The Aspern Papers - New movie filmed in Choroni

Henry James in Choroni? Why not. That's what the makers of a new movie have done, transplanting the US author's literary novella "The Aspern Papers" from 19th century Venice to the tropical forests of a cacao plantation in modern-day Venezuela.

The film stars US actress Brook Smith, of Grey's Anatomy, Belgian-born Felix D'Alviella, an established TV actor in the UK, Joan Juliet Buck, from the award winning "Julie and Julia" and the beautiful Venezuelan dancer and actress Lourdes Brito Laffont.

Also appearing are a number of local characters from the village, including Hueso and Tiburon, who plays the Afro-Venezuelan drums, or tambores, that Choroni is so famous for.

First-time director Mariana Hellmund, a Venezuelan writer who has worked as a script-supervisor on a number of US movies, also co-wrote the screenplay and produced.

From the trailer and stills released so far, the film looks great, with plenty of shots of Playa Grande, the colourful fishing boats in Puerto Colombia and the colonial houses of Choroni. The scenes in the cacao plantation were filmed at Hacienda La Sabaneta.

All we need now is a release date. For more details of the film visit: http://www.theaspernpapers.com

Here's the synopsis:

A young American publisher's quest to find the lost papers of the great romantic poet Jeffery Aspern, leads him on a treasure hunt to the coastal jungles of Venezuela.
The poet’s great muse, Juliana Bordereau is alive and hiding in an 18th century cocoa hacienda. She lives with scant means, in the company of her niece, Tita Bordereau, a quiet spinster held captive to her aunt's life and shaded past.
The American plots to lure the women with money, convinced that once inside the house he’ll get his hands on the papers - even if he has to go so far as to seduce the niece. The muse, the niece, and the gentleman will find themselves in a game of trust and deceit, far away from the comforts of civilization. But Tita’s naiveté becomes her strongest card when she takes destiny into her own hands, and exacts a price too high even for the paper-obsessed American.
Brooke Smith, Felix D’Alviella, Judith Roberts and Joan Juliet Buck star in this contemporary adaptation of Henry James’ beloved novella about literary obsession directed by Mariana Hellmund.

Los Llanos, Roraima and Choroni in The Guardian

Four of Venezuela's hottest travel destinations - Los Llanos, Roraima, Angel Falls and Choroni/Puerto Colombia - made a welcome appearance in the UK press on Saturday, featuring in a travel piece by Grainne Mooney in the Guardian.

The author was blown away by the sheer abundance of wildlife at Hato Cedral in Los LLanos, although she doesn't mention the excellent evening entertainment, when the ranch hands tie up their horses for the night, pull out the harp and maracas and treat guests to the authentic sounds of Venezuela's cowboy country.

She also experienced the full arctic freeze of the air-conditioning on a Venezuelan coach, during a 24-hour trip from the Llanos to Santa Elena from where she trekked to the top of Roraima and marveled at the hopless frogs, carnivorous plants and weird rock formations on the plateau.

If I have a quibble it's that the article isn't entirely accurate about the name change for the world's highest waterfall, Angel Falls or Salto Angel in Spanish, which is currently named after US bush pilot Jimmie Angel.

President Chavez has suggested that the indigenous Pemon name for the falls, Kerepakupai-Meru, should replace Salto Angel, but for now it's still only a suggestion.

Additionally, I would advise anybody spending a few days in Choroni/Puerto Colombia to take a boat ride to the cacao plantation of Chuao and to trek up into the could forest of the Henri Pittier National Park, one of the best birding sites in Venezuela.

To read the Guardian article in full click here: The lost world of Venezuela

Willie's Wonky Chocolate Factory brings Venezuelan cacao to UK

New Channel 4 Series: "Raising the Bar: Willie's Chocolate Revolution"

A new four-part Channel 4 series called "Willie's Wonky Chocolate Factory" aims to introduce the UK to premium Venezuelan cacao. The programme follows William "Willie" Harcourt-Cooze, who bought an old hacienda near Choroni about 12 years ago, as he takes viewers on a trip from the lush forests of his cacao plantation in the Henri Pittier National Park to Devon, where he is trying to market his Venezuelan Black cacao bars.

There's something a bit Monty Python about Willie Harcourt-Cooze. Perhaps its his upper class accent, or the fact he's tall and a bit gangly. Maybe it's the unquenchable enthusiasm with which he leaps into his latest obsessions, or the hit and miss results of his endeavours.

But if Willie looks a bit like a Michael Palin character from Ripping Yarns, there's no denying that his larger-than-life character is TV gold.

It was an inspired decision by Channel 4 to give him, his wife and their three kids their own reality series. The result is like something between "the Filthy Fulfords" and orchid hunter Tom Hart-Dyke's attempts to save Lullingford castle.

The premise is fairly similar too. About 12 years ago Willie and his wife Tania bought a run-down hacienda on the edge of the Henri Pitter National Park in Venezuela's Aragua State. A glorious place between the cloud forest peaks of the park and the popular beach-resort-cum-fishing-village of Choroni, it is reached by fording a river close to the windy road that wends its way down to the sea.

After several false starts and stalled projects to reactivate the hacienda they finally hit on the idea of planting cacao trees, which produce the cocoa beans that chocolate is made from.

Living just a valley away from the isolated plantation of Chuao, they very cleverly chose to plant the same strain of criollo cacao that grows in Chuao, which is considered among the finest cacao in the world.

Now, despite setbacks in Venezuela, including an eco-posada project that never really got off the ground, Willie's Venezuelan Black chocolate venture in the UK is going quite well. The 100 per cent cacao bars went on sale in Selfridges in London on 18 February and Willie says he took £700 on the first day. He's been supplying chocolate to his mate Marco Pierre-White, one of London's top chefs, who has been experimenting with it in a number of recipes.

The three bars in the “Venezuelan Black” range are: Carenero Superior, Rio Caribe Superior and El Tesoro.

Carenero and Rio Caribe are named after the cacao beans used to make them, while El Tesoro (Treasure) is the name of Willie's hacienda and contains 100 per cent Chuao cacao.

Thinking big, Willie is hoping to become one of the first Britons since Cadbury to grow and produce his own chocolate from bean to bar.

The four-part documentary on Channel 4 certainly won't hurt sales.

It's been quite a journey. I first met Willie and his wife Tania when they were living on the beach in Choroni. Back then they were trying to buy El Tesoro and some of the locals thought they were just another pair of posh hippies passing through, trying to live the South American dream.

Later, I visited the hacienda and was blown away by the sheer size of the place, a thousand acres that stretched from a river near the road all the way to the high valley wall that leads over the hills to Chuao.

Willie had gained a reputation as a bit of a gentleman farmer with his shotgun and his hunting dogs and his more eccentric ideas of how to make the hacienda pay. Tania, or the Honourable Tania harcourt-Cooze, to give her full title, seemed to be the sensible one, but then she was pregnant in Choroni, so sensible was probably good.

Tania's background is almost as fascinating as Willie's. Her father is the fifth Baron Coleridge and she is a direct relative of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the Lake Poet who penned Xanadu. She tried her hand at modelling and acting in Los Angeles in her twenties before marrying Willie and travelling to Venezuela.

At the height of her modelling career she appeared as the eye candy alongside George Michael in the 1988 video for his song "Father Figure" (just Youtube George Michael father Figure to see it).

Back in the mid-90s the plan was to set up an eco-posada and bring over high-end travellers who wanted to experience some the amazing plant and bird life of the National Park as well as the beautiful local beaches.

But incorporating the local tradition of cacao production and the internationally-recognized excellence of Chuao's criollo cacao beans into that mix is Willie's master stroke.

A few years ago, the economic downturn in Venezuela made things a bit tough for them on the hacienda. Tania's Coleridge connection brought the couple and their three children back to Devon, to The Chanters House, the Coleridge family's twenty bedroom estate in Ottery St Mary.

From there Willie was able to start buying the equipment he needed to process the beans into high quality chocolat, the basic ingredient in chocolate bars, cakes and hot chocolate, after sugar and milk are added.

So things are looking look good for Willie and Tania. From the amount of publicity the Channel 4 documentary is generating the business should do well and hopefully spark more interest in Venezuela and its natural treasures.

Meanwhile, I just can't wait to get my hands on some real Venezuelan chocolate in London.


Click here to see Willie's new Chocolate Factory Cookbook







Chuao: In Search of World's Finest Cocoa Beans

Choroni: Tambores, guarapita and midnight dips

Video: Drum dancing in Chuao

My Blog about Venezuelan Food and Drinks

Chuao: In Search of The World's Finest Cocoa Beans

As the last passenger jumps aboard and the anchor is pulled in, the outboard motor roars into life, throwing us to one side as the boat rips through the white foam of a breaker and whisks us around a rocky bluff and out into the open sea.

Heading directly into the heavy swell, the fishing boat rears and falls with a heavy bang... bang... bang... as we head out to deeper water.

Despite a clear azure sky and bright sun, the trip is more like a rollercoaster ride today.

As Amado, the boatman, slackens off the throttle we are momentarily left at the sea's mercy - a slight pause on the crest of each wave followed by a stomach churning drop and the next impact. Those at the back are getting soaked and the rest of us grip onto the seats for dear life.

The boy at the front of the boat, however, an impish grin spread across his face, stands upright and holds on to the anchor rope as if he's riding a bucking bronco.

It's rough, but safe, I guess. Amado is certainly enjoying himself, giving the tourists a ride they won't forget in a hurry.

"Is fun, no?" he shouts above the squeals of the two Spanish girls sitting in front of him, a huge grin showing his perfect teeth, his muscular fisherman's torso glistening wet in the morning sun.

"Could you be loved..." the Spanish girls sing back to him, giggling and making jokes about his name.

Those who'd been up partying the night before, attempting to dance to Choroni's famous tambores and drinking guarapita, look a little worse for wear.


A couple of bottles of the local passion-fruit-and-cane-alcohol jungle juice certainly seems like a good idea when the party's going full tilt.

But a 25-minute boat trip through rough seas the morning after with a hungover fisherman in charge - and without the aid of a solid breakfast or a lifejacket - can put rather a different perspective on things.

Coming round the first bluff we catch our first glimpse of Choroni's glorious palm-fringed beach, Playa Grande. The view of the thick forest stretching lazily into the distance until it merges with the cloud-shrouded mountains of the Henri Pittier National Park resets the smiles on a few faces.

It's easy to see from this perspective how blessed Choroni is. Unlike most of Venezuela's beaches where the town or village sits directly behind the beach, Playa Grande is thankfully separated from Puerto Colombia by a bridge and a road.

The other benefit of being separated from the town is that the beach is not contaminated by the two rivers that run either side of the fishing village.

If only all Venezuelan beaches were so clean.

Luckily, the coconut plantation at the back of the beach is owned by a family who have refused to sell out to hotel consortiums and fast food chains. There was a rumour once that McDonalds wanted to build a restaurant slap bang in the middle of the beach after the lifeguards' chairs started to sport the familiar Golden Arches logo. It's hard to think of a worse defilement.

From the sea, the coast looks like the perfect picture postcard of a Caribbean paradise, the hand of man noticeably absent as we pass rugged cliffs, sea caves and sandy coves.

Amado points out Playa Seca, a small beach with a natural pool in front that provides good snorkelling. With no shade trees and little in the way of greenery, except for prickly cacti and a few low shrubs, it is well named.


Finally, a last heart-pounding round of rollercoasting waves brings us into the wide bay of Puerto Chuao. Amado takes us right in, close to the beach, and we do a victory lap along the full length at top speed. It's an exhilirating arrival, but we're the only ones to enjoy it as the beach is deserted.

The beach here is different to Playa Grande: the sea looks black in places from the leaves washed down the river from the plantation. There's a vicious undertow that can you drag you under and spit you out when it's rough. There's also less shade, fewer palm trees and only one place to get snacks and drinks, up on the sea wall.

That said, coming from a heavy weekend at Choroni, it is blissfully empty.

After a quick dip to freshen up we head off for the Colonial village of Chuao and its world famous cacao plantation, leaving the Spanish girls slapping on factor fifty for a day of serious sunbathing.

The village is only 5 kms from the sea but it takes over an hour to walk there.

Amazingly, considering Chuao can only be reached by sea or after a two day walk on a mule-trail from Turmero near Maracay, a por puesto bus is doing a shuttle service from the beach to the village.

Like everything else here it was brought by sea, loaded onto three fishing boats strapped together side by side. Roll on, roll off, Chuao style.

But we hadn't come here for a bus trip but a walk through the lush cocoa plantation with its huge shade trees of mango, guamo and cedar.

In the shadow of these 300-year-old forest giants are tall breadfruit trees, signs of the plantations' slave history. Brought to the Caribbean from Polynesia by Captain William Bligh of "Mutiny on the Bounty" fame, the breadfruit with its spiky leaves and football-sized fruit was planted to feed slaves shipped over from Africa.
It still constitutes an important part of the diet of the 300 inhabitants of Chuao, who work the plantation as a collective.


The wide path that leads to the village is bordered by stumpy cacao trees. Surprisingly, the bulbous fruit pods - in various shades of purple, yellow, green and red - grow straight from the trunk.

It's incredible to think that the best chocolate in the world, "the Rolls Royce of chocolate" according to one Italian chocolatier, is made from these odd-looking pods and the bitter tasting criollo beans inside.

Leaving the path, we crunch our way through the thick leaf litter of the shade forest and soon come across a cluster of women wearing wellington boots and carrying machetes and buckets full of beans.

Humming a song to keep a constant rhythm, they display an incredible economy of movement: lifting the fallen cocoa pods with the point of the machete, opening them with a whack and then scooping out the beans in one fluid motion.

It is a practice that is centuries old, unchanged since the 17th and 18th centuries when Venezuelans built fortunes from these cocoa beans and the rich elite were known as "Los Grandes Cacaos".

Until recently it was believed that the cocoa tree was introduced from Mexico by the Spanish, but archaeological finds of pre-Colombian ceramic urns in the shape of cocoa pods around Lake Valencia prove that it is endemic to Venezuela.

Though it is hot and humid in the forest, the women are covered from head to toe. As swarms of forest flies descend on us and start to feast, we realize why and beat a hasty retreat to the path.


Amado, born and brought up in Chuao, explains that only a small portion of the plantation is still worked and yields are low, although a new surge in demand for fine chocolate has brought more cash to the cooperative and renewed life to the village.

"Only the older people used to stay," he says. "School kids study in Maracay and the young men work in fishing or in the big cities. There's no hospital, cinema or shops here. It looks beautiful, but it's a hard life."
Amado himself left as a young man to work on the fishing boats in Puerto Colombia, but comes back regularly with tourists or for the annual fiestas that the town is famous for.

On the Feast of Corpus Christi, for example, the men of the town dress up for a riotous three-day revel of dancing devils or "Diablos Danzantes". The other festival is the June 23 and 24 all-nighter in honour of San Juan Bautista, a drum festival with its roots in Africa.

The first thing that hits you on entering the village is the unmistakably tangy smell of the cocoa beans drying on the large patio in front of the blue and white 17th century church. Following our noses we find dried beans fermenting under banana leaves in the buildings close by.

It's a real island in time.

The village dates back to 1568 when Spaniard Juan Desque was given the Chuao valley as an encomienda. This gave him complete control over the indigenous inhabitants who were forced to work, while he in return offered them "protection".
The system was considered humane, because according to the Law of the Indies, which governed the Spanish colonies in the New World, the native people were not slaves but merely serfs.

In reality the cruelties inflicted on the Indians under this enforced serfdom outdid the later horrors of slavery.

Behind the church is a small, dusty museum with a few artefacts from colonial times, devil dance masks, and some broken sherds of pre-Colombian pottery. It is locked but we soon find somebody who knows where the key is kept.


Francois, a French guy we meet by the river says the sleepy village, drowsing in the midday heat, reminds him strongly of Africa: the shoeless kids chasing each other in the street, the men playing an unhurried game of dominoes outside the general store, women washing clothes in the river.

With its slow pace of life, Chuao seems to be the perfect escape from the hectic rat race of London, Paris or New York, but while we see the positives the villagers face some very real economic pressures that are forcing the young to migrate in ever-increasing numbers.

One positive development has been the arrival of the Italian connoisseur chocolate company Amedei, which is run by brother and sister Alessio and Cecelia Tessieri in Tuscany. Considered one of the finest single-origin chocolate producers in the world, their "Chuao" range, using only criollo beans from the village, has taken the gold medal for the last two years at the Academy of Chocolate awards.


The marketing on their website certainly doesn't hold back its praise: "Chuao is a ferocious deluge of blackened fruits and molasses, poised to trample all timid palates that dare stand in its path," states the blurb, "with a flavor this complex, this commanding, this divine, the price tag that each 50g bar demands is without a doubt a justifiable price to pay for a glimpse into heaven."

Sounds tasty.

Making our way to the far end of the village we pass a wattle-and-daub house with its wooden ribs exposed, an open door revealing walls decorated with yellowing newspapers and pages cut from magazines.

Virtually bare of furniture, the room is dominated by a pair of massive speakers pumping out salsa and merengue like the party is in full swing.

Sat next to them, as if nothing is happening, is a white-haired old lady in a rocking chair who smiles sweetly at us as we pass.


Hot and tired we slip gratefully into a large pool of cool river water upstream from the village.

As we lay in the shallows, our heads just above the water the local kids show off by diving from the rocks.

Half an hour later, with a few ice-cold beers inside us, we are on the por puesto headed for the beach and a fish supper.

No more Cadbury's Flakes or Hersheys bars for me, tucked away in my bag I've got some of the real stuff, a tennis ball of Chuao chocolate wrapped in silver foil.

By Russell Maddicks

Video: Drum dancing in Chuao
Choroni: Tambores, guarapita and midnight dips
Willie's Wonky Chocolate Factory brings Venezuelan cacao to UK

Choroni: Beach town moves to the beat of Afro-Venezuelan drums

Angel falls, the world’s highest waterfall, might be Venezuela’s most talked about tourist attraction, but the best party you’ll ever have is in the small fishing village of Choroni. The place just throbs with music, from the salsa and reggaeton played in the small beach bars to the thumping drums that set the place alight at night. Russell Maddicks enjoyed a rum-soaked night of tambores on Venezuela’s central coast.

With its beautiful crescent beach backed by palms and its sea-wall, or malecon, where you can sit and watch the pelicans diving for fish, Choroni is the place to kick back and get to know Afro-Caribbean Venezuela.

We knew we’d come to the right place as soon as we stepped down, rather unsteadily, from the bus. Choroni, also known as Puerto Colombia, is a fishing village on Venezuela’s central coast famed for its drum dancing, or tambores.

In colonial times this was a large slave plantation and its geographical isolation has helped to preserve important elements of Afro-Venezuelan culture.

The biggest adventure is getting here. It’s about four hours by bus from the capital city of Caracas to Choroni and the road that winds up from the city of Maracay into the cool cloud forest of the Henri Pittier National Park is not for the faint-hearted.


The road was built in the 1930s by the dictator Juan Vicente Gomez as an escape route to the sea but nowadays it’s main use is to bring in the excited crew of sunseekers, surf kids and foreign tourists who flock here on Fridays.

The hairpin bends are truly hair-raising and the driver is either very expert or has entrusted our lives to the luminous Virgin Mary stuck to the dashboard. While I say a little prayer, he blithely swings the bus round the bends in time to the salsa erotica blaring out of the speakers. Far from being worried by the breakneck pace, my fellow passengers seem happy to sing along.

The biggest excitement comes just as we pass the highest point, some 1,800 metres above sea level, when the bus screeches to a sudden, shuddering halt. Everybody gets off to see what’s happened only to find a three-toed sloth in the middle of the road with a little baby sloth on its back. It’s a miracle we didn’t hit it. Perhaps the Virgin is looking down on us after all.

Our first stop is at the cute, colonial town of Choroni, set back from the sea as protection from the marauding English pirates that once scoured these coasts for booty. A few kilometers more bring us to Puerto Colombia, right on the sea.


It might be early, but music is everywhere. A small stall selling juices is playing reggae, the liquor store is blasting out 80s salsa and there’s a reggaeton fiesta going on at the empanada place where the fishermen are hanging out, drinking beers. There’s a definite Afro-vibe here that is unlike the rest of Venezuela.

After a wash and brush up at the cheap and cheerful Posada de los Guanches (less than 10 dollars a night) we set out to explore. It's a five minute walk to the palm-fringed beach, which is framed by high bluffs. The sea is warm and frisky, perfect for body surfing, but with an undertow in some places that is best avoided.


The first friend we make is Palomino, a former life guard who now sells "guarapita" - a sweet-tasting cocktail of passion fruit, cane alcohol and sugar. Palomino also has a less traditional "chocopita", made from cocoa powder, that goes down surprisingly easy. In fact, swinging in the hammock under a palm tree, sipping guarapita and watching the waves lap the sand, its easy to see why everybody seems so laid back.

A kid comes past with a bucket on his head. He's selling a dodgy-looking seafood aphrodisiac called "Siete Potencias", or "Seven Powers". It "brings you back to life", he says with a grin. In case we miss the point he says it’s also called "Rompe Colchon", or "Bed Breaker".


That night, after a glorious supper of red snapper and fried plantains we head down to the malecon, the sea wall promenade, to catch the dancing.

There’s no definite start time. As soon as enough people gather and enough guarapita has been consumed it just kicks off.

A couple of kids drag out two large cumaco drums and place them under the statue of Saint John the Baptist. "He's the saint of the blacks, our saint" explains Palomino, who has set up stall on the other side of the statue.


Made from a hollowed out avocado trunk, the cumaco is almost two metres long. The leather head is played with the hands by a drummer sitting astride the trunk while another one beats out a fast rhythm on the sides with two sticks called palillos or laures.

As soon as the first furious beats break out a couple starts to dance and a circle forms around them. This is what we came for and it doesn’t disappoint.

Supremely athletic men, dripping with sweat from the exertion, hips moving like a washing machine on fast spin, try to get as close as humanly possible to the woman gyrating in front of them.


At any time another dancer, man or woman, can cut in by moving between the two dancers and separating them, so the energy never flags.
The crowd eggs them on, clapping and cheering the best dancers and laughing at those with no clue (me I’m afraid).

Do this in your local high street and somebody would call the police.

Meanwhile a cantor, or singer, steps forward to lead the call-and-response vocals.


The song is drowned out by the drums – even louder now with the arrival of three congas – but everybody joins in with the simple chorus of "dale" ("do it"), and for while we are all as one.

About four hours later the drums come to a staggering halt as the booze runs out. As they have a whip-round for more rum, we walk to the beach for an exhilarating moonlight dip, the drums a distant echo of an unforgettable night.

By Russell Maddicks

Video: Dancing tambores in Choroni
Chuao: In Search of World's Finest Cocoa Beans
Willie's Wonky Chocolate Factory brings Venezuelan cacao to UK