OVER THE ANDES TO BOGOTA 



359 



Photograph by Frank M. Chapman 



A CALI PATIO 



The patio of a Latin-American house of the Spanish type is the focal point of home life. 

 Almost invariably it is shared by a number of pet birds, in and out of cages. The little white 

 egrets in this picture were semi-domesticated and with them were several equally tame tree 

 ducks. 



Colombia's Pacific coast, is distant some 

 360 miles, or about two days' journey, 

 from Panama. Possibly no port in South 

 America will be proportionately more 

 benefited by the opening of the Panama 

 Canal than Buenaventura. Possessing an 

 excellent harbor and railway connection 

 with the highly productive region east of 

 it, Buenaventura has a promising future ; 

 but its present cannot be spoken of with 

 enthusiasm. 



Situated on a small island, surrounded 

 t>y a network of mangrove-bordered la- 

 goons, under skies from which rain falls 

 almost continuously, Buenaventura is not 

 a Garden of Eden. Its population of 

 some 3,000 is composed chiefly of negroes 

 who can endure the climatic conditions. 

 The only resident whites are the cable 

 operator and agents of shipping firms, 

 whose presence is demanded by the needs 

 of their occupation. 



Our first expedition reached Buena- 

 ventura aboard the venerable steamer 



Quito at 4 o'clock of a March afternoon. 

 As usual, it was raining. Customs, we 

 learned, closed at 5, the next train left at 

 7 o'clock the following morning, and 

 there would not be another for three days. 

 Even from the steamer, Buenaventura 

 looked as though it deserved everything 

 evil that has been said of it, and closer 

 inspection confirmed first impressions. 



The possibility of having to spend three 

 days in, to put it mildly, so unattractive 

 a place brought the first conflict between 

 "push" and "manana." 



Reaching shore in a canoe through the 

 courtesy of the port physician and the 

 further able assistance of a broad African 

 back and stout legs, I found Richardson, 

 our Museum representative, awaiting me, 

 and jointly we paid our respects to the 

 Administrador de Aduana — in other 

 words, the customs officer. To him I 

 presented a letter of introduction from 

 the Colombian Minister at Washington, 

 describing our plans so eloquently that, 



