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July 2000- 7:00 AM came too early on Saturday morning. I was supposed to pick up Jennifer and her friend Mary at 7:45 and then we would meet our guide from AlpiTour, Bob, for our trip to the Amazon jungle. Jennifer had only returned to Caracas the night before, after two weeks of travelling, and Mary arrived late Friday night as well. Mary is a friend of Jennifer's from high school and college; she lives in Washington D.C. We ended up getting together a little later than planned and when we arrived at Bob's house; his wife was still out getting last minute supplies. From Bob's place we drove to Aeropuerto Caracas in Charallave and ate breakfast while Bob prepped the Piper Aztec that he would be piloting into the Amazon. It was after 11:00 AM before we were in the air and heading to our destination. |
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The view from the small plane was spectacular but most of it was wasted on the girls as they tried to recoup some sleep from their hectic night before. The flight was 2 ½ hours long and hardly any signs of civilization were visible after the first half-hour. Bob was pushing the Aztec a bit harder, to 140 knots, than he normally likes to, but we wanted to try and make up for our late start. We passed over the Rio Orinoco and the Serania Guanay Mountains before entering the lower half of the Orinoco basin. All we could see below us at this point was dense, lush vegetation that was occasionally breached by a stream or Indian settlement. Bob circled the plane over Salto Oso (Bear Falls) and the Ye'kuana Indian village before executing a perfect landing outside of the village. This trip differed from my previous journey to this region in that there was a little less emphasis on nature but a much larger emphasis on interacting with the Indian communities. As soon as we stepped out of the plane the bugs started biting and the local school teacher, came peddling up to greet us on his bicycle. A few villagers accompanied him on horseback. After unloading our equipment the teacher informed us that the Chief and his son were in Puerto Ayacucho because the Chief was sick. A further problem was that much of Bob's supplies were in the Chief's house and now we would not have access to them. The teacher told us that the person with the key to the hut was in Cacuri. One of the villagers stayed with our things while the teacher hopped in the plane with Bob, the girls, and I and we set off. After only a ten-minute flight and then we were in the next village. Unlike the Ye'kuana village where we were staying, which only has about 40 people made up of two or three families, Cacuri is quite "metropolitan" with nearly 600 indigenous people living there. It is so big it even appears on some maps! |
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Although we did not find the woman with the key in Cacuri, it did provide us with a basis for comparison with the other Indian villages we would visit. Caruci was large and orderly, with rows of huts, some with screened windows and tin roofs. The village had electricity and even a brightly painted (but very modest) hospital. One constant throughout the villages regardless of the tribe or the technology was the processing of yuca as their basic food product. The process began after the harvest with grating the yuca. In the past this was done with a board fitted by hand with small pieces of flint or metal but in Cacuri they now had a gas-powered shredder. From there the yuca is stuffed into sebucan (long, thin baskets) where the poison is drained. After this step the process is dependent on the form in which the Indians want to eat the yuca. It can be pounded into casabe (flat, round bread) and dried in the sun or can be toasted as manioc (grape-nut-sized kernels). No matter what the form the yuca tasted like sawdust to me. We were able to see a woman in an adobe structure that was toasting the yuca. The hut was filled with smoke and looked very hot inside. It was an arduous job and we all pitied the woman. After the grand yuca tour we were introduced to some of the schoolteacher's family and Mary bought a basket woven by the teacher's mother. Bob explained that the village had a store so we all headed of to see what else was available to buy. Mary bought more baskets and Bob bought paddles to take back to the Ye'kuana village. Although they had a boat with an outboard motor someone the previous week had failed to tie off the boat adequately and it was swept away by the strong current. This meant that we were going to have to use brute strength to get up and down the river. With our arms full of purchases we left Caruci to return to the Ye'kuana village. |
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On the flight back to the Ye'kuana village we circled over the Sanema Indian village that we were hoping to visit during our trip. Bob had only visited this village once before and had never spent a night there. He noted that they had built a new churuata (round, pointy-roofed hut) and their bee-farming operation appeared to be dismantled (more on that later). Once back in the Ye'kuana village, we were immediately greeted by "la plaga" (the plague- nice name right?), a small gnat that draws blood when it bites you. We gathered up what we could carry for the twenty-minute walk from the airstrip to the village and the Indians carried the rest. A woman who was no more than four feet tall came with a katumre (pack-like basket) and lashed down two file boxes full of supplies. She then squatted down while the schoolteacher positioned the basket on her back before shuffling off. Our jaws dropped to the ground. "I couldn't lift one of those boxes!" Mary exclaimed. It would not be the last time the Indians astonished us. The rest of the first day was spent in the Ye'kuana village. It was a small community with ten or so adobe huts, some grazing pigs and chickens, and modern conveniences like a short wave radio, a water pump and tank, and electric lighting. The Ye'kuana are proud of these items and view them as signs of progress. Although we did not have access to Bob's supplies we still have everything we needed to be comfortable. We hung our hammocks and mosquito nets in the "visitor's churuata" before joining the teacher and his wife for a dinner of chicken and rice. In addition to the main dish we were served casabe and a very hot paste. In one way the hot sauce represented the contrast between the Indians and the rest of the country, as Venezuelan food is typically bland. Following dinner the girls and I just talked and played cards before being lulled to sleep by the sounds of the bats roosting high in the top of the churuata. |
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We began the second day with a swim. The water of the Ventuari River was very high and the current was strong. We had to wade through thigh-deep water before even reaching the "shore" of the river. The Ye'kuana told us that the water had been even higher the week before, up to the floors of the lower huts. Following our refreshing swim we ate a breakfast of scrambled eggs before heading down river in a bongo (dugout canoe) with the schoolteacher, his brother, and another villager. The teacher's brother had come down from Caruci and spared us the effort of paddling to our destination. While heading down the river the Indian in the front of the boat spotted a deer on the bank and the bongo was quickly directed towards the shore. The Indian leapt out of the boat with his rifle and was into the savanna before we even knew what was going on. The hunt was short-lived and unsuccessful, and soon we were back on the river. Before venturing to Guachamo we went up a tributary of the Ventuari to visit a conuco (yuca garden). For a "garden" the conuco was not very pretty. The Indians practice slash-and-burn clearing in this region because the dense vegetation and lack of machinery leaves them no other option. The trees and ash are left on the ground to limit erosion and then the yuca is planted in random locations. Pineapple, corn, and papaya are also grown in the gardens, although they require more time and effort than the yuca. |
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From the yuca garden we continued on to a small village downstream from where we were staying. An old Ye'kuana was forced to move from the Ye'kuana village when he decided that he wanted a new wife and his old wife got upset. This village was quite busy on the day we were visiting. We were fortunate enough to witness a new hut being built and a lower technology equivalent of the yuca processing we had viewed the previous day in Cacuri. All of the Indian's family and friends had gathered to help build him a new home. Not long after we arrived a boatload of Indians showed up with palm leaves to be used for the roof of the structure. The Ye'kuana worked to the beat of a drum and the sound of a horn played by two young boys. While viewing the yuca processing the founder of the village commented that the removal of the yuca from the sebucan represents birth and the top half (head) always must enter the hut before the lower half (feet). Culture and tradition were present in even the most common of tasks. We ate lunch in a hut and interacted with the Indians while Bob scouted out a possible airstrip. The girls had their faces painted in a traditional manner by one of the local woman, and we bought some goods that the Indians were selling. We purchased gourds and wapas (flat baskets used for drying) and Mary added more baskets to her growing collection. The Indians tried to sell us some turtles but since we had already eaten lunch we declined the offer. An interesting note about all of our purchases was the distinction between ornamental and functional goods. Baskets and necklaces commanded a price much higher than paddles and gourds. My conclusion is that this is partly related to the time and skill necessary to make the item and partly due to the intended buyer. |
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After boosting the local economy significantly, we returned to the Ye'kuana village where we were staying and stowed our purchases in the plane before going on a hike. We went up "El Mirador" for a view of the valley before a short hike through the rain forest. Along the way a villager manned the machete and Bob pointed out interesting flowers and trees. At one point he stuck his finger into a termite nest, retrieved a few of the bugs, and stuck them in his mouth. We were all a little taken aback but Bob assured us that the termites did not bite and they taste like mint. I wasn't sure when I was going to have this opportunity again so I chomped down on a few termites and sure enough… minty! It started raining on us during the hike but the canopy above protected us from much of the weather. We hiked to the river where the schoolteacher and his brother met us. Our group crossed the Ventuari River to a Sanema tribe's outpost before heading back to the Ye'kuana village. We were hoping to meet with the Chief from the Sanema village and ask for permission to stay with them. Instead we encountered an Indian who claimed to be the president of the whole tribe and apparently the person we needed to talk to. He granted our request and stayed with us in the Ye'kuana village for the night so he could return to the Sanema village with us the following day. Following an evening swim in the Ventuari we ate a dinner of eggplant lasagna with the teacher and his wife again before finishing the evening with a few hands of cards. |
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Monday morning we took another swim in the retreating river and ate a breakfast of pancakes with the Ye'kuana. We then bought more baskets and necklaces before setting off for the Sanema village. We took a bongo to the starting point of our hike, the Sanema outpost. The Chief of the village, whom Bob had met on a previous trip to the region, greeted us there. We were receiving conflicting stories about who was really in control of the village but despite the strange politics of the situation we seemed to be welcomed by everyone involved. Hence we put on our packs, entered the rainforest and set out for the Sanema village. The first half of the hike was primarily rainforest and the second half was savanna. In the rainforest we observed yuca gardens and streams and a wonderful assortment of flowers and plants. The savanna was easier to navigate but hot sun beat down on us unmercifully. Bob explained that a road used to exist through the area connecting the Ye'kuana village and Cacti but it had not been maintained in many years. Another industrialization introduced in the 70's included honey production for the Sanema. They had always had modest beehives to provide the tribe with honey and the government thought that the Indians could implement this on a larger scale to generate revenue. The Sanema were not interested though and of the 250 shelves they were given only four are now being used. The area around village is still dotted with rusting structures and crumbling hives. After three hours of hiking, we crested a hill and the Sanema village came into view. It was surrounded by lush green vegetation with a tepui (flat-topped mountain) looming in the background. The view was almost overwhelming; it was one of the most remarkable panoramas I have ever seen. |
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We arrived to find naked children with bloated, malnourished stomachs peeking around doorways and chickens running about. While the Ye'kuana village was advanced, with its electric generator and diesel water pump, the Sanema village was retreating into the past and clinging onto its traditions. The Chief informed us that before us the only white people ever to stay in the village were missionaries. Once arriving we met another Indian claiming to be the president of the tribe. We never did discover the true leadership structure of the Sanema but it was evidently poorly defined within the tribe. After dropping our heavy packs in the churuata where we would be staying, we went to a nearby stream to cool off and collect water for dinner. No sooner had we arrived at the stream than the sky opened up and rain started pouring down. This was not a big problem since we were already in our bathing suits but it was fortunate that we had arrived when we did. |
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Once returning to the churuata we started a fire with whatever dry wood we could find and put up our hammocks. We made sure to cinch our mosquito nets tight since a few of the inhabitants of the village had malaria. As we prepared dinner villagers began steadily filling the large hut. They alternated staring at our white faces and staring at our food, the whole time spitting on the floor. Almost all of the elder Sanema at all times had a mouthful of what I presumed to be tobacco. I assumed that the Indians would be joining us for dinner but most of them left before the meal was prepared. Nothing was exactly clear with the Sanema because few of them spoke Spanish. We ended up sharing our spaghetti dinner with only the Chief, his 18-year-old wife, and the president. The Chief was quite a character and worthy of a whole story by himself. Although he was a Sanema Indian he was raised in a Ye'kuana community. We couldn't decide if he was drunk all the time or just crazy. His eyes were never more than slits behind their lids and his speech was slow and slurred and he often repeated things. During dinner we shared some of the hot spices we had brought from the Ye'kuana village but cautioned that they were very hot. The Chief told us that he could handle the picante sauce and proceeded to dump it all over his dinner. His beady eyes were watering and he was asking for water soon after. After dinner, Mary added some salad dressing to the remaining spaghetti (to the gasps of the locals) to give to the villagers. Once we convinced the Chief that we were not interesting to see the local airstrip they had built he agreed to arrange a guide to lead us to a local waterfall on Tuesday and arranged for someone to guard our possessions while we were gone. We were also informed of a festival that would occur the following night to celebrate one of the local girl's passage to womanhood. Bob was excited about this as it is supposed to be an amazing celebration and he had never witnessed the ceremony before. After our now traditional game of Hearts we headed to bed as another storm approached for the evening. |
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Tuesday morning we awoke at 8:00 AM and ate a breakfast of eggs to prepare us for our day's hike. Although the Chief was not there (his head probably hurt too much), the village president came for breakfast and introduced us to our guide for the day. The guide was one of the few Sanema who spoke Spanish and he was intimately familiar with the area. Two young boys who cleared our way through the rainforest with machetes assisted him on our journey. We set off for the waterfall at 10 AM and it took our group three hours to reach our destination, despite the fact it was only a mile away. We crossed several streams, including the one we had bathed in on the previous day. There were strange markings on the rocks and when I asked our guide what they were from he told me that they had always been there. Later when I saw the young Sanema sharpening their machetes on the rocks I knew the origin of the markings. Along the way we also passed numerous fallen trees, and even encountered a rattlesnake. The forest around us was lush and full of diverse plants, flowers, and trees (each of which Mary tried to photograph). I must give Jennifer and Mary a lot of credit and say that I was truly impressed as they pushed their way through the harsh jungle without even blinking an eye. We found that the guide was very capable, pointing out various types of trees and items of interest. Once reaching the falls we ate our lunch and just enjoyed our peaceful surroundings. It was possible that we were the first foreigners ever to witness the falls, and as such I took the opportunity to name them after myself in a display of vain imperialism. After eating I took a quick swim in the stream before we packed up and hiked back to the village. We did not want to miss the celebration that was to take place that afternoon. |
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The hike back was along the same trail, although we moved faster now that we had become familiar with the area and were not stopping to photograph each new object that we encountered. Half way through our hike Bob and one of the boys split off from the group to locate the old water storage tank while the rest of us went back to the Sanema village. Upon returning we were informed that the puberty rites had been postponed to the following morning, however we were not scheduled to return to the Ye'kuana village until the afternoon so we were hopeful we could still take part. The guard for our stuff was sitting in the churuata with a machete in his hand and a rifle against the wall. Bob informed us that although they Sanema had firearms they rarely had ammunition for the guns. At least we were confident he took his role seriously! We spent the rest of the afternoon in a "suburb" of the village. This is where the Chief and the president lived. We took some pictures and I spoke with the Chief while his wife and the president's wife painted Jennifer and Mary's faces with a black, tar-like substance. The face painting was very elaborate and covered the girls' entire faces. We were told that the women enjoyed painting our faces because although they could not communicate with us through speech they felt as though they were giving us part of their culture. While the girls were getting painted up I verified that the Chief was in fact mentally insane at this point as he keep repeating "Bob is at the airstrip" (something we informed him of) and making statements like "I am the son of God" and "I am the Chief! These are MY people!" between sips of yarake (a drink made of fermented yuca). He also had an annoying habit of saying "Me copias?" as if he was talking on a ham radio. After Jennifer and Mary were done I had my face painted and we spoke English for the entertainment of the village while the Chief tried to pronounce my name (Heh'bee). In the evening we had another large group of visitors, although once again they did not stay for dinner. I am uncertain but perhaps in the Sanema culture this is a social time after the work has been completed for the day. We shared our macaroni and cheese with the president, his wife, and their four daughters, the Chief and his wife, and the guard from earlier in the day. It rained again on Tuesday night and a curious fox visited us several times during the night. |
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Wednesday morning the celebration was still not happening so we just ate breakfast and began packing up for our return to The Ye'kuana village. While Bob was discussing future plans with the Chief and the president, the girls and I took the opportunity to play with the Indian children. Although they did not speak any Spanish we played simple games and communicated with smiles and nods. At 10:00 AM we were finally ready to return to the Ye'kuana village and were led once again by the same guide as the previous day, along with the Chief's young son, who was donning a slingshot around his neck. The hike back went smoothly thanks to the cool morning and our now light packs. Back at the Sanema outpost on the bank of the Ventuari River, we were met by a Ye'kuana woman who was fishing with her sons, and also by a horde of terrible bugs. An Indian from the Ye'kuana village sent to meet us arrived soon after and another Sanema man tried to sell us the skin and skull of a jaguar he had slain the month before. The bugs drove us away quickly though, as we manned our bongo and rowed downstream to the Ye'kuana village with the assistance of two of the Sanema. |
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We had time for one last swim before gathering all of our things and hiking out to the plane. I still had a few Bolivars left so I bought a baby turtle while Bob stored away his supplies and Mary and Jennifer talked to the locals. One of the men who piloted our boat back to the Ye'kuana village thought that Mary was seventeen years old (she's 31). The schoolteacher helped carry our things to the plane and his wife smacked the bugs away from his legs as Bob fired up the engines on the Aztec. As the small plane reached 90 knots the wheels lifted off the ground and we were headed back to Caracas. I thought that the adventure was over at this point and I could relax but Mother Nature though differently. Flying through turbulence and zero visibility clouds in a small plane is one experience I do not wish to soon repeat. Once again the girls showed how tough they truly are and did not make a peep during our return flight. After circling above Charallave a few times Bob brought the plane in for a perfect landing. It was a fitting end to a wonderful adventure. (Note: I apologize for the ambiguity of this trip report. Names of villages and villagers have deliberately been left out of this report at their request.) |
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