September 2020 – The Pull Of The Land

Amazons III — Raiza Ruiz: Buried While Still Alive

September 26, 2020September 30, 2020 Richard Barnes

The first of September, 1981, began inauspiciously enough for Rómulo Ordoñez, who piloted the Cessna YV-244-C. The last passengers he would ever carry were Colombian Judge, José Manuel Herrera, Venezuelan police officer, Salvador Mirabal, and Raiza Ruiz M.D. The policeman was carrying a slaughtered deer as a favor to friends in San Carlos who would pick it up there. The flight originated in Puerto Ayacucho and landed in Atabajo from whence it had flown to Maroa in the Amazonas Territory of Venezuela (now Amazonas State). It then headed to San Carlos on the Río Negro. The plans were to drop off the judge and the policeman in San Carlos and pick up a few of Raiza’s colleagues and then fly back to Puerto Ayacucho, the Territory’s capital. To understand the flight plan’s trajectory, refer to the map below.

No one imagined the Cessna would not arrive in either San Carlos or Puerto Ayacucho.

The Amazonas Territory was, and still is, one of the most unexplored regions of the world. To illustrate, imagine lodging somewhere in San Carlos from which you plan to explore the Baré and Yanomani regions. You’d begin by canoeing east on the Casiquiare and then, with an expert guide, you’d need to find the Río Parsimani from which you’d motor, paddle, hike carrying your canoe, wade in knee deep, waist deep, and chin deep waters and swamps to the Caño Emoni. A caño is a river or stream that can be many or few feet deep and wide and flows into the deep jungles sometimes through boundless swamps, with ever changing depths and currents. Some explorers find them a bit creepy. At any rate, if you get that far, you’d be doing better than many experienced explorers.

You might then decide to turn back as the Yanomami are not always friendly.

On that September 1st, the pilot, Ordoñez, had dropped off passengers in Atabajo and had picked up the policeman, Mirabal, and the Judge, Herrera. He then flew further south to Maroa where he picked up the medical doctor, Ruiz. They were now headed to the last stop, San Carlos, from whence they would fly directly back to Puerto Ayacucho.

Rains were now heavy as the plane took off from the Maroa airport.

About halfway to San Carlos, the plane, flying in heavy fog, hit a mountain with a high, thick canopy of trees. The trees, having “absorbed” the impact of the crash, also immediately “entered” the plane transforming the passengers’ environment from fog to green foliage which now scratched and blinded them. When they saw fire breaking out, they arose as one from their stupor, abandoned the craft, three of them jumping out the left side onto branches, trunks, and bush and catching twigs and trunks as they fell, and landed on the jungle floor. The policeman crawled out the right side, through the window he had broken in order to exit.

Within 30 minutes after takeoff three rescue planes took off from Maroa to seek the stricken craft. Another pilot who had been in communication with Ordoñez had suddenly lost contact with him and had raised the alarm. The search craft, assuming the mishap had occurred shortly after take off, focused their search area on the jungles surrounding Maroa, not knowing that Ordoñez was about halfway to San Carlos when he crashed.

The Cessna had lost its tail and almost immediately had caught fire; nevertheless, for a few minutes, it hung suspended above the canopy, mostly between two gigantic trees. The policeman had apparently not been badly injured by the impact. The pilot had broken his collarbone and three ribs. The Judge had a broken leg. Dr. Ruiz had bad scratches on her hands and legs, but all three were able to exit the plane, now enveloped in flames, on the left side.

As they fell and descended, the plane also fell, exploded, and caught the policeman on the right, covering his body in flames. He walked, robot-like, calling for help, before finally falling. Even so, he managed to smile to Dr. Ruiz and say, “Doctor, my lights are going out.” He died in terrible agony about an hour later. The survivors crossed his arms and prayed.

The others had also been burned, though not as badly and after about 3 hours, their thirst took over and they made the fateful decision of leaving the accident site in search for water. They did manage to find a small pond, but they lost their way and never returned to the plane.

At this point, I must note that other testimony and records say that Dr. Ruiz did not want to stay next to what would certainly become a rapidly putrefying corpse. This became a point of harsh criticism against her, despite her own ordeal.

Since one of the passengers was Colombian, and since the accident could have taken place in either jurisdiction, both countries, Colombia and Venezuela, initiated joint rescue efforts. After three days’ search they saw the remains of the craft. They initiated the journey via Caño Iguarapo for two hours followed by 6 hours on foot, arriving at the site late that afternoon.

The dreadful weather prevented the immediate evacuation of the remains of Mirabal, the dead policeman, whom they found with his arms crossed, although badly decomposed and exhibiting the gross results of scavenger jungle animals. The rescue team then deposited into a single bag what they had assumed were the now unrecognizable remains of the others. One of the members reported on human tracks heading out of the accident site but he was ignored because everyone knew that no one could possibly have survived this disaster and, besides, the remains were there for all to see, even though they could not be identified, other than the policeman’s. As to the crossed arms of his body, not much thought was given to that, even though, logically, someone must have done the crossing. Maybe he did so himself just before dying. They thought.

They camped there for the night and evacuated the next day having concluded their mission as accomplished. The remains were delivered to doctors in San Carlos. There were no forensic personnel there; they naturally assumed that the charred deer remains were what was left of the pilot, Ordoñez, the judge, Herrera, and the doctor, Ruiz. These were sent in three different coffins to their respective origins and were buried.

However, the three survivors had been wandering in the vast jungles, disoriented, with multiple fractures and burns about their bodies. It was a terrifying place. Dense foliage and vegetation that, they knew, would severely hamper any efforts to find them. But they were determined to find help in or through those intimidating lands. They came to a small stream and decided to follow it, thinking it would take them to the Río Negro, thinking they were near San Carlos. They were not.

After a long journey on foot, Judge Herrera, who could no longer walk on his broken leg and who was severely exhausted, sat down on a trunk. His burns, wounds, and traumas had become too heavy a burden for him. He decided to stay there, next to the stream and begged the others to stay with him there, to accompany him.

The pilot and the doctor felt they had to keep going. They promised Herrera that they’d return with help and went on, hopeful of returning for him soon. This did not happen. The judge was never seen alive again.

That night, Ordoñez and Ruiz essayed to cross a swamp to then find to their horror that it seemed to never end as the waters had risen to terrifying levels because of the rains. Exhausted, they each embraced a trunk and held on through the night, hoping to somehow rest a bit. They could not rest, but held on, each to his or her trunk, till daylight. Sharp leaves, underwater sliced their legs, further aggravating their injuries and further providing cracks and slits for worms to feast.

Hungry, ceaselessly attacked by insects, legs horribly cut by leaves that were sharp as blades, even underwater, Ordoñez and Ruiz went on, Ordoñez coughing badly and in one fall breaking his ankle. Both stumbled and fell often, which was especially a danger for the pilot, Ordoñez, with broken ribs. Ruiz was “covered” with worms seeking to burrow into her open wounds and cuts and scratches. She cleaned her cuts every time they stopped for water, not knowing that in her situation the best thing to have done was to cover her open wounds with mud instead of water.

They came to what appeared to once have been a large clearing of sorts. Later, it was learned that that area had been a rubber harvesting sector over 60 years earlier, now abandoned and nightmarishly ghostlike. While they looked around, they heard the sounds of an airplane! They ran in opposite directions thinking that would give them more of an opportunity to be seen from above. They yelled and jumped.

But to no avail.

Ruiz then realized she could no longer hear Ordoñez. She made her way, stumbling, to where she had heard him yelling.

He was dead. It may be that in the excited jumping and waving and yelling, the broken ribs had punctured his lungs. Or it may be he had finally succumbed.

Ruiz was now alone. She thought she was losing her mind. Her body was bloated, her skin covered by worms which ran up and down her. It was as if death stalked her and its agents had begun their work before her passing. She also noticed that she was losing her eyesight.

Nights in the jungle are never-ending and terrifying, especially when one is alone and lost.

On the seventh day, she fell and knew she would not get up again.

Here, the accounts diverge greatly. Some say she was rescued by Baré Indians, whose children were playing nearby and saw her, thinking her to be dead. Other accounts say a local fisherman and his young son had decided to go near the crash site to scavenge for metal to use in their fishing enterprise. Her own accounts vary in this.

Regardless, she was indeed found alive. Barely. Covered with worms.

They ignored her delirious demands to be left alone, and gave her spoonfuls of water with cinnamon, little by little, until about half a glass was consumed. They made a makeshift cot and carried her to a nearby stream and from thence to Río Negro where she was eventually taken to San Carlos and tended by medical personnel who cut and peeled the little clothing she still wore and gave her antibiotics and anis to apply to the horribly infected skin. When they first saw her legs they initially thought they would have to amputate. But Ruiz had demanded that she be treated first and then any decision could be made. The demand was met and she kept both her legs.

Months later, she learned that the plane she and Ordoñez had heard that day was carrying her remains to Caracas where she was buried a day later.

It took over 15 years for the paperwork to be fixed and the courts officially corrected her status from dead to alive.

And the doctor who had declared the charred deer bones to have been Dr. Ruiz’s remains was named as minister of health by President Chavez and a “revolutionary” hospital bears his name.

The Cessna’s flight plan was to take it from San Fernando de Atabajo, south to Maroa. Then further south to San Carlos from which it would fly back north to Puerto Ayacucho.

The capital city of Puerto Ayacucho in the municipality of Atures in Amazonas State. Atures is known as “practically the only area with population” in the entire state.

A White-Throated Tucan, Amazonas, Venezuela

Air Taxi similar to the one taken by Dr. Ruiz that fateful day.

Dr. Ruiz a few days after rescue (top) and before the accident (bottom)

These are leaves we have on our property in Puerto Rico. They are as sharp as razor blades. I do not have a description of the leaves that cut Dr. Raiza in the Amazonas Territory in Venezuela, but her descriptions of the pain and the cuts are most believable based on my encounters with sharp leaves in a friendlier ambiance.

To give an idea of the difficulties in finding a lost craft in the State of Amazonas, the following photographs were taken during the search of a lost plane in 2007. In this case, the crash site was never located and all are presumed dead.

Dangerous storms arose directly in the path of the flight.

Indigenous tribes were called upon to help. They know the areas, but even they do not know “everything” in the jungles, although they did help greatly.

Easy to lose oneself in the Amazonian jungles of Venezuela and elsewhere.

Highest Known Oil Reserves … And People Cannot Buy Gasoline

September 23, 2020September 23, 2020 Richard Barnes

Venezuela is still Number One on the list of countries with the highest known oil reserves. According to WorldAtlas.com (link below), her production has fallen because of the decline in oil prices and because she did not “invest in the renovation of its obsolete oil extraction infrastructure.”

Second on the list is Saudi Arabia, which makes “it a strong ally to the United States, despite many [sic] blatantly problematic aspects of the country. Some of those include human rights violations and many international incidents.”

Readers of this blog know that I love the country of my birth and grieve for what she has been becoming. I have childhood friends there whom I dearly love and hold in the highest esteem, especially the few surviving friends of my own parents. However, I must say that to point out “blatantly problematic aspects” of Saudi Arabia while blithely ignoring the very real “blatantly problematic aspects” of Venezuela is irresponsible and is the type of reporting which has given cover to the catastrophe that has been unfolding there since the 1960’s and which accelerated dramatically since the Chavez regime.

Venezuela continues to be very rich in natural resources: not only is she the richest in oil reserves, but she is also supremely rich in other minerals (see here and also see under “Juan Vicente Gómez here) and yet many of her people are malnourished (I have personal knowledge of this), others have regressed to the use of donkeys because they cannot afford to buy rationed gasoline even at under $0.10 per gallon. Many thousands are now turning to fire for energy in their homes given the ongoing failures of the energy grid, often plunging them into utter darkness. Some reports say that the grid failed over 80,000 times (!) in 2019. Think of the impact on public transportation, hospitals, clinics. On everything needed for modern life.

The situation is so dire that the Venezuela refugee crisis is the largest ever recorded in the Americas.

Let that sink in for a moment. The largest ever recorded in the Americas. We’ve all read and heard about the despotic regimes of Gómez and Pérez Jimenez in Venezuela, Pinochet in Chile, the generals in Argentina, Stroessner in Paraguay, and others in Central America. But none of them — none — caused such magnitudes of peoples to flee their homelands in such massive numbers. None. The only one that comes close, as a proportion of her population, is Castro’s Cuba. The reader can deduce whatever similarities there may be between Cuba and Venezuela that would cause their peoples to leave their homes and head to unknown destinies through even less known, and frightening, seas and jungles.

Latest estimates are that about 6 Million Venezuelans have fled the country. That’s twenty percent of her population. See here.

How is it that a land so rich can be so poor? How is it that a land once hailed as the most stable democracy in South America is now a despotic regime where torture is commonplace (see here)?

As has been seen throughout this blog, the current problems did not begin with Chavez or Maduro.

Venezuela’s initiation into democratic rule took place in 1959, after a half century of unprecedented prosperity, mostly under General Juan Vicente Gómez, who in my childhood, an era of less political correctness, was often referred to as “the father of modern Venezuela.” He was a dictator but was not hailed as Castro was, even though he too was a dictator. The difference? Castro was one of the Socialist Beautiful People; Gómez was not.

Be that as it may, the long years under Gómez (in office from 1908 to 1935) were characterized by unparalleled stability and prosperity. This stability began years before the discovery of the first major oil reserves in Mene Grande (see here). Venezuela had a growing and prosperous middle class by the end of the Pérez Jimenez regime (see here), after which came the election of Rómulo Betancourt, generally acknowledged to be the country’s first democratically elected president.

So, Venezuela’s first democratically elected president was installed 140 years after the country’s declaration of independence. In sum, during the preceding (19th) century, Venezuela, like her neighbors, had been racked by revolutionary governments and bloodletting, and during the first half of the 20th century she had phenomenal growth and stability under authoritarian governments.

(The unfortunate fact is that South America’s wars for independence were not at all like North America’s. Unlike the North American colonists, the South American Criollos were enthralled by French Revolutionary ideas and sought the positions of power to which they believed they were entitled. This partly explains the long years of despotism and carnage, which is similar to post revolutionary France. If interested, see more on the differences between the United States and the Venezuelan Declarations of Independence here.)

As we have noted before (for example, see here) Betancourt, who had organized the Communist Party in Costa Rica in the 1930’s, but who had since shed his radical outspoken ideology and had migrated to a kinder, gentler democratic socialism, immediately set about to dismantle the structures of economic freedoms and low levels of taxation and regulations that had enabled the country to achieve such heights. In effect, his policies spurred the growth and intrusions of government, including nationalizations of major industries such as oil and iron ore. These reversals of economic liberties continued up to Chavez and Maduro where such policies did not change. They accelerated.

So the owners of industries in Venezuela are now the people. And, of course, when politicians say “the people,” that means The State and all those who, along with them, have the right political connections. And that has been catastrophic for Venezuela.

And so the country with the highest known oil reserves in the world is now a financial nightmare suffering shortages under political oppression, with many of her people in distress and, where able, voting with their feet by leaving.

Pray for the people of Venezuela.

For more on the power outages, see here (Spanish language article).

For the WorldAtlas report on oil reserves, see here.

Back to use of donkeys, mules, and horses.

Colombian police stand before a multitude of Venezuelans seeking asylum.

Juan Vicente Gómez (1857-1935), circa 1920

Marcos Pérez Jimenez (1914-2001), circa 1955

Fidel Castro (left), Rómulo Betancourt (center), in Caracas in 1959. Betancourt’s relationship with Castro ended shortly thereafter when Castro sought to foment guerrilla activity in Venezuela.

Once one of the continent’s most prosperous countries, Venezuela is now plagued by frequent blackouts.

Amazons II — Isabel Godin: Love and Grit

September 12, 2020September 12, 2020 Richard Barnes

“God has preserved me when alone amid perils …. “

Isabel Godin was not an Amazon, but what she lacked in training in swordplay and bow and arrow, she more than made up in strength, character, determination, and resilience, qualities which helped her confront and endure the Amazonian jungles.

She was born in 1728 in Riobamba, of the Viceroyalty of Perú, now central Ecuador. Her father was Don Pedro Gramesón y Bruno, a Spanish official of some renown in Riobamba. She was well educated and spoke fluent Spanish, French, and Quechua, in addition to ancient Inca communication methods still in use by certain Indian tribes at the time.

(Riobamba was completely destroyed and buried by the earthquake of 1797, years after Isabel’s departure. The city was rebuilt about 20 kilometers northeast of its original site.)

In 1741, at the age of 13, she married the French naturalist, Jean Godin des Odonais, who accompanied the great French explorer, Charles-Marie de La Condamine on his journeys of exploration in South America. Jean Godin was 28. This was not seen as anything unusual in that era or even up to relatively recent times in North and South America. My grandfather (from Massachusetts) was 19 years older than my grandmother (from Cuba). My father was 14 years older than my mother. Ronald Reagan was 14 years older than Nancy Reagan. Boaz was clearly older than Ruth, having called her “my daughter” and also having praised her for not having gone after younger men. Ad infinitum.

In 1749, upon receiving news of his father’s death, Jean Godin decided to return to France with his family. His plan was to travel to French Guiana, in the extreme northeast of South America, about 500 miles east of the Venezuela border, via the Amazon to sort of “prepare the way” for his wife and children. He would then return to Riobamba for his family.

However, the Portuguese and Spanish authorities would not allow him to return through their territories. These infuriating bureaucratic machinations were as common then as they are now. Humboldt’s big dream of sailing via the Orinoco to the Amazon was thwarted by such civil servants (Humboldt). Godin could travel to France without his wife and children. Or he could remain stuck in French Guiana. He decided to remain. He wrote increasingly intemperate letters to Europe, pleading for safe passage back to Riobamba. All without success. Most of his bile was reserved for the Portuguese, something he came to regret as, eventually, it was a Portuguese vessel which was given permission to transport him west on the Amazon to Iquitos and back again. But Godin was by then so concerned about his letters strongly criticizing Portugal, that he feared assassination and excused himself while requesting the ship go on up the Amazon without him and wait for his wife and children to reach it.

That was in 1765. Sixteen (16) years since he last saw his wife and children. Eight months later, the ship docked at Iquitos, the highest point of river transportation. Months after that, word reached Isabel that a ship in Iquitos waited for her and her children to take her to her husband in French Guiana.

During those years, Isabel had had no news from her husband. By all accounts she had been a beautiful young lady whose visage now reflected almost twenty years of the strain of not having heard from her husband and the loss of her four children to the scourges of the tropics: malaria, yellow fever, smallpox, and dysentery. After years of false alarms and false hopes, she sent her slave, Joachim, whom she had purchased from a slaveholder she had considered too cruel, to go to Iquitos and confirm the news.

Joachim did as ordered and returned — two years later — to confirm that, “It is true, su Merced, the vessel is there and your husband, although ill, is alive in Cayenne [French Guiana].”

See the image of a map of the Amazon (below) to get an idea of the distance and hardships between Riobamba and Iquitos. This helps explain how it could take two years to go and bring back news.

And now, with confirmation from her trusted servant that her husband was indeed alive and waited for her across the continent, she immediately determined to embark on a journey that no one, even in the bloom of youth, could look upon “except with unmitigated horror, a journey down the whole of the Amazon.”

She sold what property she could, and the rest she entrusted to her brother. She also went about selecting those who would accompany her and by October, 1769, she was ready to commence the trek.

Her father, Don Pedro, decided to precede her to arrange for such comforts as he could devise. Don Pedro was elderly but vigorous, having survived epidemics of the tropics in his many years of service in Riobamba. He went to Baños and arranged for portage for his daughter. At points along the trail, he arranged for caches of food. This he did all the way to Canelos, “the outpost of God,” seven days’ journey from Baños. He requested the monks receive his daughter and her party and provide all the necessities they might require. He also received confirmation from Christianized Jivaro Indians who agreed to convey her in their canoes from Canelos to Andoas, the next mission down the Río Pastaza. At Andoas, other canoes would be provided to take Isabel and her party 400 miles down the Pastaza to Lagunas and from hence to Iquitos, where the galiot would board them and transport them down the Amazon across the continent.

He went on to Lagunas to await her arrival there, but not before sending a message: “Hija mía, all is in readiness. Canoes and men to paddle them are waiting at the village of Canelos. The roads are bad. Keep down the amount of baggage and the members of your party. The canoes and space therein are limited.”

In October, 1769, almost four years after the ship’s original departure, and twenty since Jean Godin’s trip to French Guiana, Isabel Godin began what became an unprecedented expedition across Andes mountains and down to the Amazon Basin. Accompanying her were her nephew, Joachin (10), two brothers, three mestizo servants — Rosa, Elvia, and Heloise — three Frenchmen, her black slave, Joachim, and a company of 32 Andean Indians.

The party traversed the gorges and trails from Riobamba to Canelos in seven dreadful days of interminable rains, seemingly bottomless mud, falling branches, and crashing trees. Surely, they felt, this would be the worst of the journey. At Canelos, they’d be on canoes down the broad Pastaza River and then down the giant Amazon River. However, they had not counted on smallpox having decimated the village. When Isabel’s party stumbled into Canelos, they found it utterly deserted: most had died, the rest had fled. Houses and huts were still smoldering since all had been set on fire to purify the air, as the Indians believed.

Upon waking the next morning, with few hours’ sleep, Isabel confronted the news that the Andean Indians had deserted them during the night. However, four of the original inhabitants of Canelos had returned and had agreed to help the party with payment in advance, which Isabel agreed to.

There was only one canoe and a raft. A great amount of their food could not fit and so was left behind; the rest was put on the raft which was manned by the Indians while what remained of the party boarded the canoe. The river was too full of debris and rapids to travel at night, so they camped on the banks. The following morning, the party saw that the Indians had deserted. Surely Isabel regretted having paid them in advance.

The Frenchmen urged a return to Riobamba. Isabel would not hear of it. She had not undertaken this journey to then turn back. Besides, to paddle against an 8-knot current would need far more manpower than they had. They were about 5 days from Andoas, which they could make on the raft and canoe.

The river here was about half a mile wide, deep, and fast flowing. Isabel’s brothers piloted the raft, which was swiftly caught in the current and headed rapidly downriver. The canoe, piloted by Pierre, one of the Frenchmen, followed. A few hours into that day’s journey, a breeze blew his hat into the river, he lost his balance reaching out for it. and fell into the water. He did catch his hat and waved it aloft as he surfaced. However, a floating log struck him on the head and he disappeared under the dark waters, never to be seen again.

The river became more swift and filled with rapids and increasing dangers. Towards the end of the day, as they were turning to the banks to camp for the night, the canoe struck a floating log, dipped its bow into the river, throwing them all overboard. As they were close to shore, no one drowned in that mishap. Joachim helped Isabel ashore and then went back into the waters for the rest, bringing each in, and finally bringing the canoe in as well. As for the raft, as much food as possible was salvaged before it was completely destroyed by floating debris.

That night, around the fire they had built they decided Joachim and one of the remaining Frenchmen would travel as quickly as possible down the river to Andoas and seek help and food to bring back to the rest. This was a great risk to those who remained as they would be left with no means of transportation. But the party felt they had no choice. The next morning, Joachim and the Frenchman struck off, leaving Isabel, her 10-year-old nephew, Joachin, her two brothers, the three mestizo women servants, and the remaining Frenchman.

Expecting help to come soon, they were careless with the remaining food that first week. By the end of the second week, Isabel was spending most of her time caring for Joachin who was rapidly wasting away. The men hunted and gathered wood and the women sought tubers and birds’ eggs on which to feed. They battled mosquitos and black flies: “They itched and scratched until the blood flowed and until most of them were half mad.”

The Frenchman developed signs of madness which climaxed when he awoke one night to find a vampire bat sucking the blood out of his toe. He screamed and went utterly berserk. The others were in an uproar and by dawn Isabel Godin decided they had waited long enough and ordered the building of a raft. This done, they placed their meager belongings thereon and themselves climbed aboard, as if dragging their wasted bodies. The women sat in the center with the sick boy; the three men pushed it out into the fast river where it promptly struck a submerged tree.

The raft split into pieces and all were thrown into the river. All supplies and belongings were lost. Incredibly, they made it back to shore, but Joachin was already at death’s door and died that night, not having opened his eyes since coming ashore from the destroyed raft. The party did not have enough strength left to bury him.

Rosa, one of the mestizo servants, died overnight. Heloise walked off into the jungle in a delirium and never returned. The older brother expired as he recited his rosary. The Frenchman and other brother had already died, their bodies set upon by ants. The remaining servant died also.

Isabel Godin lay between the decaying bodies, fully expecting to die there. But two days later, seeing she still lived, she remembered her husband, who called her “my cherished wife,” whom she had not seen for 20 years and who waited for her. She later remarked that the memory of her husband, the father of the children she had lost, infused her with strength and propelled her to rise from among the dead, putrefying bodies. With a knife she cut the shoes off her dead brothers, fashioned crude sandals therefrom, and, with a machete in one hand and a staff in the other, she set off, with an unsteady pace into the jungle. As she slogged off, she thought she heard someone calling her, but believed it was delirium and kept going.

It was not delirium. It was Joachim who had returned and to his horror, had found the bodies, unrecognizable for utter decay. He could not even count how many there were but assumed Isabel was among them. He, utterly bereft, knelt to pray quickly, because the stench was overpowering, and left, headed back downriver, in a canoe manned by 4 mission Indians who tapped tapped tapped on their canoe messaging ahead downriver to Andoas, “Mme Godin and her party are dead. All perished in the jungle.” There he reported more fully on what he had seen. Don Pedro, having lost a daughter, two sons, and a grandnephew, received the news very badly and never fully recovered. The news made its way to French Guiana where Jean Godin learned his “cherished wife” was gone forever.

Doña Isabel’s dark brown hair had turned white, her skin, depigmented, made her look ghostly, floating among the trees and vines. Counting from the days of Joachim’s macabre discovery, she wandered, alone, in the jungles, for nine days. She could not say how she could have endured it other than the thought of reuniting with her husband gave her strength. Not to mention her unquenchable spirit.

One night, she stumbled onto three Shimigai Indians sitting around a fire. They were so frightened they began to run away but were held back by her otherworldly voice asking them to stay, in Quechua, a language they could understand. She told them to take her to the mission in Andoas.

She then collapsed.

It took a month for her to recover sufficiently to travel on to Lagunas. On the way there she stopped in Loreto where a missionary, seeing her utter emaciation, and noting that a journey down the Amazon would be a very arduous one, suggested she return to Riobamba, which was far closer. Her reply gives us an indication of this woman’s indomitable spirit:

“I am, Padre, surprised at your proposal. God has preserved me when alone amid perils in which all my companions perished, in my wish to rejoin my husband. Having begun my journey for this purpose, if I were not to prosecute my first intention, I should esteem myself guilty of counteracting the views of Providence and rendering useless the assistance I have received from the dear Indians and their wives, as well as the kindness which you, kind Father, have given me….”

She and her father, Don Pedro, sailed 2,000 miles down the Amazon. Jean Godin sailed on a small vessel and boarded the boat to embrace his wife. He later wrote:

“On board this vessel, after twenty years’ absence and a long endurance on either side of alarms and misfortunes. I again met with a cherished wife whom I had almost given over every hope of seeing again. In her embraces I forgot the loss of the fruits of our union: nay, I even congratulated myself on their premature deaths, as it saved them from the dreadful fate which befell their uncles in the wood of Canelos beneath the eyes of their mother, who certainly would never have survived the sight.”

Two years later, Don Pedro, Joachim (the now freed black slave), Jean Godin, and his wife, Isabel Godin, sailed to France.

Her husband preceded her in death by a few months in 1792. She hardly ever talked about her ordeal. Some days, her servants would see her holding or fingering a piece of cloth, looking at it, saying nothing.

Isabel Godin (1728-1792) statue in Ecuador.

Facsimile of portrait made for her family circa 1740

Riobamba was in the region of Quito (relatively speaking). Notice the distance between Quito and Iquitos. Isabel Godin’s party’s objective was to travel from Riobamba to Iquitos to take ship there. It had taken her slave two (2) years to travel to Iquitos and back to Riobamba to confirm the existence of the ship.

Mt. Chimborazo overlooking Riobamba, Ecuador. Until the 20th century, Chimborazo was thought to have been the highest peak in the world. Humboldt and Bonpland climbed it but failed to reach the summit.

Oil Spill Disaster

September 7, 2020September 7, 2020 Richard Barnes

Nicolás Maduro: “Only Socialism can be in balance with nature, it is the only way to the preservation of the environment and the salvation of the human species. Let us save the World!”

There has been a massive oil spill in Venezuela. It happened in early August, 2020.

It has impacted the Morrocoy national park in western Venezuela.

Per the Caracas Chronicles: “There was a new spill in El Palito: the residue pond is full and the experts say that every time it rains, the pond overflows, bringing oil to the sea and accumulating one spill after the other. Up to 40,000 barrels of oil have been spilled into the coasts of Falcón and Carabobo states, causing an ecocide that could be irreversible with how often the spills are happening. There has been no damage control.”

The Environmentalists have said little or nothing.

No word from Leonardo yet. Or Harrison. Or Al. Etc.

One tweet from Greta.

Mass media? Crickets.

Since Venezuela is a Socialist regime, oil spills cannot be reported or made too big a deal about. Goes against the narrative.

Above photos taken August/September, 2020

PDVSA Turns a Blind Eye to Oil Spills in Venezuela

https://www.americanthinker.com/blog/2020/09/venezuelas_valdez_oil_spill_covers_a_national_park_beach_black_and_where_are_the_global_environmentalists.html

Venezuela Coast Could Take 50 Years To Recover

Amazons I

September 4, 2020September 4, 2020 Richard Barnes

One of the least accessible, not to mention explored, areas of the world is the Territorio Amazonas in Venezuela. The Amazon River flows through part of the territory through the Rio Negro (see here and here for posts on Humboldt’s adventures on or near the Río Negro).

The length of the Río Grande (Great River, now known as the Amazon River) was first sailed, most improbably, by Captain Francisco de Orellana.

Orellana was a friend (some say a cousin) of Francisco Pizarro and helped the latter in the conquest of Peru in 1535. For his services, Pizarro named Orellana governor of Guayaquil in what is today Ecuador. Concurrently, Pizarro named Gonzalo Pizarro, his half-brother, to lead an expedition into the South American interior to find the “Land of Cinnamon” and he also appointed Orellana as his second in command. The expedition met in Quito and Gonzalo Pizarro sent Orellana back to Guayaquil to recruit troops and also commission horses for the mission. Pizarro felt he could not wait for Orellana’s return and proceeded to leave Quito in February, 1541.

Orellana arrived in Quito with the men and horses and, finding Pizarro gone, immediately commenced the pursuit of the main expeditionary force, making contact in March. By that time, over 3,000 Indians and over 100 Spanish had died or deserted, “melting away into the jungle.”

They did reach an area of Cinnamon trees and built a small settlement there, named Canelos (“Cinnamon”), a parish still in existence today. By then, they had been set upon by head hunters, disease, and hunger which had taken a dreadful toll. Not far from the settlement they came upon a huge serpentine yellow-waterred river called the Napo. Where did this river lead to? These men immediately began to build a brigantine on its banks and Pizarro ordered Orellana to sail downriver to find food and return once he’d found such.

However, once the craft went out it was drafted by the strong current at 4 to 5 knots. Orellana left Pizarro and his ragged, half starved men on the banks of the Napo. The craft came to the mouth of the river onto the vast Amazon. Efforts to return to Pizarro came to naught and he and the men with him sailed down the entire length of the monstrous Amazon River.

Accompanying Orellana on this momentous odyssey was the missionary friar, Gaspar de Carvajal, who eventually published his Relación del nuevo descubrimiento del famoso río Grande que descubrió por muy gran ventura el capitán Francisco de Orellana (“Account of the recent discovery of the famous Grand river which was discovered by great good fortune by Captain Francisco de Orellana”).

For centuries his work was considered too fantastic to be taken seriously for he talked about large settlements and towns along the river’s banks as well as paths and roads and other constructions. He also talked about Amazons. However, his Relación has been taken more seriously in recent years, including by the great 19th century English botanist explorer, Richard Spruce.

But for our purpose today, let us see what Carvajal had to say about the encounter at the mouth of the Trompetas River in the eastern Amazon River, where, after sailing down, down, down, and coming to the Trompetas, they had to battle with the fiercest of Indians they had come against to that moment:

“I want it to be known what the reason was why these Indians defended themselves in this manner, It must be explained that they are the subjects of and tributaries to the Amazons; and when our coming was known to them, they went to them to ask help, and there came as many as ten or twelve of them, for we ourselves saw these women captains who were there fighting in front of all the Indians as women captains, and these fought so courageously that the Indian men did not dare to turn their backs and anyone who did turn his back they killed with clubs right there before us…. These women are very white and tall and have hair very long and braided and wound about the head…they are very robust and go naked save that their privy parts are covered; with their bows and arrows in their hands doing as much fighting as ten Indian men….”

Carvajal wrote that after few days after the fight with the Amazons he “came to a pleasant country where there were Evergreen-oaks and Cork Trees.” That would be near today’s Santarem, about 500 miles from the mouth of the Amazon River. A bishop in the Antilles, upon hearing this tale, asked, “Did these Amazons cut off their right breasts so as to use the bow more easily?” This was believed by some Greeks who fought female warriors repeatedly, according to Greek histories and legends. Orellana did not know such stories. He and Carvajal merely reported what they had seen and experienced.

Upon his return to Spain, the king’s court disbelieved him, even though other Spanish expeditionaries had heard persistent reports about Amazons, though never had seen them. Spruce writes:

“The voyagers heard rumors of the Amazons’ existence long before reaching them. An Indian chief on the Napo called the Amazons Coniapuyara, the masterful women, the old Indian went into some detail about them, but Orellana lacked a good understanding of the language and let the matter go by until their brigantine reached the río Trombetas, about 600 miles from the mouth of the river…. There they were attacked by Indians led by women. The Amazons were tall, fair, robust, naked except for skins about their loins. The bow and arrow in their hands they wielded with deadly accuracy.”

Orellana and Carvajal reported what they saw. It was not that Orellana mistook long-haired Indian men for women: he had lived two years among the Indians of the Upper Amazon — Jivaros, Zaparos, Huambizas — where all the males wore their hair waist-long and were attired in knee-length skirts.

Most interestingly, the 50 men who followed Orellana on that extraordinary voyage appeared at court in the presence of the king (Carlos V). Although all of them were not favorably disposed to Orellana, they nevertheless affirmed that they were indeed attacked by Indians led by Amazons.

As Spruce put it: “It is incredible that fifty persons, and among them a religious priest, should agree in guaranteeing the truth of a lie, especially when nothing was to be gained by it.”

He also saw that all the famous authorities on the Americas — including Humboldt — agreed that the Amazons tradition had been based on fact. Most of the missionaries of the 18th century testified to the same tradition. It was not uncommon for Indians, in confession, to admit having visited periodically the “women living alone.” And, with respect to Orellana’s expedition having fought the Amazons, no Indian tribe doubted it.

Where did these light-skinned women warriors come from? Some researchers posit that after the Trojan Wars they scattered across the globe, with some coming to the shores of South America. Others believe they came during the time of the Phoenecians (1200 BC) who were known to sail the world. We really do not know.

What happened to them?

An old Indian with whom Spruce spoke told him that his forefathers said that after the Spaniards and Portuguese began to settle in larger numbers, the Amazons retired from their villages near the Trombetas and migrated to somewhere on the Río Negro. He also told Spruce that many an Indian, long from home, confessed the he had spent several months among the warrior women. The Amazons would meet the invited Indian at a place agreed upon, then dismiss him with presents of gold and green stones. He carried back the male children who had reached the age of three.

Green stones? These were known for a long time as Amazon stones. The great 18th century French explorer, La Condamine, had found them worn by Indians in Santarem and these Indians affirmed they had received such from the Amazons. And Sir Walter Raleigh (1591-1618) spoke of Indians on the Orinoco having “chiefly a kinde of greene stones… commonly every king or Casique hath one….”

Possibly, the Amazons migrated to the portion of the Río Negro that flows through the Amazonas State in what is now Venezuela. It is fitting that it be so, as the Río Negro’s name was given by the same Francisco de Orellana who fought the Amazons on the “Grand River”.

The name originally given to the Grand River was Río Orellana. But that was changed to Río Amazonas based on his own comments describing it as “the river of the Amazons”. The great territory in Venezuela was also named accordingly: Territorio Amazonas, which became a state in the 90s.

Gonzalo Pizarro made it back to Quito two years later, very ill and with very few men who had survived with him. He went on to rule Peru after his brother’s death, but this had not been sanctioned by the king and he was defeated in battle, tried, found guilty of treason, and beheaded in Peru in 1548.

Gaspar de Carvajal returned to Peru in 1545, three years after his eventful partnership with Orellana. He lived a long, fruitful life, dying there in 1584.

Francisco Orellana’s astonishing expedition took place in 1542. He returned to the Amazon in 1545, but that journey was far more grim than the first and he died, according to his wife “of grief”; according to other sources, he drowned in the river he once had called “the river of the Amazons.”