May 13th. We left Mandavaca at half past two in the morning. After six hours of travelling we passed the mouth of the Idapa or Siapa on the east. It rises on the Uturan mountain. It has white waters. Its upper course has been strangely misrepresented on La Cruz's and Surville's maps, which all later maps have imitated. We stopped near the Cunuri raudal. The noise of the little cataract got much louder during the night. Our Indians said that meant certain rain. It fell before sunrise. However, the araguato monkeys' continuous wails had warned us that rain was approaching.

At around eleven in the morning we caught sight of a low-lying island with large sand dunes. We did not see any sign of life or farming through the telescope. Here and there rose the cylindrical cacti in the form of candelabra. The ground, devoid of vegetation, seemed to ripple due to the intense refraction of the sun's rays through the air above an intensely heated surface. All over the world deserts and beaches look like rough seas from the effect of mirage.

May 12th. We set off from the Culimacari rock at half past one in the morning. The plague of mosquitoes was intensifying as we left the Río Negro. In the Casiquiare valley there are no zancudos, but insects from the Simulium and the Tipulary families are all the more numerous and poisonous. Before reaching the Esmeralda mission we still had eight more nights to spend out in the open in this unhealthy, humid country. Our pilot was happy to count on the hospitality of the Mandavaca missionary and shelter in the village of Vasiva. We struggled against the current, which flowed at some 8 miles an hour. Where we aimed to rest was only some 3 leagues away, yet we took fourteen hours to make this short journey, despite the effort of our rowers.

The Upper Orinoco from its confluence with the Guaviare - Second crossing of the Atures and Maypures cataracts - The Lower Orinoco between the mouth of the Apure river and Angostura, capital of Spanish Guiana

Our journey from Cuba to the South American coast near the Sinu river took sixteen days. On the 30th of March we doubled Punta Gigantes, and made for the Boca Chica, the present entrance to Cartagena harbor. From there to our anchorage the distance is 7 or 8 miles. We took a pràctico to pilot us but repeatedly touched sandbanks. On landing I learned with great satisfaction that M. Fidalgo's coastal surveying expedition (140) had not yet Set out to sea. This enabled me to fix astronomical positions of several towns on the shore. The passage from Cartagena to Porto Bello, and the isthmus along the Chagres and Cruces rivers, is short and easy. But we were warned that we might stay in Panama a while before finding a boat for Guayaquil, and then it would take ages to sail against the winds and currents. I reluctantly gave up my plan to level the isthmus mountains with my barometer, though I never guessed that as I write today (1827) people would still be ignorant of the height of the ridge dividing the waters of the isthmus. (141) Everybody agreed that a land journey via Bogotà, Popayàn, Quito and Cajamaraca would be better than a sea journey, and would enable us to explore far more. The European preference for the tierras frías, the cold, temperate climate of the Andes, helped us make our decision. The distances were known, but not the time we finally took. We had no idea it would take us eighteen months to cross from Cartagena to Lima. This change in our plan and direction did allow me to trace the map of the Magdalena river, and astronomically determine eighty points inland, collect several thousand new plants and observe volcanoes.

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.

When I was in Spanish Río Negro the conflict between the Courts of Lisbon and Madrid - even in peaceful times - had heightened the mistrust of the commanders of petty neighboring forts. A commander with sixteen to eighteen soldiers tired 'the garrison' with his measures for safety, dictated by 'the important state of affairs'. If were attacked he hoped 'to surround the enemy'. A people who have preserved a national hatred through the ages loves any excuse to vent it. We enjoy all that is passionate and dynamic, as much in our feelings as in the rival hatreds built up on age-old prejudices. On the banks of the Río Negro the Indians in the neighboring Portuguese and Spanish villages hate each other. These poor people speak only their Indian languages and have no idea what happens 'on the other bank of the ocean, beyond the great salt pond', but the gowns of the missionaries are of different colors and this enrages them.