The old "Trapiche" of the Hacienda house in La Florida de Oricao, circa 1972.

Our story begins with our family deeply rooted in this land, a family with a passion for both development and ecology. We spent our childhood exploring the jungle, jumping from waterfalls and getting in and out of trouble, basically, savoring the green and wet freedom that we could not get in Caracas.

The old house at La Florida, well, let’s just say it’s seen better days. It’s a 250-year-old hacienda house with more quirks than a sitcom character, complete with a creaky old coffee mill.

Surrounded by a symphony of jungle sounds — think howler monkeys gossiping at top volume, exotic birds showing off their vocal range, and the occasional rustle of leaves that could be anything from a harmless rodent to a VERY large snake — La Florida is a place where you can’t help but feel nature’s embrace. It’s the kind of place that makes you want to ditch your shoes and go barefoot, even if it means occasionally sharing your footwear with a scorpion or two.

Getting there is half the adventure — you’ll need to navigate a jungle obstacle course of overgrown paths, slippery slopes, and in the rainy season, raging mountain rivers. But trust me, the payoff is worth it.

Growing up there was like living in a real-life Jungle Book. My brother Carlos and I had the time of our lives exploring the wild terrain, riding horses in the mountain trails, dodging grumpy monkeys who had a knack for shoe theft, and listening to the howler monkeys’ dramatic rain-summoning rituals. These guys were more entertaining than any video game, trust me.

Romulo Guardia Machado (1935-2000), Engineer and developer of Club Oricao and lifetime Environmentalist.

Our dad, Ròmulo Guardia Machado, a unique blend of visionary real estate developer and tree-hugger explorer, instilled in us a deep love for nature and our Venezuelan heritage. 

He also had a knack for coming up with creative ways to keep us busy. One of his genius ideas was to have us roast coffee beans in a giant pan over an open fire. It was hot, sweaty work, but the aroma of those freshly roasted beans, spiked with a little papelón and Santa Teresa Rum (dad’s secret ingredient), was pure bliss.

The old house at La Florida became our go-to spot for weekend getaways with friends. We’d camp out in the mountains, blissfully unaware of the dangers lurking in the shadows (I’m talking about more than just chivacoas, those pesky mountain ticks that loved to feast on us). One time, we even stumbled upon a dead mule perched precariously up in a tree. When I asked our trusty foreman, Flavio, how it got there, he calmly replied, “Puma, 120 kilos.” That’s when I realized the jungle had a few more surprises in store for us.

Cacao, however, was a mystery to us back then. It seemed to have vanished from Oricao, a casualty of the fluctuating coffee prices, the oil boom, and the relentless march of progress. But little did we know that it was merely dormant, waiting for the right moment to make its grand return.

And then, one fateful day, a conversation with Jorge Redmond of Chocolate El Rey reignited our passion for cacao. 

It was like a lightbulb moment — we were sitting on a ghost gold mine of Criollo cacao, a forgotten treasure waiting to be unearthed and sprung back to life for sun and rain to bless it. And so, our adventure truly began.

The old Hacienda house in La Florida de Oricao, circa 1970. In the picture Romulo Guardia Machado and Alfredo Medina

Registro Principal del Distrito Federal document confirming that in 1830, the estate already possessed over 3,631 cacao adult trees

The cacao trees, once the pride of Oricao, had vanished. Or so we thought…

Armed with old legal documents from the 1830’s revealing that over 3,630 Criollo cacao plants once thrived here, and a healthy dose of curiosity, we embarked on a treasure hunt through the dense jungle.

Carlos, my brother, my partner in crime, my confidante. He was the one who truly embraced the idea of reviving Cacao de Oricao. It wasn’t just the allure of the old hacienda or the challenge of reclaiming its lost glory, it was the echoes of our childhood and the memory of our father that resonated within him. The laughter-filled days spent chasing butterflies and capturing bugs and insects through the coffee groves, the sticky fingers from pilfering ripe pods, the shared dreams whispered under the shade of ancient trees — these were the memories that fueled his determination.

With the zeal of a treasure hunter, he poured over faded documents and maps, tracing the faint outlines of where the cacao trees might have once stood. When the paper trail ran cold, he ventured into the wild embrace of the rainforest, seeking clues in the tangled undergrowth and listening to the whispers of the wind.

His enthusiasm was infectious, and it wasn’t long before he forged a connection with an expert, the technical director of expert at El Rey, the renowned Venezuelan chocolate maker. She took samples and later explained to him of Oricao’s unique terroir, its pristine soil and ideal climate for cultivating fine aroma cacao. With their encouragement, Carlos set out to find the missing piece of the puzzle — the cacao beans that would breathe life back into the hacienda.

After countless expeditions, some akward encounters with snakes and spiders, other unwelcoming critters and dead ends, he ended up in Carayaca, a small town in a mountain not too far from Oricao, where he found a few precious Trinitario cacao pods. It wasn’t the original Criollo variety we were hoping for, but it was a start, a spark of hope that ignited our dreams. Together, we planted those seeds, nurturing them with care and watching them grow into sturdy saplings. For a while, it felt like we were on the cusp of a cacao revolution, a testament to Carlos’s unwavering spirit and our shared love for this land.

Carlos Guardia Granier (1963-2011) Founder of Cacao de Oricao

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. 

The sudden loss of Carlos in 2011 shattered our world, leaving a void that no amount of chocolate could fill. The cacao project, once a symbol of hope and renewal, became a painful reminder of his absence. The old house at La Florida, where we had shared so many joyous moments, now echoed with the silence of grief. Only a single Trinitario cacao tree, planted by Carlos and Ana Luisa, my youngest daughter, in our own backyard in Caracas, stood as a living tribute to his memory.

As Venezuela plunged into an economic and social crisis, the dream of restoring Oricao faded into the background. The original Criollo cacao, hidden somewhere in the depths of the jungle, seemed lost forever, a bittersweet reminder of a future that never came to be.

As few years rolled by, life took its twists and turns, and one sunny afternoon in 2015, I had a stroke of inspiration— I invited my dear friend, María Fernanda Di Giacobbe to revisit La Florida. 

Now, María Fernanda isn’t your average friend; she’s a cacao evangelist and world famous connaisseur, a champion of Venezuelan chocolate, and all-around amazing human being. She brought along her dynamic duo of partners, Chloè and Patricia, and let me tell you, the energy was so cool!