During our voyage from San Fernando to San Carlos on the Rio Negro, and from there to the town of Angostura, I made the effort to note down in writing, every day, whether in the canoe or at night camps, anything that happened which was worthy of note. The heavy rain and incredible amount of mosquitoes crowding the air on the Orinoco and Casiquiare obviously left gaps in my chronicle, but I always wrote it up a few days later. The following pages are taken from this journal. What is noted down while actually viewing the described objects keeps a semblance of truth (dare I say 'individuality'), which gives charm even to insignificant things.

May 11th. We went on shore. A few steps from the beach Bonpland discovered an almendròn, a majestic Bertholletia excelsa. The Indians assured us that this tree on the Casiquiare banks was unknown at San Francisco Solano, Vasiva and Esmeralda. They did not think that this 60-foot-high tree could have been accidentally planted by some traveler. Experiments made at San Carlos have shown how rare it is to make a bertholletia germinate because of its ligneous pericarp, and the oil in the nut, which turns the seed rancid. Perhaps this was part of a forest of inland bertholletia. (116)

April 9th. We reached the Pararuma beach early in the morning where we found a camp of Indians, like those we had seen before. They had come to dig up the sand and harvest turtle eggs for their oil but unluckily they had arrived several days too late. The young turtles had broken out of their eggs before the Indians had set up camp. Crocodiles and garzas, a kind of white heron, had benefited from this mistake because they devour quantities of these young. They hunt at night as the young turtles do not break the surface of the sand until it is dark.

Twelve years have elapsed since I left Europe to explore the interior of the New Continent. From my earliest days I was excited by studying nature, and was sensitive to the wild beauty of a landscape bristling with mountains and covered in forests. I found that travelling out there compensated for a hard and often agitated life. But pleasure was not the only fruit of my decision to contribute to the progress of the physical sciences. For a long time I had prepared myself for the observations that were the main object of my journey to the torrid zone. I was equipped with instruments that were easy and convenient to use, made by the ablest artists, and I enjoyed the protection of a government that, far from blocking my way, constantly honored me with its confidence. I was supported by a brave and learned friend whose keenness and equanimity never let me down, despite the exhaustion and dangers we faced.

The location of the town of Santa Cruz is similar to La °, the busiest port in the province of Caracas. The heat is excessive in both places, but Santa Cruz is sadder. On a deserted sandy beach, houses of a dazzling white with flat roofs and windows without panes lie close to a rocky cliff stripped of vegetation. A fine stone quay and public walk planted with poplars are the only attraction in that monotonous picture. From Santa Cruz the peak seems far less picturesque than it does from the port of Orotava. There a smiling and richly cultivated plain contrasts with the wild appearance of the volcano. From the groves of palm and banana trees on the shore to the region of strawberry trees, laurels and pine the volcanic rock is covered with luxuriant vegetation. It is easy to see why the inhabitants of the beautiful climates of Greece and Italy thought they had discovered one of the Fortunate Isles on the western part of Tenerife. The eastern Santa Cruz side is everywhere marked with sterility.