Discovering Avilla Hills, Caracas, Venezuela, June 2025

It’s nearly the end of June 2025, and today—on a calm and sunny Saturday off—my Venezuelan friend Giovanni and I decided to break away from the routine. Rather than heading to the familiar corners of Caracas, we picked a route that promised something a little less predictable: the old road to La Guaira, known locally as La Carretera Vieja.
 
What began as a spontaneous road trip became one of the most memorable days I’ve had in Venezuela—filled with colour, contrast, warmth, and surprising human connection.
 
Winding Through Villages Above the City
 
As we left the city centre and started the winding climb into the hills, we entered a different world. The barrios and villages scattered along La Carretera Vieja each told their own story—places like El Limón, La Llanada, and El Manantial. These aren’t glossy postcard towns, but they are alive with character.
 
Homes painted in rich blues, reds, and greens climb the steep hills like a mosaic. Walls are adorned with hand-painted signs and murals—some joyful, some political, some simply decorative. In the dusty streets, children played, dogs dozed in the shade, and neighbours chatted over low garden fences. There’s no denying the poverty, the worn infrastructure, the challenges people here face. And yet, there is a sense of community and presence that many wealthier places could only dream of.
 
There’s music spilling from windows, aromas of frying arepas and coffee drifting in the air, and every so often, a breathtaking view opens over the lush green hills or even the sea far below. Nature here is wild and magnificent—trees heavy with fruit, clouds drifting low through the ravines, birds darting between rooftops. It’s a part of Caracas and its outskirts that many rarely see—but should.
 
From a Map to the Sea – Discovering Baltic Restaurant
 
As we finally descended toward La Guaira, we started thinking about where to eat. That’s when Google Maps led us to an unexpected gem—Baltic Restaurant.
 
The name immediately caught my attention. Intrigued (and feeling slightly homesick for the north), we followed the directions and soon found ourselves in a small, charming spot perched above the coast, with wide-open views of the Caribbean Sea. It felt quiet and unpretentious—an insider’s place rather than a tourist stop.
 
Inside, the décor was simple but tasteful. As soon as I met the owner, I had to ask: “Why Baltic?” He smiled and explained that he had once visited Poland, and that the Baltic Sea had left a deep impression on him. He loved its calmness, its colours, and the memories it evoked. That’s why he named the restaurant after it.
 
When I told him I was Polish, he grew visibly excited and warmly welcomed us. We talked for a while, and before we left, he even gave me a pair of wine glasses with the restaurant’s logo—a generous and touching gesture of connection across continents.
 
The food? Absolutely delicious. We had grilled seafood, crispy plantains, and fresh salads, accompanied by cold drinks and the soft sound of waves. The view was cinematic—mist hanging over distant hills, the water shimmering in the sun, fishing boats bobbing gently offshore. It felt like a reward for getting a little lost earlier in the day.
 
A Day to Remember
 
We made our way back to Caracas slowly, the hills turning golden in the afternoon light. Giovanni and I couldn’t stop talking about the villages, the landscapes, and the warm people we’d encountered along the way. What struck us both was that even in places marked by hardship, people smiled, offered help, and lived with unmistakable dignity and joy.
 
La Carretera Vieja gave us more than just a scenic drive—it gave us a window into the lives of people often overlooked, and reminded us how human stories are often found in the least expected corners of the map.
 
And to think it all started with a spontaneous drive and a Google Maps suggestion.

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