Down the Orinoco in a Canoe

by Santiago Pérez Triana

To our inexperienced eye the llanos bore no landmark which might serve as a guide to our movements. After a copse of moriche palms came another one, and then another one, and no sooner was one caño crossed than another took its place, so that without guides it would have been impossible for us to know whether we were moving in the right direction.

Leal advised us to lose no time, as the journey we had before us was a long one. Now that we were close to the beginning of our canoe journey on the rivers, we at once set to counting the belongings we had brought at such great expense and trouble from the high plateau of Bogotá, which seemed ever so far away when with the mind’s eye we beheld it perched like an eagle’s nest high up on the summit of those mountains that it had taken us about eighteen days to descend. As every inch of ground that we had left behind had been, so to say, felt by us, the distance appeared enormous, and the old city and the plateau seemed more like the remembrance of a dream than of a reality. We drew up our inventory, and found that we were the happy possessors of about eight cases, 50 pounds in weight each, containing preserved meats, vegetables, and food of all kinds in boxes, jars, tins, and so forth. Next came about six large jugs or demijohns of native fire-water, or aguardiente, a most useful and indispensable beverage in those latitudes, and about half a ton of salt, a most precious article in that region. We were going across the plains where there are neither salt-water fountains nor salt-bearing rock deposits, and we knew that as an article of barter, salt went far beyond anything else that we might possess, hence the large quantity which we carried. Our arsenal consisted of four fowling-pieces, six Remington and two Spencer rifles, plenty of ammunition, cartridges, gunpowder, one dozen cutlasses, or machetes, and four revolvers. We also had a box with books, our trunks with clothing, rugs, mosquito-nets, waterproof sheets, a medicine-chest, and two guitars of the native Colombian type; but what rendered us most important and steady service during the whole of that journey was a certain wicker basket, 1 yard long, ¾ of a yard wide, and 10 inches in height, which contained a complete assortment of cooking utensils and table-ware for six persons—plates, corkscrews, can-openers, frying-pans, and all that one could wish to prepare as sumptuous a meal as mortal man could desire in those vast solitudes. The saucepans, six in number, fitted one inside of the other, nest-wise; they were copper-bottomed, and proved of inestimable value. The tumblers and cups were also nested—pewter ware with porcelain inside. Everything was complete, compact, and so solid that, after the long journey with its vicissitudes, the wicker basket and its contents, though looking somewhat the worse for wear, were perfectly serviceable.

Leal, a man of simple habits, who had never been in a town of more than 4,000 or 5,000 inhabitants, on looking at that display of superfluous articles, argued that we were altogether too rich, and that our movements would be greatly facilitated were we to dispense with, say, two-thirds of what lay before him on the ground. We pleaded that since the worst had been accomplished, namely, the transportation across land, roads, and mountain trails, we might as well keep what we had, and only abandon it when forced to do so. Leal nodded his head, as one who sees that it is useless to argue, and nothing more was said on the subject.

Everything was prepared on that New Year’s Day to start on the next day for the neighbouring cattle-farm of Santa Rosa del Tua, situated on the river Tua, one of the affluents of the Meta, which itself is one of the most important tributaries of the mighty Orinoco. These arrangements and decisions once arrived at, it was deemed prudent to celebrate our arrival into the place, and the arrival on the scene of life of the New Year, by a banquet worthy of the double occasion.

A heifer was slaughtered. Leal brought upon the scene, in front of the house where we were stopping, the whole side of the animal trimmed and prepared for roasting; he had passed through it, skewer-wise, a long thin pole of some special wood hard and difficult to burn. A huge bonfire was lit on the ground, and Leal fixed the lower end of the skewer quite close to the fire, holding the side of the heifer now right over the flame, now at a certain distance, turning and twisting it with consummate skill. The air was soon scented with that odour of roast meat which so deliciously tickles the nostrils of him who has an empty stomach. Looking at Leal doing the roasting, I realized Brillat-Savarin’s dictum: On devient cuisinier, on naît rotisseur. Leal, if not a born poet, was a born roaster. Soon the meat was ready; our plates, forks, and knives not being sufficient for the crowd, we preferred not to bring them forth. Large leaves, green, fresh, and shiny, cut from the neighbouring banana and plantain trees, were laid on the ground both as a cover and as dishes. Leal unsheathed from his belt a long, thin shining knife as sharp as a razor, and with wonderful dexterity cut the huge joint, separating the ribs, so that everyone could have a bone with a large portion of hot, steaming, newly-broiled meat. Bread was not forthcoming, but there was an abundance of baked and roasted green plantains, crisp and mealy, which did service for the best bread; at least, so we thought. As for meat, never in my life do I remember having enjoyed such a delicious morsel: so the banquet consisted of meat and roasted plantains à discretion. A bottle of rum which belonged to our stock, and which I had forgotten in the inventory given above, went round the guests of that primitive board, warming our hearts into conviviality and good-humour. Finally came the big bowls of coffee, prepared according to the local fashion, which deserves to be described. The coffee is roasted and ground in the usual way, but these operations are only carried out just before the liquor is brewed. In a large saucepan cold water, sweetened to the taste with black sugar, is placed over the fire, and the necessary amount of ground coffee is thrown into it before it gets warm. The heating should not be too rapid; when the first bubbles indicate that the boiling-point is about to be reached, the saucepan is withdrawn from the fire, and a spoonful of cold water dashed upon the surface of the hot liquor almost in ebullition. This precipitates the roasted coffee to the bottom, and gives a most delicious beverage, which, though not as strong as the coffee distilled according to other methods, retains all the aroma and flavour of the grain. The method is a very good one in localities where delicate coffee-machines cannot be easily procured, and it is in truth nothing more or less than the method of preparing Turkish coffee, with less fuss than is required for the Oriental variety.

We had soon grown, in that very first day of our encounter with him, to like Leal and to wonder at his intimate knowledge of the plains, the forests, and the rivers of that vast region. He was not a Colombian; he had been born on the shores of the river Gaurico, one of the affluents of the Orinoco. From boyhood he had thus come into daily contact with the mighty rivers and the deep and mysterious forests that cover their shores. His plan was that we should first follow the river Tua down to the Meta. On arriving at this latter river, we should have to find larger canoes, which would enable us to reach the Orinoco. Once on the Orinoco we would arrive at the settlement called Urbana, where we were sure to obtain larger craft in which to go as far as Caicara. Here we might wait for the steamers that go to Ciudad Bolivar. As to the time required for this journey, Leal said that, barring unforeseen obstacles, fifty days might suffice for us to reach Ciudad Bolivar. The only inhabited places which we would come across were first San Pedro del Arrastradero, then Orocue, and finally San Rafael, the last Colombian settlements where troops were stationed, and on inquiry Leal stated that on the river Meta it was necessary to follow the only channel that existed, so that it would be indispensable for us to touch at the various towns he had named, as there was no lateral caños by which we might avoid them, should we want to do so, as was the case in other parts of the plains, where one might either follow the main stream or some caño or tributary. If we wanted to take another river route, we might, on reaching San Pedro del Arrastradero, walk a short distance of about a mile to the caño called Caracarate, which would take us to the river Muco, an affluent of the Vichada, almost as large as the Meta River, and flowing into the Orinoco. But, said Leal, if we follow the Vichada instead of arriving on the Orinoco below the rapids, we shall strike that river above the rapids, and these alone will entail more trouble and difficulty and require more time than any other part of the river. For the moment no decision was taken. The question was left open to be solved as might be most convenient at an opportune moment.

CHAPTER VII

Early next morning, January 2, we started from the village, and, after a short ride across the plain, reached the river Tua, at the house of a small cattle-ranch called Santa Rosa del Tua.

The owner of the premises welcomed us most hospitably, and, to our joy, placed at our disposal two small canoes. No others were to be found there at the moment. However, they were large enough to carry us and our belongings, and accordingly we made ready for an early start next day.

The houses—or what serve for houses in the llanos—are built on the most primitive architectural principles. Poles, varying in thickness and in length, according to the proportions of the desired structure, are sunk into the ground at convenient distances, following the lines either of a perfect square or of a rectangle. Cross-beams are nailed or tied to the vertical poles at the required height; in the latter case the vertical poles are grooved, so as to give additional support. From the cross-beams on either side other beams are thrown, slanting so as to meet in the centre, thus forming the basis of the roof, which is again covered with reeds, upon which are placed several layers of palm-leaves, fastened by means of thin ropes to the slanting beams and poles; and thus the roof is completed. This finishes the house for use during the dry season.