As we approached La Laguna the air cooled. This sensation delighted us as we found the air in Santa Cruz asphyxiating. As we tend to feel disagreeable sensations more strongly, we felt the change in temperature more as we returned from La Laguna to the port, as if we were approaching the mouth of a furnace.

In the time of the Jesuits the Maypures raudal mission was well known and had as many as 600 inhabitants including several families of whites. Under the government of the fathers of the Observance this has shrunk to some sixty. Those who still live there are mild and moderate, and very clean. Most of the wild Indians of the Orinoco are not excessively fond of strong alcohol like the North American Indian. It is true that Otomacs, Yaruros, Achaguas and Caribs often get drunk on chicha and other fermented drinks made from cassava, maize and sugared palm-tree fruit. But travelers, as usual, have generalized from the habits of a few villages. We often could not persuade the Guahibos who worked with us to drink brandy even when they seemed exhausted. (106)

The cave, known by the Indians as a 'mine of fat', is not in the Caripe valley itself, but some 3 leagues to the west-south-west. On the 18th of September we set out for that sierra, accompanied by the alcaldes and the majority of the monks. A narrow path led us first for an hour and a half south through an attractive plain covered with beautiful grass; then we turned west and ascended a rivulet that issues from the cave mouth. We followed this for three quarters of an hour, sometimes walking in the shallow water, or between the water and the rocky walls on very slippery and muddy ground. Many earthfalls and uprooted tree trunks, over which the mules labored, and creeping plants made this stretch very tiring. We were surprised to find here, at barely 500 toises above sea-level, the cruciferous plant Raphanus pinnatus.

Despite the heat the traveler feels under his feet on the brink of the crater, the cone of ashes remains covered with snow for several months. The cold, angry wind, which had been blowing since dawn, forced us to seek shelter at the foot of the Piton. Our hands and feet were frozen, while our boots were burned by the ground we walked on. In a few minutes we reached the foot of the Sugar Loaf, which we had so laboriously climbed; our speed of descent was in part involuntary as we slipped down on the ashes. We reluctantly abandoned that solitary place where nature had magnificently displayed herself before us. We deluded ourselves that we might again visit the Islands, but this, like many other plans, has never been carried out.

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.

The city, dominated by the fort, lies at the foot of a hill without greenery. Not one bell-tower nor one dome attract the traveler from afar; just a few tamarind trees and coconut and date palms stand out above the flat-roofed houses. The surrounding plains, especially near the sea, appear sad, dusty and arid, while fresh, luxuriant vegetation marks out the winding river that divides the city from its outskirts and the European settlers from the copper-colored Indians. The isolated, bare and white San Antonio mountain, with its fort, reflects a great mass of light and heat: it is made of breccia, whose strata contain fossil marine life. Far away towards the south you can make out a dark curtain of mountains. They are the high calcareous New Andalusian alps, topped with sandstone and other recent geological formations. Majestic forests cover this inland mountain chain linked along a forested valley with the salty, clayey and bare ground around Cumana. In the gulf and on its shores you can see flocks of fishing herons and gannets, awkward, heavy birds, which, like swans, sail along the water with their wings raised. Nearer the inhabited areas, you can count thousands of gallinazo vultures, veritable flying jackals, ceaselessly picking at carcasses. A gulf whose depths contain hot thermal springs divides the secondary from the primary and schistose rocks of the Araya peninsula. The two coasts are bathed by a calm blue sea lightly rippled by a constant breeze. A dry, pure sky, only lightly clouded at sunset, lies above the sea, over a peninsula devoid of trees and above the Cumana plains, while one sees storms building up and bursting into fertile downpours around the inland mountain peaks.