 

People lived here for around 1 500 years until they suddenly left around 900 AD. Overpopulation and deforestation due to the use of firewood suddenly made the area uninhabitable, forcing them to leave. Although some regions collapsed, not all Maya regions did. Some even survived or grew larger after the classic ‘collapse’, such as Chichen Itzá, which lasted until 1500 AD.

The ruins of Tikal were probably not completely forgotten, but they were no longer in use. The first expeditions to the region did not take place until 1840, starting from Guatemala. Guatemalan Ernesto Méndez takes credit for rediscovering the archaeological treasure. Major excavations followed, with the help of US universities, especially from the 1950s onwards.

Slightly smaller, but more intimate

However, our first Mayan site was not Tikal, but Iximché, which is near Guatemala City. This was the 15th/16th-century capital of the Kaqchikel Maya. The Kaqchikel people still exist today. They now mainly live in the Guatemalan mountains, and there are up to 400 000 Kaqchikel speakers. Their language and culture are therefore still thriving.

And very impressively so. Iximché is a small site compared to Tikal, Palenque or Teotihuacán. We only went there because we had visitors and wanted them to experience some Mayan culture. For us, however, it was a stroke of luck, as we were able to experience the culture up close once again.

When the Spanish conquerors arrived in Guatemala, they settled in Iximché. They made it their capital. The Nahua people called the area ‘wooded land’ (Quauhtemallan). Since the Nahuatls were allies of the Spanish at the time, the Spanish adopted the name for the entire area: now known as Guatemala.

The border appears tidy and clean. The officials are organised, and only a few people are queuing to enter El Salvador from Honduras. The roads are in good condition, and we reach Suchitoto fast, a picturesque little village in the east of the country. Here, too, is a similar picture: not much going on, everything looks orderly. It is only when we arrive at our overnight spot by the lake that the perfect image breaks: the entire shore is littered with plastic.

This first day is symbolic of the situation in Central America’s smallest country. On the one hand, order and cleanliness; on the other, massive problems behind the scenes – or are they already starting to peek out?

One thing first: we never felt unsafe. Not for a single moment. Not even when we spent the night by the lake at the only reasonably clean spot.

A country in transition

Security is the priority, and the homicide rate has dropped drastically. But the question remains: at what price?

However, not everyone who ends up behind bars is a criminal. Human rights activists are sounding the alarm: many are arrested in arbitrary raids and languish in pre-trial detention for years. Even children are being imprisoned for alleged gang membership, often without proof.

Furthermore, corruption remains present, and people earn very little despite the relatively high prices – especially those working for the state. And yet, for many, satisfaction prevails. They enjoy being able to move around the country without the constant fear of violence. We heard few critical voices, and those we did hear were mostly regarding the economic situation. El Salvador has become expensive; inflation has arrived there, too.

The Salvadoreños are friendly. They greet you often, and we are repeatedly asked how we like El Salvador. People proudly point out that it is safe everywhere and that we could spend the night anywhere. For this region, that is indeed extraordinary.

Chronicle of a journey through Nicaragua

When crossing Nicaragua, something hits the traveller’s eye immediately. It’s not the volcanoes, the jungle, or the beaches, but enormous trees in garish colours sprouting in the middle of roundabouts. Officially named “Trees of Life”, though they possess none: they are inert metal structures.

It is almost absurd. In a country with enviable biodiversity and jungle, the monument chosen by the government to represent them is an iron skeleton without a drop of sap, yet painted in a riot of colours: red, yellow, green, blue, pink.

Today they are known as Chayopalos (Chayo’s sticks) or arbolatas (tin tress). There are 150 or more of these trees scattered across the country, each illuminated by more than two million light bulbs. Why they were erected is not known, there are theories of them being purely artistic or purely esoteric, reflecting the spiritual beliefs of a Vice President famous for her colourful outfits laden with amulets.

What is not theoretical in the slightest is the cost: each tree costs between 25 000 and 40 000 US dollars, not including the astronomical annual electricity bill. In a country with Nicaragua’s pressing needs, that money could clearly be invested in more urgent matters.

For those of us living in a vehicle with all our belongings, this is a logistical challenge. We had to prepare thoroughly: we hid everything we could to keep it out of sight, including the machete—an indispensable multi-tool for any Latin American, one would think. As for the drone, we preferred not to risk it: we left it at Michael’s family home in Costa Rica, and his brother brought it to us in Guatemala weeks later. Many travellers opt to send them directly via DHL to avoid confiscation at the border.

The war on Word

The fear of rebellion has silenced the country. Independent newspapers no longer exist; information is hijacked by the official channel, and journalists work under the constant threat of imprisonment—at least the few who still dare to remain in the country. The censorship has bordered on the surreal: the entry of bibles and any text that might pose a danger to the regime has been banned.

‘They check everything,’ other travellers told us, so we braced ourselves for a tough, lengthy border crossing. We continued our way north: from Costa Rica to Nicaragua.

But our experience was the exact opposite: it had been a long time since crossing a border had been so quick. It took a whole 15 minutes in Costa Rica and an hour in Nicaragua, and in the end, no one wanted to search the car. We were apparently really lucky with the official – or perhaps hunger drove her to take her lunch break on time.

We were all the more surprised when we left the bumpy roads of Costa Rica behind us and suddenly found ourselves on a perfectly paved motorway. A sign at the side indicated 80 km/h. That made us wonder: hadn’t the customs officer just explained that there was a strict 50 km/h speed limit throughout the country?

We dared to drive faster anyway, after all, there is a sign. At some point, on the beautiful, fast road, an oncoming car warns us by flashing its headlights. A typical sign that there is some kind of obstacle ahead.

The aim of the new regulations is to reduce the number of road deaths, which at first glance seems to be working, given the figures for 2025 – around 900 compared to over 1000 in 2023. However, as in the rest of Latin America, fatal road accidents continue to be an everyday occurrence. This is because the cause of many accidents is not necessarily speed, but failure to maintain a safe distance, dangerous overtaking manoeuvres, motorcyclists not wearing helmets, poorly maintained vehicles and therefore poor brakes, and, of course, ignorance – or lack of knowledge – of traffic rules. It’s actually a miracle that no one has rear-ended us yet. So drivers are not driving more slowly, but they are now warning each other.

The speed limit may be well-intentioned, but its implementation clearly shows how Nicaragua works: a system perfectly designed for corruption.

The fact that the country ranked 172nd on the Corruption Perception Index in 2024 is evident at every turn. Since Daniel Ortega returned to power in 2006, corruption has risen steadily, and the new rules give the police another tool at their disposal. Most of the people we spoke to opt for a direct ‘deal’ during checks to avoid bureaucratic hassle – or even going straight to prison.

Looking back on 2025: a year full of adventures.

In 2025, we were on the road for the entire year. There were no quick flights back to Europe and no visits to see family – although that’s not entirely true, we visited Michael’s sister living in Costa Rica and his other sister came to visit us.

We experienced a great deal, mostly good. Nevertheless, there are moments when homesickness creeps in.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe we had the time to live all these things. The year went by so quickly. Here is a brief look back to remind ourselves of all the wonderful things we saw and experienced.

Peru

Things got off to a great start in Colombia with the world’s smallest monkeys, the pygmy marmosets. Then the itinerary included a drive through guerrilla territory for Cora’s birthday, followed by a few weeks helping out on a cocoa farm and searching for anacondas in the Llanos. During the search, we were surprised by an Orinoco crocodile coming our way.

We also went on a hippo safari on the Magdalena River – we couldn’t stop marvelling at it all. Afterwards, Michi did his dive instructor training. For once, we stayed in one place for an entire month and were able to do some repairs on the car, such as fixing our window. Only the Airbnb host was peculiar; we definitely don’t want to go back there.

Venezuela

Venezuela – our favourite! Finally, a real adventure! Right at the start, we were met by the secret service and asked into a white container for a three-hour interview. That wasn’t exactly great. But once we were allowed in the country, everything went like clockwork.

Maracaibo was like a journey back to the 1970s. The food and service were good—a blessing after Colombia. And the people were exceptionally kind – everyone. They invited us into their homes for barbecues and rum. They organised diesel whenever things didn’t go smoothly.

Only the amount of driving was exhausting. Unfortunately, our container ship to Panama departed from Colombia, so we had to do a round trip through the vastness of Venezuela. We sat in the car for hours and had the occasional row. However, prospecting for gold in the Wild South of Venezuela put everything right again.

The food was mediocre. The last day was lovely, though: we visited local weavers, walked through a colonial town, and bought cowboy boots for Michael. Finally, we went to the thermal baths to relax. One week was enough.

A brief lament about the less pleasant moments of a trip

Travelling is not a holiday. If only it were! Then we wouldn’t have to deal with all the hassle. It wouldn’t be as exhausting – or rather – as predictable as it can be at home. However, problems arise when they want to, and sometimes we wish we had the problems at home, because then they wouldn’t be problems at all.

Replacing a simple screw

Or the endless search for a keder rail. A common van part in Europe. No one in Latin America knows what that is! At least we now know all the aluminium profiles from Ecuador to Costa Rica that are on offer, but we haven’t found a system similar to the keder rail.

And how about placing an order? One might think that’s the solution. Yes, if the delivery times weren’t so long – the goods usually come from the USA – and if we had an address where they would arrive safely. It’s possible, we’ve done it before, but it takes a lot more planning. The best thing is when friends come to visit.

They are happy to see us, but they don’t know that this usually means they get to play pack mule. Especially those who fly with checked baggage. The list is always long: diesel filters, V-belts, a mobile phone (it’s hard to believe, but they are better quality and much cheaper in Switzerland than here), new credit cards, travel documents, letters that urgently need a signature but are not accepted when scanned, gummy bears, chocolate!,…

Back to the mould

Don’t worry, it won’t just disappear.

Cleaning vinegar (and normal white vinegar) has become our great ally (there are no specific mould removers available). We also use cleaning alcohol for things that don’t tolerate acid. The rest goes in the washing machine.

What sounds so simple means ‘a lot’ of work. The washing machines here are not fully automatic. You have to fill them with water, drain them, fill them again, drain them again, and so on until they are clean (not sure about their cleaning standards here), and then you have to centrifugate all the clothes. Only then comes the great luxury in this household: the dryer. We throw almost everything in there and it is definitely cleaner afterwards.

But all the cleaning (today for the third time the lower edge), airing and constant drying are still not enough. That’s why we bought an ozone machine. It’s not a cure-all, but if it works even 70% as described, we should be almost mould-free by the end of the trip. No, just kidding, the air should at least have fewer spores.

Only the mildew stains will still be a problem, but we can deal with that after we return. We don’t want to get bored, after all.

Adventuring into the South

We actually wanted to eat something, but we quickly fled back to the car. The air stinks and everyone is wearing masks. We stopp next to a young man, roll down the window, and ask him why he was wearing a mask. He mumbles something incomprehensible, starts the engine and drives off.

We tried our luck with two other people, but nobody here in Las Claritas seemed willing to give us an answer. We can definitely imagine the reason, but we have to wait until we meet Bruno to confirm it.

For now, it’s better if we move on out of Las Claritas and eat the leftovers from the fridge.

A river and steel

The Troncal 10 is the gateway to the Amazon jungle, welcoming visitors with the impressive Orinoco River bridge. There are only three bridges that cross the Orinoco in Venezuela. The Puente Orinoquia is three kilometres long and takes us 300 metres above the water. The river seems endless, carrying vast quantities of water downstream at great speed. It is the third largest river in the world in terms of water volume, after the Amazon and the Congo.

Due to the large volume of water, the river is navigable by large boats and plays an important role in transporting goods for heavy industry. On the opposite bank, we see a bleak scene: the chimneys of steelworks along the riverbank make everything appear grey. Just behind them is Puerto Ordaz, the river port of Ciudad Guayana.

We are driving through the gold mining region of Venezuela. The further south we go, the more prices are quoted in gold: one box of beer is 2.5 punto, and three empanadas are one punto. Actually, it’s expensive because they want 10 dollars for one punto, whereas an empanada usually costs us one dollar in Venezuela.

However, they would prefer us to pay in gold. They do accept dollars, but not Venezuelan bolívares. They might also accept Brazilian reais, but we don’t have any. They keep the crude gold folded in paper and weigh it to calculate the price – every business man carries a set of scales here.

After Tumeremo, the road gets worse with one pothole after another until there it was ok. You can feel the winds changing. The towns are found along the road and named after their location in kilometres. At Kilómetro 88, there should be a gold centre. We asked them what they would pay: $100 for one gram of pure gold. The seller buys the gold from artisanal miners and then resells it to others.

Officially, gold should be sold through the government, but illegal trafficking is more lucrative and allows them to avoid foreign sanctions and mix gold into the legal market. We’re not allowed to buy any gold directly from him, so we leave it. It also seems a bit dubious, this entire region.

The people don’t seem healthy either; they are very thin with black masks covering their mouths and noses, and they have red eyes. The large gold enterprises are surrounded by high walls and have security guards stationed at the entrance. Meanwhile, the poor climb up the steep hills from the river with a gold pan in hand.

A Swiss as a Venezuelan colonel

Bruno is Swiss and was a colonel in the Venezuelan army. He has been living in Venezuela for over 50 years. His career path is unconventional: from Vietnam to Rwanda, he ended up serving as a prison director in southern Venezuela.

Bruno lives on the Cuyuní River. On his Encanto Cuyuní farm, not much remains of the once clear river – the Cuyuní magic, as he called it. Now it flows dirty brown towards Guyana. It is polluted with mercury and is just one of 16 heavily contaminated rivers in the country.

Gold was discovered early on in the region, along with other valuable metals. There is also oil in the area. Since the 19th century, these rich deposits have been the main cause of the land dispute between Venezuela and Guyana – and one of the reasons why there is no connecting road.

Gold mining on this scale is a relatively new phenomenon. It was only 20 years ago that gold mining in the Amazon region became more intensive. What was previously regulated by international companies fell into the hands of armed groups. And the government also got involved with the Orinoco mining project on the Orinoco River, with gold set to become the new oil for Venezuela. And so the disaster eats its way through the forest.

The area presents a sad, desolate picture. Life is marked by violence, as Bruno’s stories repeatedly confirm. You can’t be squeamish here. And you should have good friends. Otherwise, you won’t live long. Mass graves are just one example of this – most of the dead are never found, lost in the brown waters of the river.

Venezuela’s dire situation in 2015 drove many people to this area, where they could at least earn some money. The region survives on smuggling goods into neighbouring countries. Since then, the villages have been overcrowded, with many people sleeping in makeshift shelters.

How we experienced Venezuela quite differently than expected

‘Very dangerous.’

‘You’ll definitely get mugged, only criminals live there.’

‘They’ve locked up foreigners again, one disappeared at the border.’

That’s how people warned us about Venezuela.

We are quite nervous and our preparations are more intensive than for the other countries we have visited before. We research as much as we can, but there is not much information online. And we also contact other travellers.

‘The nicest people.’

‘Everyone is friendly and helpful.’

‘Wonderful hospitality and beautiful nature.’

That’s what we hear from travellers who were in Venezuela shortly before us. And they give us contacts in the country. We write them. Everyone helps us, answers our many questions and gives us some encouragement. But a certain uncertainty remains.

Venezuela – yes or no?

Venezuelan hospitality

There are two toll booths along the way. They cost 30 bolívares everywhere in the country, which is about 30 US cents at the exchange rate when we were there. You can only pay in cash, which is why we had to exchange money beforehand. At the second toll booth, we give the money to the young worker. He asks us if we are foreigners and gives us the money back. ‘Bienvenidos a Venezuela, disfrutad del país’ – ‘Welcome and enjoy Venezuela’. That was our first experience of Venezuelan hospitality. Could it be true what all travellers say?

The next day, we arranged to meet up with a friend we got to know in Colombia. He wants to show us his city. The drive through Maracaibo is special: it feels like being in a US film from the 1970s. Old V8 Ford models rattle through the wide streets. The avenues are lined with shopping centres that were once modern, some of which are closed and close to falling into disrepair, while others are full of life and goods. This is completely unexpected.

The city seems empty; it was built for many more people than live there today. Tourism is rare, but there are still a few souvenir shops and street vendors. They curiously ask us where we come from and how we like it. They seem to not really want to sell us anything.

We escape the heat and take refuge in a café. The whole city runs on air conditioning because it is simply too hot. But this only works as long as the power is on. Everyone has access to it, and the electricity is free. It comes from gas turbines where excess gas is burned. There is nowhere else for it to go. But the systems are overloaded, the turbines are old and spare parts are difficult to obtain. So the power goes out sometimes, say the residents.

The café has electricity, it is pleasantly cool inside and there is delicious coffee and fruit juices. The prices are a little more expensive than we are used to in South America, but we can even pay by card.

Afterwards, we visit the Casa de la Capitulación museum next door. The official who works there gives us a guided tour free of charge. He is proud to be able to tell foreigners about the magnificent history of Gran Colombia’s independence from the Spanish Crown.

A green glowing lake

In the evening, we once again enjoy the view of the impressive 8.6-kilometre-long bridge – the second longest in South America. The green-glowing Lake Maracaibo, on the other hand, is not inviting for swimming. Beneath it lie some of the largest oil reserves in the world. Venezuela sits on immense riches. From 1929 onwards, Venezuela became the world’s largest oil exporter. Oil companies flocked to the country to extract oil, erected towers in the lake and the Orinoco Delta, and sold the oil all over the world. Until the 1970s, the whole country benefited from the money it brought in.

After the oil crisis, there was a wave of nationalisation, and PDVSA, the Venezuelan oil company, was founded. PDVSA generated such high profits that the money was distributed to the entire population. Young Venezuelans, they told us, received a budget from the state to travel around the world. However, this proved to be their undoing, as no one learned how to manage money. In addition, the oil company repeatedly had to contend with fluctuating oil prices. The recessions since the 1980s left the highly indebted company struggling. On top of that, maintenance was neglected.

When Venezuela changed its politics, it became increasingly isolated and its infrastructure began to rust. No one is maintaining it, and spare parts are nearly impossible to obtain due to international sanctions and mismanagement. Engineers from the oil company are now driving taxis, or those who can are leaving the country. However, the oil continues to seep out – and flow into the lake.