La Guaira is more a bay than a harbor; the sea is always rough, and boats are exposed to dangerous winds, sandbanks and mist. Disembarking is very difficult as large waves prevent mules from being taken ashore. The negroes and freed mulattos who carry the goods on to the boats are exceptionally muscular. They wade into the water up to their waists and, surprisingly, are not scared of the sharks that teem in the harbor. The sharks are dangerous and bloodthirsty at the island opposite the coast of Caracas, although they do not attack anybody swimming in the harbor. To explain physical phenomena simply people have always resorted to marvels, insisting that here a bishop had blessed the sharks in the port.

April 3rd. Since leaving San Fernando we had not met one boat on the beautiful river. Everything suggested the most profound solitude. In the morning the Indians had caught with a hook the fish called caribe or caribito locally as no other fish is more avid for blood. (93) It attacks bathers and swimmers by biting large chunks of flesh out of them. When one is slightly wounded it is difficult to leave the water without getting more wounds. Indians are terrified of the caribe fish and several showed us wounds on their calfs and thighs, deep scars made by these little fish that the Maypure call umati. They live at the bottom of rivers, but as soon as a few drops of blood are spilled in the water they reach the surface in their thousands. When you consider the numbers of these fish, of which the most voracious and cruel are but 4 to 5 inches long, the triangular shape of their sharp, cutting teeth, and the width of their retractile mouths you cannot doubt the fear that the caribe inspires in the river inhabitants. In places on the river when the water was clear and no fish could be seen we threw bits of bloodied meat in, and within minutes a cloud of caribes came to fight for their food. I described and drew this fish on the spot. The caribito has a very agreeable taste. As one does not dare bathe when it is around you can regard it as the greatest scourge of this climate where mosquito bites and skin irritation make a bath so necessary.

The Indians we found at San Francisco Solano belong to two different tribes: the Pacimonales and the Cheruvichanenas. The latter came from a prestigious tribe living on the Tomo river, near the Manivas of the Upper Guiana, so I tried to find out from them about the upper course of the Río Negro, and where I could find its sources; but my interpreter could not make them understand the true sense of my question. They just repeated over and over again that the sources of the Río Negro and the Inirida were as close together as two fingers on a hand'. In one of the Pacimonales's huts we bought two great, beautiful birds: a toucan (piapoco), similar to the Ramphastos erythrorynchos, and an ana, a kind of macaw, with purple feathers like the Psittacus macao. In our canoe we already had seven parrots, two cock-of-the-rocks (pipra), a motmot, two guans or pavas del monte, two manaviris (cercoleptes or Viverra caudivolvula), and eight monkeys, of which three were new species. Father Zea was not too happy about the rate our zoological collection increased day by day, although he kept that to himself. The toucan resembles the raven in its habits and intelligence; it is a brave creature and easy to tame. Its long, strong beak serves as its defense. It becomes master of the house; steals whatever it can, frequently takes a bath, and likes fishing on the river bank. The one we bought was very young, yet throughout our journey it took malicious delight in molesting the sad, irritable monkeys. The structure of the toucan's beak does not oblige it to swallow food by throwing it into the air as some naturalists claim. It is true that it does have problems lifting food from the ground, but once food is seized in its long beak it throws back its head so that it swallows perpendicularly. When this bird wants to drink it makes an odd gesture; monks say it makes the sign of the cross over the water. Because of this creoles have baptized the toucan with the strange name of Diostedé (May God give it to you).

The decision we took on the night of the 14th of July had a happy influence on the direction of our travels. Instead of weeks, we spent year in this part of the world. Had not the fever broken out on board the Pizarro we would never have explored the Orinoco, the Casiquiare and the frontiers with the Portuguese possessions on the Rio Negro. We perhaps also owed to this circumstance the good health we enjoyed for such a long period in the equinoctial regions.

The underground noise so frequently heard during earthquakes is not usually related to the strength of the shocks. At Cumana the noise constantly preceded the shocks, while at Quito, and recently at Caracas and in the West Indies, a noise like the discharge of a battery of guns was heard a long time after the shocks had ended. A third kind of phenomenon, and the most remarkable of all of them, is the rolling of those underground thunders that last several months without being accompanied by the slightest tremors.

After three days' journey we finally glimpsed the Cumanà mountains between the llanos or, as they say here, 'the great sea of green' ('los llanos son como un mar de yerbas'), and the Caribbean coast. Although some 800 toises high, the Brigantín is visible from over 27 leagues away; however, the atmosphere prevented us from seeing that attractive curtain of mountains. At first it appeared as a layer of mist; gradually this mass of mist turned blue and took on its fixed outline. What a sailor sees on approaching new land is what a traveler experiences on the borders of the llano. A llanero, or llano inhabitant, only feels at ease when, so the popular saying goes, 'he can see all around him'. What appears to us as covered in vegetation, a rolling land with slight hills, is for him a terrible region bristling with mountains. After having lived for months in the thick Orinoco jungles where you see stars as if from a well, a gallop across the steppes is quite agreeable. The novelty of all you feel strikes you, and like a llanero you too feel happy 'to see everywhere around you'. But this new pleasure (which we ourselves experienced) does not last long. To contemplate an immense horizon is imposing whether from Andean summits or the Venezuelan plains. Limitless space reflects a similar quality inside us (as poets in all languages have written) it suggests higher matters, and elevates the minds of those who enjoy solitary meditation. However, there is also something sad and monotonous about the dusty and cracked steppes. After eight to ten days' journey you get used to the mirages and the brilliant green of the tufts of mauritia palms, and seek more variety, like seeing tall jungle trees or wild cataracts or cultivated lands.

We walked for hours in the shade of these plant vaults that scarcely let us catch glimpses of the blue sky, which appeared to be more of a deep indigo blue because the green, verging on brown, of tropical plants seemed so intense. A great fern tree (perhaps Aspidium caducum) rose above masses of scattered rock. For the first time we saw those nests in the shape of bottles or small bags that hang from the lower branches. They are the work of that clever builder the oriole, whose song blends with the noisy shrieking of parrots and macaws. These last, so well known for their vivid colors, fly around in pairs, while the parrots proper fly in flocks of hundreds. A man must live in these regions, particularly the hot Andean valleys, to understand how these birds can sometimes drown the noise of waterfalls with their voices.