Down the Orinoco in a Canoe

by Santiago Pérez Triana

To continue our journey on the llanos, the assistance of the guides was even more necessary than in the thick of the forest. To attempt travelling on the llanos without expert guides would be like seeking to cross the sea without a compass.

Once in the llanos, we came within a few hours to the hamlet of San Pedro, a cattle-trading station consisting of a few thatch-roofed houses, almost deserted except during the various weeks of the year specially fixed for traders and breeders to meet. Here we were at last at the end of the first stage of our journey. It was New Year’s Day. Behind us lay the maze of forest, the meandering trails and paths, the sheer mountains, the cold fertile plateau, the native city, and the dead year. Before us we had the unlimited plain, the wandering rivers, and there, beyond all, like a promise, tossing, heaving, roaring, the sea, vast, immeasurable, the open roadway to the shores of other lands, some of them free, some of them perhaps hospitable, all girdled by the ever-beating waves which now die moaning on the sands, now dash their fury into foam on the rocks of the shore.

CHAPTER VI

Before parting from our friends the mules, it may not be amiss to speak of the equipment for man and beast which obtains in Colombian Andine regions. The saddle used—sometimes native, sometimes European—offers nothing striking in its composition, only that it is provided with a crupper which must be very strong—strong as a braced strap—since in the steep ascents or descents the girth alone would be insufficient. The men wear leggings or zamorros, which, in fact, are rather seatless trousers than leggings, 2 feet wide, held together by a strap across the loins, the outside consisting of tanned hide with the hair on it, and the inside of soft leather. They have the advantage of being very easily put on and slipped off when the rider alights. The stirrups are a large shoe wherein the whole foot is encased, made of copper or brass. At first those unfamiliar with the roads find them awkward, bulky, and heavy, but one soon learns that they are an indispensable protection, a sort of armour or shield against the stones, trees, and sundry other obstacles which the rider’s foot is bound to strike. The poncho, which is a rectangular piece of woven cotton cloth about 5 to 6 feet long by 3 to 3½ feet broad, with a slit in the centre, is worn by all riders, and a similar piece of india-rubber cloth, only somewhat larger, is carried strapped to the back of the saddle to be used when rain comes on. The real native accoutrement, in which the saddle differs, having a pommel and being high-seated in the back, is not complete without the lasso, made of twisted raw hide, kept soft and pliable by the frequent use of tallow, which is rubbed into it. The expert herdsman can throw the lasso a long distance, either across the neck of the horses or right over the horns of the cattle; their aim is unerring. They fasten the lasso to the pommel of the saddle, and turn their horses backwards so that they may better withstand the pull of the lassoed animal. Spurs in Colombia are frequently worn, especially when you ride somebody else’s hired mule or horse. The spurs are more formidable in appearance than harmful in reality; the rollocks, instead of being small with little pinlike pricks as in Europe, are huge in size, about 3 inches in diameter, and each prick about 1½ inches; they make a great rattle on the slightest provocation, but are less painful to the animal than the little European spurs. Apropos of this, I remember the case of an individual who, finding the Colombian spurs too heavy, only wore one, arguing that if he managed to make one side of his mule get along, the other side would be sure to follow, and hence only one spur was needed.

On arriving at the wayside venta, or inn—and Heaven only knows how elastic a man’s conscience must be to bestow the name of inn upon many of these ventas—the first care of an experienced traveller is to see to the welfare of his mules and horses. If available, Indian corn, brown sugar of the species called panela, which is uncrystallized solidified molasses, and the best grass that can be got in the neighbourhood, are given to the animals. If there happens to be an enclosure, the mules and horses are let loose in it, so that they may rest more comfortably; but these enclosures are very frequently a delusion and a snare, as inexperienced travellers find when, on rising early in the morning the next day, they are told that the animals have jumped over the fence or broken through, or in some other way disappeared, whereupon the muleteers, with the boys and men available in the locality pressed into the service for the occasion, scour the mountains and the neighbouring forests in search of the missing animals, the search lasting at times four and five hours, during which the traveller frets, foams, and possibly, if he be quite natural and unspoiled by convention, swears.

But notwithstanding these drawbacks, there is a special charm about this mode of travelling. In the morning about four the traveller arises from his not too soft couch. The first breakfast is at once prepared, and whilst it is being cooked the mañanas, or morning greeting, is indulged in, consisting of a little whisky, brandy, aguardiente, rum, or whatever spirits happen to be available. The hour, even in the hot lands, is cool. The stars still shine brightly in the heavens, and, were it not for the testimony of one’s watch, one would believe one’s self still in the middle of the night. The mules are brought forward, given their morning rations, the luggage is strapped on the ‘cargo’ mules, as they are called, and the others are saddled, and if all goes well, towards five or half-past, the journey begins.

There is a characteristic odour in the temperate and low lands of the tropics at that special hour of morning, and the dawn is announced by a hum in the ear, which, whilst it is still dark, is not of birds, but of the thousand insects that inhabit the forest. Finally, when the sun bursts forth in all his glory, a hymn seems to start in all directions, and the mountains vibrate with echoes of universal animation from the grass and the bushes, the running streams, and the nests in the branches of the trees laden with life. In the cool air of the morning the mind is quite alert, and the climbing and descending, the fording of rivers, the crossing of ravines and precipices, the slow ascent of the sun in the horizon, the fresh stirring of the breeze in the leaves, the reverberation of the light on the drops of fresh dew still hanging from the boughs and dotting the many-coloured flowers—all these things induce such a feeling of communion with Nature that one feels one’s self an integral part of the large, immense, palpitating life that throbs in every direction, and the conception of immortality seems to crystallize, so to speak, in the mind of the traveller; but, of course, familiarity breeds contempt, and things beautiful, though they are a joy for ever, might tire Keats himself through repetition, so that at times travelling in this wise often seems slow, and one longs for some other means of locomotion. Yet I cannot help thinking with regret of the days when one will ask for a ticket—railway, ‘tube,’ balloon, or whatever it may be—from any place on earth to any other place. When that day arrives, men will be transported more rapidly from one place to another, but the real traveller will have disappeared, as the knight-errant disappeared, as the gentleman is being driven out from the world in these days when all things are bought and sold, and kindness and generosity are becoming empty words or obsolete relics of a past that very few understand, and fewer still care to imitate.

On the very outskirts of the forest, within half an hour’s ride from the long file of trees, we came upon a group of thatch-roofed structures which form the so-called town or hamlet of San Pedro del Tua, a meeting-place, as I have said before, for herdsmen and dealers, deserted at the present season; the only persons who had remained were those whose poverty—heavier than any anchor—had kept them on the spot away from the Christmas and New Year’s festivities that were being celebrated in all the towns and villages of the neighbouring region. Our first care was to find a roof under which to pass the night. We inquired for the man in power, namely, the correjidor, a sort of justice of the peace, mayor, sheriff, all in one, an official to be found in hamlets or villages like that which we had just reached. It was not hard to find him, since there were only fifteen persons in the place. We had a letter of introduction to him, which made things easier. He immediately took us to the best house in the place, which happened to belong to him. He asked us what good winds had wafted us thither, and whither we went. As we did not care, until having felt our ground a little more, to state frankly that we wanted to cross into the neighbouring republic of Venezuela, one of us—the most audacious if not the best liar of the lot—calmly stated that we had come to the llanos for the purpose of selecting and purchasing some land, as we intended to go into the cattle-breeding business, and possibly into some agricultural pursuit or other. The correjidor said nothing, but an ironical smile seemed to flit across his lips. When we had become more familiar with things and customs in the plains, we understood why he had not replied, and the cause of his almost imperceptible smile. To purchase land in the llanos would be tantamount to buying salt water in the midst of the ocean! People ‘squat’ wherever they like in those endless plains that belong to him who exploits them. The cattle, horses, sheep, are the elements of value to which ownership is attached, but the grazing lands belong to one and all, and as matters stand now, given the scarcity of population and its slow increase, such will be the condition of affairs for many a long year to come.

Once inside the house that the correjidor had placed at our disposal, and feeling more at ease with him, we told him of our intention to go to Venezuela, and asked for his assistance. His name was Leal, which means loyal; its sound had in it the clink of a good omen, and later events proved that he deserved it. He told us that our undertaking was by no means an easy one, nor one that could be accomplished without the assistance of expert and intelligent guides. He added that he knew the various ways to penetrate from Colombia into Venezuela, and that if we would accept his services he would accompany us. I need not state that the offer was accepted with alacrity.

In the short journey from the skirt of the forest to the hamlet of San Pedro del Tua across the llano itself, we had time to remark that its aspect, once in contact with it, was quite different from the beautiful velvety green waving in the sunlight, soft and thick, that we had seen from a distance. The ground was covered with a coarse grass varying in height and colour, we were told, according to the season of the year. A great many small pathways seemed to cross it in all directions, formed by the cropping of the grass and the animals that moved to and fro on the plains. We crossed various caños, which are natural canals, uniting the larger rivers. As we were at the beginning of the dry season, these canals were low, and we forded them without any difficulty, but in winter—that is to say, in the rainy season—they attain the dimension of large rivers, and travelling in the llanos on horseback then becomes most difficult. We came frequently upon copses of the moriche palms already described. In the centre of these copses one always finds a cool natural basin of water, which is preferred by the natives as being the healthiest and the sweetest of the locality—agua de morichal. There must be something in it, for the cattle also prefer this water to that of the rivers and caños.