Holidays - my husband and I decided we needed one yesterday, so last September we booked a two week 'all inclusive' break to the island of Margarita.

Margarita is the most southerly of the Caribbean islands with a South American heart and soul. It lies 20 miles off the coast of Venezuela and approximately 200 miles west of Trinidad and Tobago. With a surface area of 395 square miles and a population of 320,000 inhabitants, Margarita is no doubt the largest Venezuelan island. There is an abundance of beautiful beaches which are mainly deserted.

The sea, a tantalising luminous blue colour with a constant temperature of 73 degrees C, it is a bathers paradise. The villages consist of shanty shacks linked to each other and the main towns by a network of mostly unmade roads. The villagers are quiet, somewhat bewildered by the intrusion of modern day communications and the developing tourist industry. The towns are bright, noisy and colourful, with a bargain to be bartered for on every street corner. The interior of the island, with its wild and beautiful mountains and areas set aside as National Parks, are a vision enjoyed by the islanders and visitors alike. At least, that was the general picture we were able to glean from the travel agents and books from the local library, before our holiday started.

Essential Bits and Pieces

As I had been allocated the supreme job of chief suitcase packer I was rather curious about the weight of our hand luggage especially since we had not even been through duty free. On questioning my husband he assured me that it was only a few essential bits and pieces. These were:- Two fishing nets, six batteries, one air pump, roll of plastic bags and fish food. Not what I'd have thought of as being essential.

Our journey to 'paradise' started at Edinburgh Airport, shuttle down to Manchester - overnight at one of the local hotels, then flight to London and onwards to Margarita. The flight time from Gatwick was eight and a half hours. Luckily we had a window seat, a definite must for an insomniac husband.

We arrived at our hotel rather tired but eager to explore. The Flamingo Beach Hotel is situated in a village called Pampatar - specifically chosen because of its fishing harbour. As I unpacked our luggage, the mandatory telescopic fishing rod and two boxes were hidden under a pile of my husband's 'T' shirts, hopefully no more surprises! The accommodation was fantastic and so was the great ease that we slipped into a routine of walking, eating, drinking, sunning, swimming, eating and drinking again.

Three days into the holiday and the only fish I had seen were grilled over an open fire served with garlic and cream: Delicious! On September 6^th(my husband assures me the date is essential) we went to the west of the island to an area called La Restinga with another couple. La Restinga is a narrow strip of land that joins the Eastern and Western sides of Margarita. It is one of the famous National Parks.

We travelled there by taxi and arranged to meet the driver on our return when the park closed at 4:30pm. He arranged a boat for us and introduced us to the boatman.

"Look - FISH" my husband whispered in a reverent tone normally reserved for church or a funeral. Well, it had to happen eventually but as the boatman was waiting we boarded our boat on the promise of - "we will look later". The journey took us through winding canals and expansive lakes.

A Haven of Serenity

The wooden boat was piloted by a boatman who grew up in the area. As he steered the boat through the water we could easily see the schools of colourful fish, oysters clinging to the roots of the mangrove trees and starfish through the clear water. In the trees above pelicans waited patiently to skin the surface for an afternoon snack. Truly, nature at its most beautiful - a haven of serenity.

Typical mangrove at La Restinga

We disembarked on to an old wooden pier where our boatman and others idly passed their time awaiting the return of their charges after picnicking at the nearby beaches and coves.

As the water at the pier was shallow we clearly could see brightly-coloured fish varying in size from the smallest fry to fish measuring nearly 3". We purposefully left the beach half an hour early to allow my husband to further investigate the fish at the pier. As I held the rucksack and the plastic bags he made his way to-ing and fro-ing between the shore and the pier with a net in both hands, a sight to behold. Within a matter of minutes he was successful in catching approximately 20 fish - identity unknown. With a happy husband and a bagful of frantic fish, we left, leaving another idyllic setting behind. The date as I mentioned earlier was December 6^th 1996 so we still had eight days left of our holiday.

The pier at La Restinga, where most of the fish were caught

Keeping the fish alive was his main concern. Back at our hotel he emptied our room waste paper bin, cleaned it out, added the fish with the water in which they had been caught. He then added about 25 percent volume of fresh water (the fresh water came from the complimentary bottle from the hotel). He did this to increase the volume of the water. After setting up the pump and placing the new fish tank above the room mini-bar I went in search of the maid. I beckoned her into our room and showed her the fish in the bucket. I often wonder what she thought, as my knowledge of Spanish includes pleasantries and numbers. I could not explain what or why we had them, she just smiled and shrugged her shoulders - ignorance is bliss!

Poecilia Picta

The daily ritual began, one bottle of aqua diluted with the same volume of sea water. As he had no filters (did not manage to pack one) a daily water change ensured that the water was fresh and clean. He also started feeding them with flake and tablet food and thankfully, because of the air conditioning system, I never heard the pump (one of my pet hates, excuse the pun). He was able at this point to distinguish two species of fish that he thought were Poecilia Picta and a Poecilia Species.

Our holiday continued blissfully. On a couple of occasions he did remark that he would have liked to go back and get more fish, on such occasions I was completely deaf.

As our holiday was almost over we planned our last few days meticulously. One of our last trips was on the world's fastest ocean cruising catamaran, the 'Catatumbo'. As well as being the fastest catamaran it is indeed one of the largest at 71ft long and the mast the height of a 10 storey building. It easily skimmed the waves with speeds up to 30 knots. Our trip was to the isle of Coche.

The crew dropped anchor about one mile from the coast of the island. The yacht was virtually a floating beach anchored over the corals and marine life.

Before we went snorkelling we were given our instructions: "Watch out for the yellow coral, it burns," and: "The sea urchins sting if trodden on."

Armed with this advice we slipped into our snorkelling gear and toppled overboard. At the deepest point the sea only came up to waist height. As the fish swam through the coral brushing against our bodies, under our stomachs and through our thighs, it made one feel like an inquisitive intruder soiling the unspoilt beauty. With stripes, vivid colours, speckles, singly, in schools, fry and mature the marines swam and fed in front of us. Sea Urchins and Seahorses, Octopus and colourful coral seemed to emphasise the saying: "Water is the true element of the pure and beautiful."

Another trip we undertook was exploring the rugged west side of Margarita. On this occasion we had the use of a luxurious jeep with the added attraction of a mini-bar. From the splendour of the Macanao Peninsula we had a bird's eye view of the island. For lunch we stopped at a restaurant in Morro Blanco beside the sea. Whilst waiting for lunch we were entertained by the wild parakeets and we watched humming birds as the hovered extracting nectar from the profusion of wild flowers. The restaurant steps led down to the beach and to the left was a small pool that lay in a dried (at that time) river bed. Naturally, my husband was keen to investigate. So as I enjoyed my rum punch he headed off to the pool. Much to his excitement the pool was jumping with activity, the Fiddler Crabs were in abundance, skimming across the sand with such grace. More to the point there were fish in the pool he was convinced were Killies.

Lesley McLeod with a wild Parakeet at Morro Blanco

A New Species of Killifish

After a lovely lunch and now armed with nets and plastic bags we went off to catch some of the fish - easy as pie, or at least I thought. In temperatures exceeding 100 degrees C and the sun blistering our Celtic fair sin we ran, sneaked up, crawled, crouched, tiptoed and eventually ambushed the pool to no avail. We caught no one single fish. We were defeated! They out swam and most definitely outsmarted us on every attempt to catch them. Since our return home he has learned that a new species of Killifish has been discovered and he is certain that was what we were trying to catch. "Nae luck!"

Morro Blanco

We departed from Morro Blanco empty-handed. The guide on the tour informed us that there is no natural source of fresh water on the island. This would explain the lack of fresh water pools. All the water for human consumption has to be piped over from the mainland. So with this new information his hopes of getting more fish were very slim. However, on our last day we made a special trip by taxi back to La Restinga. We only went as far as the pier before we saw numerous fish. This time he had more success than his previous expedition, in less than half an hour he caught 30 fish. The locals were highly amused watching him lying on the pier catching nets full of fish. Back at the hotel I left him to sort out his newest catch while I bathed in the sun for a last top up of the freckles.

Air Pressure Fright

In preparation of our trip home he stopped feeding the fish a couple of days before to stop them producing waste. On the morning of our departure he double bagged all the fish putting approximately ten in each bag, he then placed them in a 'Coca-Cola cool bag'. Unfortunately, due to the distribution of luggage I was left carrying the 'Coca-Cola cool bag' with the words "Don't swing or knock the bag" ringing in my ears.

You may well ask: "How did they get through customs?" Well, armed with an Import Licence and numerous enormous smiles we managed to get through five security checks and three x-rays without any harm coming to the fish. In fact, the customs officers were more interested in my bashed suitcase than their wildlife being exported to a country unknown. Once we found our seats on the plane the red cool bag was placed gently between my feet for the flight home. In the excitement of takeoff I completely forgot about the air pressure but soon panicked when I felt and then saw, the bag visibly swell to nearly twice its original size. Throughout all the flights and takeoffs constant checks were made to ensure that there were no obvious signs of distress. To my complete amazement all but one of the fish survived the journey.

The next hurdle for our precious fish was the extreme cold on arriving back in Scotland - 2 degrees C. I am certain my husband expected me to remove my jumper to that he could add further insulation to the 'cool bag'. No chance! Some 28 hours after leaving Margarita we arrived home exhausted. I was left to unpack a fortnights holiday clothes and other various items whilst he disappeared with his precious fish to his fish hut. After such a long time travelling he floated each bag of fish for approximately 30 minutes. He ensured that the salinity and the pH were exactly the same at conditions they were in throughout the journey.

That's the end of my little story except the fish are Poecilia Picta and Poecilia Vivipara - they are constantly breeding and he keeps running out of tank space. If anyone is interested in taking them away I would certainly be delighted. I am busy planning our next holiday with care and hope to go to Las Vegas. I've been told it's in the DESERT!