April 17th. After walking for three hours we reached our boat at about eleven in the morning. Father Zea packed provisions of clumps of bananas, cassava and chicken with our instruments. We found the river free of shoals, and after a few hours had passed the Garcita raudal whose rapids are easily crossed during high water. We were struck by a succession of great holes, more than 180 feet above the present water-level, that appeared to have been caused by water erosion. The night was clear and beautiful but the plague of mosquitoes near the ground was such that I was unable to record the level of the artificial horizon and lost the opportunity of observing the stars.

We waited nearly the whole day in the miserable village of Mahates for the animals carrying our belongings to the landing-stage on the Magdalena river. It was suffocatingly hot; at this time of year there is not a breath of wind. Feeling depressed we lay on the ground in the main square. My barometer had broken and it was the last one I had. I had anticipated measuring the slope of the river and fixing the speed of its current and the position of different stages through astronomical observations. Only travelers know how painful it is to suffer such accidents, which continued to dog me in the Andes and in Mexico; each time this happened I felt the same. Of all the instruments a traveler should carry the barometer is the one, despite all its imperfections, that caused me the most worry and whose loss I felt the most. Only chronometers, which sometimes suddenly and unpredictably change their rates, give rise to the same sense of loss. Indeed, after travelling thousands of leagues over land with astronomical and physical instruments, you are tempted to cry out: 'Lucky are those who travel without instruments that break, without dried plants that get wet, without animal collections that rot; lucky are those who travel the world to see it with their own eyes, trying to understand it, and recollecting the sweet emotions that nature inspires!

One of the four canoes that the Indians had used for their expedition was filled with a kind of reed (carice) used to make blowpipes. The reeds measured 15 to 17 feet without a sign of a knot for leaves and branches. They are quite straight, smooth and cylindrical known as 'reeds of Esmeralda' they are very sought after beyond the Orinoco. A hunter keeps the same blowpipe all his life; he boasts of its lightness, precision and shine as we might our firearms. What monocotyledonous plant do these magnificent reeds come from? I was unable to answer this question, as I was unable to say what plant was used in making the marima shirts. On the slopes of the Duida mountain we saw trunks of this tree reaching to feet high. The Indians cut off cylindrical pieces 2 feet in diameter and peel off the red fibrous bark, careful not to make longitudinal incisions. This bark becomes a kind of garment, like a sack, of a coarse material without seams. You put your head through a hole at the top and your arms through two holes cut in the sides. Indians wear these marima shirts when it rains; they look like cotton ponchos. In these climates the abundance and beneficence of nature are blamed for the Indians' laziness. Missionaries do not miss the opportunity of saying: 'In the Orinoco jungles clothes are found readymade on trees. In the fiesta women were excluded from dancing and other festivities; their sad role was reduced to serving men roast monkey, fermented drinks and palm-tree hearts, which tasted rather like our cauliflowers. Another more nutritious substance comes from the animal kingdom: fish flour (mandioca de pescado). Throughout the Upper Orinoco Indians roast fish, dry them in the sun and crush them into powder, along with the bones. When eaten it is mixed with water into a paste.

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.

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.

The look of the sky, the movement of electricity, and the downpour of the 28th March announced the start of the rainy season: we were still advised to go to San Fernando de Apure by San Francisco de Capanaparo, along the Sinaruco river and the San Antonio hato to the Otomac village recently founded on the banks of the Meta river, and to embark on the Orinoco a little above Carichana. This land road crosses an unhealthy, fever-ridden country. An old farmer, Don Francisco Sanchez, offered to lead us. His clothes revealed how simply people live in these far-off countries. He had made a fortune of 100, piastres yet he rode on horseback barefoot with large silver spurs. We knew from several weeks' experience how sad and monotonous the llanos are and so we chose the longer route along the Apure river to the Orinoco. We chose one of the long pirogues that the Spaniards call lanchas. A pilot and four Indians were sufficient to drive it. On the poop a cabin covered with corypha leaves was built in a few hours. It was so spacious that it could have held a table and benches. They used oxhides stretched and nailed to frames of Brazil-wood. I mention these minute details to prove that our life on the Apure river was very different from the time when we were reduced to the narrow Orinoco canoes. We packed the pirogue with provisions for a month. You find plenty of hens, eggs, bananas, cassava and cacao at San Fernando. The good Capuchin monk gave us sherry, oranges and tamarinds to make fresh juices. We could easily tell that a roof made of palm leaves would heat up excessively on the bed of a large river where we would be always exposed to the sun's perpendicular rays. The Indians relied less on our supplies than on their hooks and nets. We also brought some weapons along, whose use was common as far as the cataracts. Further south the extreme humidity prevents missionaries from using guns. The Apure river teems with fish, manatees (91) and turtles whose eggs are more nourishing than tasty. The river banks are full of birds, including the pauxi and guacharaca, that could be called the turkey and pheasant of this region. Their flesh seemed harder and less white than our European gallinaceous family as they use their muscles more. We did not forget to add to our provisions fishing tackle, firearms and a few casks of brandy to use as exchange with the Orinoco Indians.

Despite the small size of our boat, and the boasted skill of our pilot, we often ran aground. The bottom was soft so there was no danger of sinking. At sunset we preferred to lie at anchor. The first night was beautifully serene, with countless shooting stars all falling in the same direction. This area is completely deserted, while in Columbus's time it was inhabited by great numbers of fishermen. These Cuban inhabitants used a small fish to catch the great sea-turtles. They tied this fish to a long cord of the revés (the Spanish name for the echeneis). This 'fisher-fish' fixed itself on the shell of the turtle by means of its suckers. The Indians pulled both sucker fish and turtle ashore. It took three days to pass through this labyrinth of Jardines and Jardinillos. As we moved east the sea got rougher.