20 



THE AMERICAN MUSEUM JOURNAL 



shows itself in moist ravines. At 

 Muciimpis Below we are not able to 

 wheedle a noonday meal from Mrs. 

 Sanchez who keeps the posada. After 

 a brief rest we climb in a dizzy zigzag 

 to Mucumpis Above where half a dozen 

 Indian huts are clustered in a hanging 

 valley. We now enter a second zone of 

 humidity and soon the forest closes in 

 about us. While the trees are not of 

 great size the growth is very dense, with 

 vines, canes, and ferns competing for 

 the scanty spaces between trunks and 

 branches. One sees the familiar plants 

 of New England gardens in begonias 

 that bank the trail, in fuchsias, gera- 

 niums, and the purplish Wandering 

 Jew. Out of the blue tlic afternoon fog 

 creates itself in wisps and shreds and 

 soon the world is lost to sight. The 

 forest opens, for we are nearing its 

 upper limit and the trail feels its way 

 in the white dusk along the edge of 

 things. Mossy trees are like vanishing 

 ghosts but reality comes in the roar of 

 the stream a thousand feet below. 



At Samuro, a rambling mud-walled 

 structure with smoke-blackened thatch, 

 we found a number of shivering In- 

 dians in striped ponchos. The earthen 

 floor of the common sleeping-room was 

 wet and the chill fog penetrated every- 

 thing. Kindliness and good humor 

 flourish but cleanliness is an unknown 

 virtue in the mountain inns of Vene- 

 zuela. One may easily picture some 

 starving disciple of Hygeia shutting his 

 eyes and praying while he eats, but to a 

 peripatetic anthropologist after a hard 

 day on the trail the earthy smell of the 

 small greenish potatoes is grateful and 

 comforting. Then there is a savory but 

 uncertain stew and perhaps an egg 

 sprinkled with the rusty salt that the 

 government sells. On special occasions 

 a mediaeval boar's head may be brought 

 in on a chars^er. 



The paramo is the barren land above 

 the timber line. In the Venezuelan 

 Andes it begins at about ten thousand 

 feet elevation. The transition from the 

 upper forest zone is fairly abrupt and 

 is marked by the dwindling of the trees 

 and by the increase in size of the plant 

 most characteristic of the paramo — 

 namely, the EspeleUa. This curious 

 perennial, with its leafy crown felted 

 with cotton against the cold, its awk- 

 ward flower stocks set with yellow blos- 

 soms, and its thick trunk made of the 

 dead and blackened leaves of former 

 years, is called the Frailejon del Pa- 

 ramo—the Great Friar of the Paramo. 

 It grows to the height of six or seven 

 feet and in the distance is not unlike a 

 human figure in white cowl and black 

 cloak. Another plant of the paramo 

 has small leaves braided along the close- 

 growing stems. It might be mistaken 

 for juniper were it not for the pink and 

 yellow blossoms. A common bush re- 

 sembles the huckleberry and is often 

 heavily fruited. 



From the divide one gains a splendid 

 view of the Sierra Nevada de Merida 

 across the deep valley of the Chama 

 River. This range boasts five peaks 

 rising into the zone of perpetual snow. 

 The highest one. La Corona, is given by 

 latest measurements an altitude of 

 5003 meters (16,411 feet). The trail 

 drops down through a valley showing 

 signs of ancient glaciation and after 

 two hours' travel we come to a region 

 where wheat is raised. The little ir- 

 regular fields are as stony as those of 

 the New Hampshire hills. At Mu- 

 cuchies, a town of some size with a 

 population largely Indian, our trail 

 joins with the better traveled one run- 

 ning from Valera to Merida. 



The valley of the Chama below Mu- 

 cuchies grows drier and hotter as we 

 o-o down it but before Merida is reached 



