Up the Orinoco and down the Magdalena

by J. A. Zahm

In the morning, when the Savanna is covered by a mist, as often happens, the observer from Monserrate or Guadalupe does indeed seem to be looking down upon a vast lake. The hills, which here and there rise above the fog, look like islands and strengthen the illusion. But this effect is all dissipated as soon as the sun makes his appearance above the crest of Suma Paz. One then has before him one of the most lovely panoramas in the world. The wide verdant expanse is intersected with rivers and streams, all tributaries of the Funza, and dotted with towns and hamlets and haciendas, lakes and lakelets, large herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, troops of horses, mules and burros. All this is enclosed by lofty ramparts of gneiss and granite, which shield the inhabitants of city and plain from the tempestuous moisture-laden winds that would otherwise often sweep over the Savanna with the fury of a Kansas cyclone.

Aside from the Eucalyptus and Humboldt oak—Quercus Humboldtii—there are no large trees in the Savanna of Bogotá. The Eucalyptus, however, is everywhere visible, in the streets and in the gardens of the capital, along the thoroughfares of the country and around every house, however humble, and quinta, as far as the eye can reach. These trees were introduced from Australia only a few decades ago, and now one finds them in all parts of the republic. We saw them all along our route from the llanos to Bogatá. The people, especially those living on the eastern slopes of the Oriental Andes, are firmly convinced that their presence wards off paludismo—malaria—and, as a consequence, they are considered as indispensable around the house as the plantain or calabash tree.[6]

There is nothing more delightful than a stroll along the Rio San Francisco, which flows between Monserrate and Guadalupe and thence through the city of Bogotá. The scenery is thoroughly Alpine in character and, at times, picturesque beyond description. As one follows the narrow path, always near the musical, crystal waters of the impetuous stream, one is delighted at every step by the appearance of some new flower of brightest hue, or some strange shrub of richest foliage. The ground is fairly carpeted with anemones, hepaticæ, gentians, valerians, geraniums, campanulæ, lupines and buttercups. Like similar plants on the Alps, and on the heights of our Rockies, their stems are very short and they seem like so many rosettes attached to the earth, or the rocks that rise up on both sides of our narrow path.

One sees well illustrated here the dividing line between the flora of the paramo and that of the tierra fría. The plants of the latter creep up timidly from the Savanna until a certain point, and then, as if afraid to venture further into the region of frost, halt on the lower edge of the paramo. In a similar manner the plants of the higher altitudes cautiously descend to the upper belt of the tierra fría and there come to a standstill. They meet on a common zone in limited numbers, but this zone is often extremely narrow. One of the agreeable surprises to the traveler in the Andes is to note the sudden and extraordinary changes in the character of the vegetation as he ascends or descends the mountain near the line of demarcation between two zones.

The plateau of Guadalupe is the home of two remarkable tree ferns. One of these is the Cyathea patens, from ten to twelve feet high, with a beautiful, umbrella-shaped crown. The other is the Dicksonia gigantea, which, according to the naturalist, Karsten, is probably the most vigorous and luxuriant tree fern in South America. Its massive, columnar trunk bears forty and more dark-green fronds, from three to four feet wide and from six to seven in length. To get a close view of even one of these noble cryptogams fully repays one for the arduous climb up to its favorite habitat.

Any city in the United States or Europe, having in its immediate vicinity such attractions as has Bogotá, would immediately put them within easy reach of the public. Thus both Monserrate and Guadalupe would, without delay, be connected with the city by a funicular railway, and near by would be a number of restaurants and pleasure resorts.

An electric railway would also be constructed to the great water falls of Tequendama—the largest in Colombia and among the most celebrated in South America. Although only thirty-six feet wide, the main fall is three times the height of Niagara Falls.[7] But the volume of water carried over the precipice of Tequendama is incomparably less than that which plunges into the colossal whirlpool of Niagara. In appearance it somewhat resembles Vernal Falls in the Yosemite Valley, or the lower fall of the Yellowstone. What, however, gives to the Colombian cataract a beauty all its own is its setting of luxuriant tropical vegetation. In this respect our northern waterfalls, however attractive they may be in other respects, cannot be compared with Tequendama.

Incredible as it may seem, but few Colombians have ever seen the falls of Tequendama. Although the people of Bogotá love to talk about them, as among the greatest wonders of their country, it is rarely that one is found who has actually visited them. And yet they are not more than twelve miles from the capital. Even the peons living on the plains only a few miles from the cataract can give the traveler little or no information as to the best way to reach them. How different this would all be if the place were easy of access, and if the visitor, on arriving there, could find the creature comforts to be obtained in similar places in the United States and Europe!

I have alluded to the interesting historical associations connected with the city and plateau of Bogotá. It will suffice to speak of but one of them; but this one is so remarkable that it is like a chapter taken from the Arabian Nights. I refer to the meeting of the three distinguished conquistadores, Gonzalo Jimenez de Quesada, Nicholas Federmann and Sebastian de Belalcazar.

Quesada had left Santa Marta in 1536, having under his command, according to Oviedo, eight hundred men and one hundred horses. He went part of the way by land and part by the Rio Grande, now known as the Magdalena. After reaching the Opon, he followed that river as far as it was navigable, and eventually made his way to the plateau of Bogotá—the land of the Chibchas.