116 



THE OOLOGIST 



with several other travelers, together 

 with the rightful owners, a Colombian, 

 his wife, two mules,a dog, several cats, 

 a goat and any number of chickens. 

 After an uncomfortable night and 

 somewhat flea bitten, we partook of a 

 very fair breakfast of cocoa and eggs 

 and thence proceeded to the railway 

 for a two hours ride to Barranquilla. 



Barranquilla is a city of forty-five 

 thousand people, situated near the 

 mouth of the Magdalena river. It is 

 the terminal of old wood burning 

 stern wheelers which ply to and fro, 

 for some four hundred miles of the 

 river. It is a clean city of low houses, 

 calcimined in shades of blue, pink, 

 yellow and white. The buildings are 

 neat, but there is' always the fearful 

 glare of a merciless tropical sun. The 

 streets are sandy and dusty and the 

 sidewalks of cement or large soft na- 

 tive bricks. Most of the roofs are of 

 slate or Spanish tile, but here and 

 there one sees roofing paper and even 

 shingles. The windows are barred, 

 and the doors are high affairs with 

 hideous scroll-work ventilators at 

 their tops. As I write, I am sitting 

 on the balcony of the highest room in 

 the city. It is three stories up and 

 continually fanned by the trade winds 

 from the sea. As I look from the bal- 

 cony I see layer after layer of glary 

 roofs and painted walls. The streets 

 blend with the houses in their dreari- 

 ness. There is no one braving the sun- 

 light, save an occasional black man 

 or a groaning hack pulled by two 

 weary underfed horses. Even the 

 churches, and there are three insight 

 are monotonous, and I should think 

 they would repel rather than attract 

 the fiock to their soul-lifting and bat 

 smelling interiors. I can see a few 

 trees shabby palms and dust smother- 

 ed ceibas struggling for existence as 

 is every living thing in this baking 

 river country near the coast. There 



are no welcome hills to fill the back- 

 ground of all these depressing scenes, 

 nothing but flat baking fields where 

 only lizards thrive. There are buz- 

 zards of course, but few other birds 

 are seen or heard. In fact there is 

 not even a cloud to beautify the pale 

 sultry sky. It reminds me of the 

 aftermath of summer, when birds have 

 ceased to sing, flowers are blackening 

 and everything is dusty and faded. 

 This is the city by day. 



By night it is a transfigured place. 

 The streets are well filled with gaily 

 dressed inhabitants, automobiles and 

 hacks go busily by. In the public 

 square the cafes are filled with life 

 of all descriptions. Two movie shows 

 find it difficult to seat their patrons 

 and in the square the band is playing 

 characteristic Spanish music to the 

 delight of young and old alike. Over- 

 head the sky is brilliant with tropical 

 stars and indeed it is hard to realize 

 that this cool, wide awake city is the 

 same sleeping Barranquilla of a few 

 hours before. It is an owls life that 

 its people live, hiding away from the 

 light and heat of day, and emerging 

 only after the sun has dropped below 

 the' horizon and the trade winds have 

 cooled the streets and houses. From 

 my balcony in the evening I can hear 

 a faint murmuring caused by the life 

 astir in the city. Claxon horns and 

 the whir of motors remind one of 

 home yet these familiar sounds are 

 mingled with the strains of Spanish 

 music and the perfume of tropical 

 blossoms. 



Our stay at Barranquilla was short 

 as we were in a hurry to get to work 

 and after being fairly pushed through 

 the custom house by very nice officials 

 who respected our scientific calling, 

 we boarded one of the old stern wheel 

 river steamers just before nightfall. 

 An hour after leaving the dock we 

 stuck in the mud and it was neces- 



