sold in Venezuela's capital come down from a tiny village hidden in the clouds that shroud the El Avila mountains looming over Caracas.

Almost 7,000 feet above one of Caracas' most dangerous slums is the sleepy town of Galipan, home to 1,500 people who make their living growing flowers, fruits and vegetables and selling them to the 4 million city dwellers below.

Founded in 1782 by a handful of immigrants from the Canary Islands, Galipan has preserved its bucolic traditions despite Caracas's oil-fuelled transformation from a rural backwater into a congested metropolis.

The village is a fog-shrouded blur of red-tile cottages and stone-encircled sunflower, bluebell, hibiscus and lily gardens. Carefully hoed eucalyptus, tomato and strawberry plots slope down the mountainside, blending into the wild flowers and trees.

Horses and mules clop along steep dirt trails connecting the scattered houses.

The town has no centre and villagers are shy - ducking inside their doors at the sight of an outsider approaching the flower-studded stone paths that lead to their homes.

The fog begins to lift each afternoon, revealing a spectacular view of the Caribbean Sea. But Galipan is so high up it's impossible to discern where the sea ends and the sky begins.

Galipan residents are a tightly knit bunch, fiercely protective of their way of life.

"I had a childhood among flowers and animals. We still don't have to lock our houses. We want it to stay that way,'' says Maria Cristina Denise, 40, a preschool teacher and descendant of the original settlers.

But Denise, like many other residents, insists Galipan's sublime atmosphere is misleading. Recent decades have brought change to which villagers are still trying to adjust.

The government built the first paved road up from Caracas in 1995, bringing with it a crush of weekend tourists.

The trip isn't easy: as the winding, cobblestone road curves over a mountaintop, approaching town, it runs along the edge of a deep cliff, becoming so narrow at one point that truckers must take care to avoid head-on collisions.

Yet the road has made life easier for "Galipaneros,'' as villagers call themselves. Denise and dozens of other parents take turns car pooling their children to a Caracas school every day. Some younger residents have jobs in the city.

Other changes haven't been as welcome. In 1958, the Venezuelan government decreed the entire Avila mountain range -- which separates Caracas from the Caribbean -- a national park in an effort to protect the zone's diverse flora and fauna. Galipaneros had to fight to keep their hometown.

Robert Perez remembers when the government tore down his ancestral home in 1978, arguing that park rules prohibited his family from living on their tract of land. He withdrew from college to fight for his town, an effort that succeeded in 1982 when Congress passed a law allowing Galipaneros to stay, as long as they followed some housing and agricultural regulations.

Denise remembers when almost all of Galipan's houses were made of logs and clay. Building them was a months-long family affair. Even the children would pound down the clay with boots, Denise says.

The cabins kept people warm from the mountain chill and withstood earthquakes, swaying with the rocking earth instead of resisting it. Galipaneros have long since given up their rustic cabins for more practical cement and red tile homes, "which have never kept me as warm,'' Denise says.

Only the oldest residents still use generations-old farming techniques: plant a flower with a waning moon, trim the stem with a waxing moon.

Change is inevitable, Galipaneros concede, and they are striving to use the best of it.

Some residents have opened informal restaurants in their homes; others rent out rooms to vacationers. Workshops at the elementary school teach townspeople about small-scale businesses, tourism and conservation. The idea is to offer young people a better living, encouraging them to stay.

"We want our children to leave and get educated. Maybe they won't come back, but I learned to love Galipan after I saw other parts of the world,'' Perez says. "Before, everything seemed normal to me: A sea in front of me, a bright moon, a dirt path.'' A luxurious cabin built on top of a giant baobab tree is among the exotic lodging at the Chole Mjini Lodge for visitors to Mafia Marine Park, Tanzania, Mafia is a former cannibal hunting ground.

MINI SUPPLEMENT SUP