GUAJIRA PENINSULA — CRIST 345 



The feeling that comes over the traveler as he leaves Paraguaipoa 

 to enter the desert of the Guajira is in many respects comparable to 

 that experienced by one boarding a ship. As the ship puts out to sea 

 the traveler is effectively cut off from all that goes with his modern 

 world; he will receive no letters, friends cannot drop in on him, 

 and he cannot be reached by telephone. Similarly, as he moves out 

 into the desert beyond Paraguaipoa, he realizes that he is, as it were, 

 isolated and on his own for as long as he stays away from that narrow 

 black strip of asphalt that ties him to Maracaibo and to all that is 

 associated with modern urban life: juke boxes and traffic jams, cock- 

 tail parties, and a kind of breathless living full of forced and synthetic 

 enthusiasms. In the desert one must be self-sufficient, one must live 

 on his own inner spiritual resources and not be dependent on his fel- 

 lows for companionship or excitement. And as night overtakes him, 

 and the sun goes down behind the giant organ cactus, and the stars 

 come out so bright and seemingly close enough to touch, and the songs 

 of the birds are stilled, then the traveler feels that he is indeed alone. 

 (PI. 1, fig. 1.) Only the persistent trade winds continue to hasten 

 on about their business, blowing through the scantly leaved trees and 

 bushes. What a haven then the solitary thatched hut, from which 

 the friendly and hospitable Guajiro host greets the traveler with the 

 words anshi pid — "You have arrived" — the simple statement that 

 serves as an invitation to stop in his humble home ! And indeed the 

 house is usually equipped to take care of friends and strangers, 

 nomads or seminomads like himself, for the enramada, or framework 

 of upright posts covered over with thatch of palm or slats of the 

 organ cactus, is placed just outside most Guajiro dwellings, and it is 

 here that the traveler swings his hammock, whether he be a traveler 

 who rests there a few hours in the afternoon, the late-comer who 

 stays all night, or the relative or friend who may tarry for days 

 or weeks. 



More important than the market, as centers of daily intercourse, 

 are the widely scattered waterholes. In fact, a large part of the life 

 in any desert area is carried on around springs and wells, natural 

 or manmade, be it in the Guajira or in the Sahara or in Arabia 

 Deserta. Since time immemorial the Guajiros have dug wells during 

 the long dry months in dry river beds, or in alluvium or in sand 

 dunes, in order to reach the life-giving water. As the water table 

 goes down, the well is simply dug deeper. These waterholes are 

 known as casimbas. People come to them in a constant stream from 

 many kilometers in all directions. If the casimba is deep, a crude 

 scaffolding is built out over it so that the continuous procession of 

 men and women can walk out over the water and lower their jars, 

 buckets, or cans to fill them. (PI. 1, fig. 2.) At a little distance 



