Since my return the difficulties I experienced trying to write a number of treatises and make certain phenomena known have overcome my reluctance to write the narrative of my journey. In doing this I have been guided by a number of respectable people. I realized that even scientific men, after presenting their researches, feel that they have not satisfied their public if they do not also write up their journal.

The climate of these mountains is so mild that at the Cocollar farm cotton trees, coffee trees and even sugar cane grow with ease. The Turimiquiri meadows lose their richness the higher they are. Wherever scattered rocks cast shade, lichen and various European mosses grow. Melastoma guacito (Melastoma xanthostachyum) and a shrub (Palicourea rigida, chaparro bova) whose large, leathery leaves rustle like parchment in the breeze rise here and there on the savannah. But the main attraction in the grass is a liliaceous plant with a golden-yellow flower, the Marica martinicensis.

In the Turbaco forest, full of palm trees, there is a clearing about 800 square feet in size without any vegetation, bordered by tufts of Bromelia kavatas, whose leaf is like a pineapple's. The surface of the ground was composed of layers of cracked grey-black clay. What they call volcancitos are fifteen to twenty small truncated cones rising in the middle of the clearing. They are some 3 to 4 toises high. The high edges are filled with water and they periodically release large air bubbles. I counted five explosions in two minutes. The force of the rising air makes you think of a powerful pressure deep in the earth. Indian children who came with us helped us block some of the smaller craters with clay, but : gas always pushed the earth away. According to the Indians the number and shape of the cones near the path had not changed for over twenty years, and they remain full of water even in droughts. The heat of the water was the same as that of the air. With long sticks we could reach some 6 to 7 feet down inside a cone. Leaving the water in a glass it became quite clear, and tasted slightly of alum.

Wherever mangroves grow on the seashore thousands of molluscs and insects thrive. These animals love shade and half light, and in the scaffolding of the thick intertwined roots find shelter from the crashing waves, riding above the water. Shellfish cling to the network of roots; crabs dig into the hollow trunks, and seaweeds, drifting ashore, hang from branches and bend them down. Thus, as the mud accumulates between the roots, so dry land moves further and further out from the jungly shores.

The word 'Guaiqueri', like the words 'Peru' and 'Peruvian', owes its origin to a simple mistake. When Christopher Columbus's companions reached Margarita Island, on whose northern tip these Indians still live, they found several Indians fishing with harpoons, throwing these sharp-pointed sticks tied with string at the fish. Columbus's men asked the Indians in the Haitian language what their name was, but the Indians thought the foreigners referred to their harpoons made of the hard and heavy wood of the macana palm and answered: 'Guaike, guaike', meaning 'pointed stick'. These Guaiqueri are an intelligent and civilized tribe of fishermen, notably different from the wild Guarano from the Orinoco who build their houses up in the mauritia palm trees.

Our mules waited for us on the left bank of the Orinoco. The plant collections and geological specimens brought from Esmeralda and the Río Negro had greatly increased our baggage. It would have been dangerous to leave our herbals behind, but this added weight meant we now faced a tediously slow journey across the llanos. The heat was excessive due to the bare ground's reverberations. The thermometer by day recorded between 30°C and 34°C, and at night 27°C to 28°C. Like everywhere in the Tropics it was less the actual degree of heat than its duration that affected our bodies. We spent thirteen days crossing the steppes, resting a little in the Carib missions and in the village of Payo.

We reached Maracay late. The people who had been recommended to us were away, but no sooner had the inhabitants realized our worries than they came from everywhere to offer us lodging for our instruments and mules. It has been said a thousand times, but the traveler always feels the need to repeat that the Spanish colonies are the authentic land of hospitality, even in places where industry and commerce have created wealth and a little culture. A Canarian family warmly invited us to stay, and cooked an excellent dinner. The master of the house was away on a business trip and his young wife had just given birth. She was wild with joy when she heard that we were due to pass through Angostura where her husband was. Through us he would learn about the birth of his first child. As we were about to leave we were shown the baby; we had seen her the night before, asleep, but the mother wanted us to see her awake. We promised to describe her features one by one to the father, but when she saw our instruments and books the good woman worried: 'On such a long journey, and with so many other things to think about, you could easily forget the color of my baby's eyes!