Our eyes were fixed on groups of coconut trees that bordered the river whose trunks, which were more than sixty feet high, dominated the landscape. The plain was covered with thickets of cassia, capers and arborescent mimosa, which, similar to Italian pines, spread their branches out like parasols. The pinnated leaves of the palms stood out against the blue sky, in which there was not a trace of mist. The sun was climbing rapidly towards its zenith; a dazzling light spread through the atmosphere on to the whitish hills covered in cylindrical cacti, as well as the becalmed sea and the shores populated with pelicans (Pelicanus fuscus, Linn.), flamingos and herons. The intense luminosity of the day, the vivid colors and forms of the vegetation, the variegated plumage of the birds, all bore the grand seal of tropical nature.

We left Turbaco on a fresh and very dark night, walking through a bamboo forest. Our muleteers had difficulty finding the track, which was narrow and very muddy. Swarms of phosphorescent insects lit up the tree-tops like moving clouds, giving off a soft bluish light. At dawn we found ourselves at Arjona where the bamboo forest ends and arborescent grasses begin.

The Chaimas lead an extremely monotonous life. They go to bed regularly at half past seven in the evening, and get up long before dawn, at about half past four. Every Indian has a fire next to his hammock. Women suffer the cold greatly; I have even seen a woman shiver at church when the temperature was above 18°C. Their huts are very clean. Their hammocks and reed mats, their pots full of cassava or fermented maize, their bow and arrows, all are kept in perfect order. Men and women wash every day, and as they walk around naked do not get as dirty as people who wear clothes. Apart from their village hut they also have in the conuco, next to a spring or at the entrance to a small valley, a hut roofed with palm- or banana-tree leaves. Though life is less comfortable in the conuco they prefer living there as much as possible. I have already alluded to their irresistible drive to flee and return to the jungle. Even young children flee from their parents to spend four or five days in the jungle, feeding off wild fruit, palm hearts and roots. When travelling through the missions it is not rare to find them empty as everyone is either in their garden or in the jungle, al monte. Similar feelings account for civilized people's passion for hunting: the charm of solitude, the innate desire for freedom, and the deep impressions felt whenever man is alone in contact with nature.

Under such favorable circumstances, and crossing regions long unknown to most European nations, including Spain itself, Bonpland and I collected a considerable number of materials, which when published may throw light on the history of nations, and on our knowledge about nature. Our research developed in so many unpredictable directions that we could not include everything in the form of a travel journal, and have therefore placed our observations in a series of separate works.

In the snake-bitten Indian's hut we found balls, some 2 to 3 inches thick, of an earthy, dirty salt called chivi, which Indians prepare meticulously. In Javita they make salt by burning the spadix and fruit of the seje palm. As well as this they also distil the ashes of the famous cupana, a liana. A missionary seldom travels without seeds prepared from the cupana. This preparation requires great care. The Indians break up the seeds and mix them with cassava flour wrapped in banana leaves and leave the mixture to ferment in water until it becomes a saffron-yellow colour. This yellow paste is dried in the sun and taken in the morning as a tea. The drink is bitter and stomachic, though I found it repulsive.

In the overloaded pirogue, which was only 3 feet deep, there was no other room for the dried plants, trunks, sextant, compass and meteorological instruments but under the lattice of branches on which we were obliged to lie down for most of our trip. To take the smallest object from a trunk, or to use an instrument, we had to moor up and get ashore. To these inconveniences can be added the torment of mosquitoes that accumulate under the low roof, and the heat coming from the palm leaves continually exposed to the burning sun. We tried everything to improve our situation, without any results. While one of us hid under a sheet to avoid insects, the other insisted on lighting greenwood under the toldo to chase off the mosquitoes with the smoke. Pain in our eyes and increasing heat in a climate that was already asphyxiating made both these means impractical. With some gaiety of temper, with looking after each other and taking a lively interest in the majestic nature of these great river valleys, the travelers put up with the evils that became habitual. I have entered into such minute details in order to describe how we navigated on the Orinoco, and to show that despite our goodwill, Bonpland and I were not able to multiply our observations during this section of the journey.

The most remote part of the valley is covered with thick jungle. In this shady place lies the opening to the Ataruipe cavern, less a cavern than a deep vault formed by an overhanging rock, and scooped out by water when it reached this height. This is the cemetery of an extinct race. We counted some 600 well-preserved skeletons, lined in rows. Each skeleton is enclosed in a basket made of palm-leaf petioles. These baskets, called mapires by the Indians, are a kind of square sack whose dimensions vary according to the age of the dead. Children who die at birth also have their mapires. The skeletons are so intact that not even a rib or a phalanx is missing.