CHAPTER II
POPAYÁN AND THE CERRO MUNCHIQUE
After spending a few weeks in and about the Cauca Valley, Richardson and I started southward, while the two other members of the expedition began the homeward journey. I had looked forward very eagerly to my visit to southern Colombia because I knew that the country, towns, and even the people were different from those we had seen heretofore. But, above all, because ahead of us lay a vast region little known zoologically, and we hoped to penetrate into at least the mountain fastnesses west of Popayán in our insatiable search for the rare and interesting wild life that haunted that remote wilderness.
We left Cali at noon, May 13, well provided with riding and pack animals, and half-breed arrieros, and started on the well-beaten trail that leads toward the south.
At first there was no appreciable change in the valley, but by degrees the stretches of absolutely level-appearing land increased in size; instead of extensive cultivated areas there were pastures of large size, covered with a luxuriant growth of grass. Thousands of head of cattle were sprinkled over the velvety turf. We rode an hour through one of these ranches just before reaching the river Jamundi. This estate is the property of one Angel Mario Borreo, who is reported to be one of the most influential men in the Department of Cauca, and is only one of his sixteen similar holdings.
The Jamundi is not over one hundred and fifty feet wide at the point of crossing, and is spanned by a steel and brick bridge; dense jungles of bamboo line both banks. Just beyond lies the little town bearing the same name.
A tent-show had been billed to appear here at some time within the near future, and the arrival of our pack-train was mistaken for that eagerly awaited event. The news spread rapidly and before long the populace had turned out en masse in the hope of getting a glimpse at the wonders our trunks and duffel-bags were supposed to contain. Not until we had taken refuge in the little posada or inn could they be convinced of their error and induced to return to their homes; but another surprise was in store for us.
The many and enervating tasks of the day called for our early retirement, and eight o’clock found us in our cots. Great was our surprise to be awakened an hour later by the sound of music at our very door. One of our men was sent to the door to learn the cause of the serenade and was told that the mayor of the town, with a delegation of the chief officials and the band, had come to pay us a visit. Of course, there was but one thing to do, and half an hour later found us out on the special seats that had been prepared, in full view of the visitors and perhaps half of the villagers who had accompanied them. Then followed speeches, singing, music, and a few native dances, interspersed with short intervals for smoking, drinking (a goodly supply of aguardiente had been brought along), and conversation. The visitors remained until one in the morning; a rather lengthy call, to be sure, but a pleasant one, and quite characteristic of the friendliness of the Colombians.
The next day’s ride of ten hours’ duration brought us to Buenos Aires, a very pretty little town nestling among and almost obscured by gardens of flowers and orchards of fruit.
A heavy rain during the night had filled all the sink-holes in the road with water, making progress slow on the following day. We rounded Mount Saint Ignacio early in the morning, and shortly after had our first view of the volcano Purace; we were to learn more of this mountain in the not distant future. Soon after, the lomas or great barren hills appeared; they form a kind of connecting-link between the Coast and Central Ranges. These gently rounded mounds are bare except for a kind of worthless, wiry grass that in some unaccountable way draws enough sustenance from the red-clay soil to maintain its meagre growth. These hills gradually increase in height, but the ascent is by such slow degrees that one is scarcely conscious of any rise at all. There are few houses, and the small number of inhabitants seem to be as sallow and lifeless as the hills themselves. A party of people had gathered at one of the Philippine-like structures near the roadside; they were chatting excitedly and drinking a good deal of chicha. When we dismounted we found that a child had died and was being prepared for burial. It sat propped up in a small, rudely made chair, covered with a piece of white cloth. No one seemed greatly concerned over the death, least of all the parents; on the contrary, they were proud of the angelito, and of the attention the event attracted from the people of the neighboring country.
In perfect accord with our expectations, there was little bird-life on the cheerless lomas. A few blue tanagers and Veinte-vi flycatchers (Pitangus) lived in the bushes that lined the infrequent rivulets trickling through narrow gullies between the hills. The Veinte-vi was an old acquaintance; its cheery call is one of the first bird-notes to greet the ear of the visitor to tropical South America. Its local name varies with the locality, and is an attempt by the natives to imitate the bird’s cry. Thus it ranges from Kiss-ka-dee and Veinte-vi to Dios te di and Christi fui. This flycatcher is of a rather vivacious disposition, and pairs of them frequently may be seen singing together and beating their wings on the branches.