South America – The Pull Of The Land

Atures and Maypures on The Orinoco, and Humboldt’s Parrot

May 29, 2020May 29, 2020 Richard Barnes

A good number of posts on this blog either direct themselves to or reference the grand Orinoco River, which exercises a majestic “pull” on all in Venezuela, whether locals or foreign residents or long term visitors. It is more of a presence in Venezuela than the Mississippi is to the United States. I suspect the Nile exerts a similar pull in North Africa, especially Egypt, but, having never lived there, I don’t know for sure. But the literature does affirm its centrality to life in that world for many centuries. I’d say the same applies to the Orinoco and Venezuela.

Those readers who have a sense of adventure, or have children who do, cannot do much better than to explore that river, especially the Upper Orinoco. Alexander Humboldt is still a pretty reliable as well as fascinating source of information and background for this.

Shortly after arriving in Cumaná, Venezuela, the “oldest continuously inhabited European established settlement in South America,” Alexander von Humboldt wrote to his brother back in Germany, “What color of birds, fish, even crabs (sky blue and yellow!). So far we have wandered like fools; in the first three days we couldn’t identify anything, because one object is tossed aside to pursue another. Bonpland [renowned French naturalist, Aimé Bonpland, friend and collaborator with Humboldt] assures me he will go mad if the marvels do not stop. Still, more beautiful even than these individual miracles is the overall impression made by this powerful, lush, and yet so gentle, exhilarating, mild vegetation.”

As he made his way to the Casiquiare, that natural channel which connects the Orinoco with the Amazon, via the Rio Negro (see “Orinoco, Casiquiare, Humboldt, and Monster Aguirre” for more Here), Humboldt and his party, including untiring and powerful Indians who at times jumped into the water to pull the canoe from the unforgiving currents, eventually came to the rapids between Atures and Maypures.

Here is a description of this section of the Orinoco, in Humboldt’s own words: “Nothing can be grander than the aspect of this spot. Neither the fall of the Tequendama, near Santa Fe de Bogota, nor the magnificent scenes of the Cordilleras, could weaken the impression produced upon my mind by the first view of the rapids of Atures and of Maypures. When the spectator is so stationed that the eye can at once take in the long succession of cataracts, the immense sheet of foam and vapors illumined by the rays of the setting sun, the whole river seems as it were suspended over its bed.”

That’s quite a compliment, considering it was written by one of history’s most accomplished travelers and explorers.

Atures and Maypures are names missionaries took from nearby tribes. Some years before Humboldt’s voyage, the Maypures had been exterminated by the violent Caribs (see more on the Caribs here and Here) and, according to legend, had taken their domesticated parrots as spoils. Humboldt had come across some Caribs one of whom gave him his parrot as a gift.

The explorer noticed that the words spoken by the parrot did not correspond with the Carib dialect and he asked his host why. The Indian told him that the words he heard were not Carib, but Maypure, the now extinct tribe. So Humboldt was hearing language from a tribe that no longer could speak.

That’s a fascinating tale, although I’ve not been able to confirm it in Humboldt’s massive, multi-volume Narrative.

A few more observations by the great explorer about this area of the Orinoco:

“We passed two hours on a large rock, standing in the middle of the Orinoco, and called the Piedra de la Paciencia, or the Stone of Patience, because the canoes, in going up, are sometimes detained there two days, to extricate themselves from the whirlpool caused by this rock.”

And, finally,

“The Indians would not hazard passing the cataract; and we slept on a very incommodious spot, on the shelf of a rock, with a slope of more than eighteen degrees, and of which the crevices sheltered a swarm of bats. We heard the cries of the jaguar very near us during the whole night. They were answered by our great dog in lengthened howlings. I waited the appearance of the stars in vain: the sky was exceedingly black; and the hoarse sounds of the cascades of the Orinoco mingled with the rolling of the distant thunder.”

We will continue to visit with Mr. Humboldt.

Alexander von Humboldt’s map of a section of the Upper Orinoco River.

Alexander von Humboldt camped on the shores of the Orinoco River.

Between Atures and Maypures rapids. Note one of the granite stones which so impressed Humboldt.

Orinoco rapids between Atures and Maypures. These delayed, fascinated, and at times frightened Humboldt’s party as they made their way on the Orinoco towards the Casiquiare.

Illusions and Picaresque (Conclusion)

May 19, 2020May 19, 2020 Richard Barnes

“Picaresque derives from Spanish picaresco … relating to picaro … which also derives from Spanish, [and] means ‘rogue’ or ‘bohemian.’ [or ‘adventurer’] … Typically, the picaresque novel centers around a wandering individual of low standing who happens into a series of adventures among people of various higher clases, often relying on his wits and a little dishonesty to get by….” Merriam-Webster

The first known use of the term was in the Spanish novel, Lazarillo de Tormes, relating the tale of a poor orphan apprenticed to a blind, wily beggar who teaches him to live by his wits, with the ultimate aim of purchasing his dead father’s shop. Published in 1554, the novel antedates by generations and centuries novels such as Moll Flanders, Oliver Twist, or Huckleberry Finn, which also depicted less than savory characters. Perhaps the best known “picaresque” novel was the French Gil Blas (1615), similarly depicting a street-wise personage who in the end “goes straight” and retires in honorable comfort.

In a nutshell, the Spanish form of the picaresque or picaro (pronounced peekuhroh in Spanish) represents a man or woman who desires to live right but is pushed by circumstances to cheat, all the while desiring to return to an honorable life before death.

I seriously doubt the McKinsie consultants who analyzed the disappointing measurable economic growth in Latin America (see last week’s blog post [Last Week’s Post]) were required to read Lazarillo de Tormes or Gil Blas, but they should have been. That might have given them an insight that, in my opinion, was lacking in their final report.

In her zeal to ensure the American indigenous peoples were properly “cared for”, the crown imposed impossibly suffocating regulations and requirements on the colonists. For example, the land they stewarded was not considered legally theirs and could not be bequeathed to their inheritors (see the series on ranchitos beginning here). In this case, the colonists and their descendants (known as Criollos) either ignored the regulations or pretended to submit to them while cleverly circumventing the strict application of Spanish laws so as to eventually be de facto owners of their lands.

Before the reader judges them too harshly, please remember that our American Pilgrims also decided to ditch the socialistic requirements imposed on them by their financial backers in London. They abandoned the communal approach and adopted the private property approach and thereby were able to pay their financial backers despite having gone against the arrangement those backers had required and imposed. The Spanish colonists and Criollos could not do the same with the Spanish crown. Instead, they resorted to the picaresque.

The infuriating reality is that some colonists or criollos treated the indigenous peoples very well, including actually granting lands to the more industrious and worthy, whereas others treated them terribly. The point is that this was the case even with the Crown’s exasperating regulations and laws. How much better would it have been had the crown recognized the need to reward her subjects with lands from the very beginning along with injunctions to treat the “natives” with respect and love.

We’ll never know, but we can surmise.

And so the picaresque is intimately associated with the Spanish, especially the Spanish descendants in Latin America, even though it is a term that is applicable to peoples from all areas of the world. Mark Twain, call your office!

And that is what I found a bit annoying with the McKinsey report on Latin America. In effect it called for more regulations in order to induce those living by their wits (street vendors and others in the “informal economy”) to come out and join the legitimate economy and to be measured by conventional means.

And go hungry.

This was not in the report, but that would be the effect. At least at this time.

At the moment, many entrepreneurial street vendors and others in the underground economy in Latin America earn and save enough to send their children to college or to place them in more advantageous circumstances thereby improving the lot of their homes.

The street vendor economy may not be able to be measured at the present. However, given time, their descendants will be outstanding members of the “measured economy” and that will improve the measured results overall for all of Latin America.

McKinsey’s report goes on to recommend other steps such as “family planning” and “property value capture” (meaning higher property taxes). These go beyond the scope of this post but we hope to revisit in the future. For now, the reader will notice that the proposals for the most part do not empower the Latin American family or home economy, but certainly grow the State. Precisely what our neighbors need less of!

Images for the *Lazarillo de Tormes*, first known picaresque novel (1554). Antedates Huckleberry Finn by over three centuries.

One of the first impressions any visitor to South America will have is the abundance of street vendors. Many of these do well and seek to leave a better future for their children.

So far from God and so close to the United States!

September 7, 2019September 9, 2019 Richard Barnes

“Only those born in Spain were allowed to own shops or mines in the colonies.” The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World, page 47.

“…[Simón] Bolivar was the son of one of Caracas’s wealthiest creole families [which] owned several plantations, mines and elegant town homes.” The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World, page 117.

Yes, it’s the same book, published in 2016 (I am about halfway through). And the above tendentiousness — the colonists could own nothing on page 47 — and contradiction — the colonists were tycoons 70 pages later — are not isolated.

It is hailed as a masterpiece by the usual literati. It is considered at times interesting, at times insufferable, and at times infuriating by your humble blogger. You’re better off reading Humboldt’s writings directly.

We’ve much work yet ahead of us in clearing the misconceptions and prejudices which color our understanding of South America generally and Venezuela specifically, not to mention world history and science.

The fact remains that Spain’s conquest of much of the Americas, their export of European culture to these shores, their eradication of human sacrifices, their education and teaching of the Spanish language to the indigenous peoples, and much more, remains an unequalled, spectacular achievement in history. Humboldt, himself a creature of the Enlightenment, who like his fellows, borrowed profusely from Christianity without so much as a tip of the hat, would have achieved nothing had it not been for Spain who gave him a passport when Enlightenment France did not, and had it not been for the missions in the Americas who helped him and had even seen many of his discoveries centuries before he was conceived in his mother’s womb. He just took it all for granted, like a good modern.

Now, saying the above does not mean I am blind to Spanish failures (nor am I blind to English failures) or Jesuit perfidy. But it does mean that I refuse to take at face value the usual textbook approach to Spain and South America that we’ve been spoon fed for centuries now. The history of our neighbors to the south and across the pond is much more complex and vastly richer than: Spain bad–Spain rape–Spain kill–Las Casas saint.

I would challenge us to consider the possibility that we in the United States have much more in common with South America than we do with modern Europe. But to consider that challenge, we must first make an effort to clear the underbrush accumulated over hundreds of years. What did Spain do right? What did she do wrong? Was Spain responsible for the fearsome bloodletting in 19th century South America? Hint: she was not. Then who and what was?

In 1829, after “independence”, Simón Bolivar wrote to his fellow South Americans in A Look At Spanish America:

“From one end to the other, the New World is an abyss of abomination; there is no good faith in [Spanish] America; treaties are mere paper; constitutions, books; elections, combat; liberty, anarchy; life, a torment. We’ve never been so disgraced as we are now. Before, we enjoyed good things; illusion is fed by chimera…. we are tormented by bitter realities.”

This, from a man who was largely responsible for the chaos he now bitterly laments. A man who proclaimed the glorious unity of the continent, saw it irredeemably fractured and destroyed. He died, embittered (“I have plowed the sea!”), a mere year later.

Historian Luis Level de Goda wrote in 1893, “The revolutions have produced in Venezuela nothing but the most vulgar leaders, tribal chieftains, the greatest disorders and lack of concern for one another, corruption, and a long, never-ending tyranny, the moral ruin of the country, and the degradation of a great number of Venezuelans.”

Half a century before Level de Goda, the writer, Cecilio Acosta made a like point, “The internal convulsions have produced sacrifices but not improvements; tears but not harvests.” Others have made similar, terrible, and depressing observations.

One of the purposes of this blog is to look at these and related matters as dispassionately as possible and hopefully to encourage us to reconsider what we’ve been taught for generations.

And maybe, with God’s help and with sincere goodwill, we might see a true and wonderful rapprochement between “The Colossus of the North” (how they referred to the USA for generations) and the land which was first called “America” (it was South America who first had that epithet, not the United States).

Long time Mexican president, Porfirio Díaz, spoke for many in Central and South American when he exclaimed in exasperation: “Poor Mexico! So far from God, so close to the United States [Pobre Méjico! Tan lejos de Dios y tan cerca de los Estados Unidos]!”

I’d say that, today, both the United States and South America are far from God as far as their legislators go. Let’s pray and work towards a rapprochement with the Triune God. Then the way to a bright future between these great neighbors will be not only more possible but excitingly successful and fruitful!

Porfirio Díaz, president of Mexico; photo taken early 20th century.

Don Porfirio Díaz and his wife, Doña Carmen, in exile in Paris circa 1912, shortly before his death.

Sketch from life in 1830 by José María Espinosa. Bolivar was 47 and died shortly thereafter.

Following are representative examples of Spanish architecture in colonial Americas

Castillo de San Marcos, St. Augustine, Florida, United States, built 17th century.

Cuzco Cathedral, Cuzco, Perú. Built 17th century.

Metropolitan Cathedral, Mexico City. Built in sections with the first section built in the 16th century (the century before the arrival of the Pilgrims)

Metropolitan Cathedral of Quito, Quito, Ecuador. Construction began in 1562.

Cathedral of San Juan, Puerto Rico, first constructed of wood in 1521; current building first constructed in 1540, almost 100 years before the Pilgrims.

Cathedral of Santa María la Menor, Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, construction began in 1512 and was completed in 1540. Pilgrims arrived in Massachussets in 1620. First permanent English settlement in America was in 1607. My point is not that “Spain is better or that England is better”; it is simply that there is more to our stories than that in the standard narratives.

Old San Juan, Puerto Rico. Puerto Rico was one of the very few Spanish colonies that was not devastated by the bloodletting elsewhere in the Americas. The district, now a national historic site, is characterized by cobblestone streets and stone buildings dating to the 16th and 17th centuries.

Playa Hicacos, 1966

June 15, 2019June 15, 2019 Richard Barnes

Towards the end of my childhood life in Venezuela, my father took us to Puerto la Cruz. Back then, this was a 5 or 6-hour drive but Puerto la Cruz was the closest city with an American consulate. She sits on the northeast coast of Venezuela, east of Caracas, west of Cumaná.

We always looked forward to trips there because such trips would invariably include at least one visit to the spectacular beaches on the coast of Sucre to the east of the city. That trip, in 1966, marked the last time I ever visited a beach in Venezuela, not counting those in Canaima, which are river beaches.

Childhood memories are notoriously unreliable. However, over the years I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a few “round-the-world” sailors who agree that this area of Venezuela contains some of the world’s most picturesque, but unknown, ocean spots.

On that visit, my father drove us for what seemed like hours snaking our way through the high coastal mountain ranges over some unpaved roads affording us breathtaking vistas of this striking cordillera and crystalline seas far below. We eventually arrived at Playa Hicacos. We had it all to ourselves. The water was cold (not cool but cold). However, we quickly warmed up and enjoyed our day at the beach. That last beach outing has remained indelible in my memory and I’ve judged all other beaches by that standard. Most others fall short — unfair, I know, to judge the rest by a childhood memory, but indulge me on this, please.

I had little idea that year was a tumultuous one for South America. Signs of political agitation were almost everywhere, not only in Venezuela but in practically all large cities of the continent. Scrawlings on walls — this I do recall — ranged from “Castro is a traitor!” to “Vote Communist!” and, of course the ubiquitous, “Yanqui go home!”

That was the year of The Beatles’ Rubber Soul and I remember hearing “Michelle” here and there at stops during this and other trips — including the one to Maracay alluded to in an earlier post (“Coffee”). That was also the year the same Beatles released an album cover posing as butchers with mutilated dolls and cut meat. It was later pulled, which reflects the fact that, even in 1966, an anteroom year for the Hippies and Woodstock shenanigans, sensibilities were more respectful than today.

I also recall lots of ruckus about a gal named Peggy Fleming who skated on ice, spectacularly. I now understand that she was a key figure (no pun intended) envisaging the return of the USA to figure skating dominance after the entire 18-member team was killed in a plane crash in 1961.

And large scale anti-Vietnam War protests also began to take shape that year.

But news from South America was sparse. You had to be living there to hear about Communist guerrilla bands attacking landowners in Peru or the rumors of Juan Peron’s return to Argentina and the upheavals that led to the military coup, with labor support (!), which deposed its president.

In Chile, Eduardo Frei was president. He downplayed the Communist threat and, like many South American intellectuals, would chide the Americans for being so “childishly afraid” of a non-threat. It was a turbulent year in Chile culminating 4 years later with the election of Salvador Allende with 36% of the vote; an election which had to be decided by the legislature who voted him in, after receiving assurances by Allende that he would not go full Communist. Assurances which went promptly out the window. Such was the shock and such was the disaster, that Eduardo Frei himself came to support Allende’s ouster by a military coup in 1973. The Chile situation did get press in the United States in the 1970’s, but as usual it was very incomplete and much too colored by Hollywood.

In Colombia, lawlessness had its own peculiar name: La Violencia. In 1966, as in prior years, President Guillermo Valencia sought to explain to US diplomats and legislators and dubious journalists that the violent guerrillas causing havoc in the country were Communist-inspired and supported (there was plenty of evidence for this, including Cubans embedded with the guerillas and pamphlets espousing the Communist line).

Perhaps La Violencia’s most despicable exponent was Pedro Antonio Marín, known as Tiro Fijo (Sure Shot). The prior year he had waylaid a bus, and killed thirteen of its passengers (including two nuns). This was followed by an attack on a nearby village. He and his men murdered the mayor and police chief and then preached revolution to the stunned villagers. Marín was the chief leader of the Communist FARC, which he founded in 1966. His toll of known murders exceeded 200 by the end of the 1960’s, then grew exponentially thereafter.

In Venezuela President Betancourt, a former Communist who had been betrayed by Castro (here, besides written propaganda, the evidence included weapons, explosives, and ammunition smuggled in from Cuba), had denounced Castro to the Organization of American States (OAS) and demanded sanctions, thereby earning the eternal hatred of his erstwhile comrades. The FALN (a Communist group akin to Colombia’s FARC) was active, but Betancourt clamped down, hard, in the early 60’s including outlawing the Communist Party. The damage to infrastructure and commerce, including oil pipelines, was great; however, by 1966, things were somewhat calm, business was good, travel was open, and the National Guard checkpoints along critical highways gave us a sense of security. Acts of violence still occurred, but not as seriously as earlier in the decade.

It was an intense year. But as a child, I knew little of all that and certainly had no premonition of the storms which were about to burst in the few short years that followed.

My only concern (whenever I would think of it, butterflies would fly in my gut) was that this would be my last year living at home. That day in Playa Hicacos was fun and peaceful and strikingly beautiful; sort of an oasis, a recreational rest midst the gathering storms. Looking back, I now suspect my father’s desire was to provide opportunities to create memories to cherish in the years ahead. Not only for me, but for him as well.

In September of 1966, at the end of annual family leave in Miami, I bid farewell to my mother and father and siblings as they boarded the Pan American jet which would transport them back to Venezuela. I remained in Miami, Florida for schooling, as did most of my cousins.

As for Playa Hicacos, I later learned that, in 1973, the entire area was designated a national park, Mochima, and I hear it’s as beautiful now as it was back in the day when I visited.

There are some things that never change.

The Beatles’ original *Yesterday and Today* album cover. Later pulled.

The Beatles’ highly influential *Rubber Soul*, which included the song, “Michelle”

Peggy Fleming on a South American postage stamp in 1983, commemorating her gold medal in the 1968 Olympics.

Arturo Illia, President of Argentina, deposed by military coup in 1966.

Eduardo Frei, president of Chile in 1966. He came to support the military coup against Salvador Allende in 1973.

Salvador Allende deposed by military coup in 1973; committed suicide before he could be removed. He was president of the senate from 1966 to 1970. A doctrinaire Communist who betrayed his assurances to the Chile legislature. They would not have supported his appointment as president otherwise.

Pedro Antonio Marín (Tiro Fijo). A most despicable murderer. The United States State Department eventually put a price of $5 million on him. It is said he died, in Colombia, of a heart attack in 2008.

Guillermo León Valencia, president of Colombia until August, 1966. He at least understood much of the instigation of *La Violencia*.

President Rómulo Betancourt and Fidel Castro in 1959. The relationship soon soured.

One of the countless beaches in the Mochima area

All beach photos are from the Mochima area.

The boy and his sister at Playa Hicacos, 1966

Coffee

April 5, 2019April 20, 2019 Richard Barnes

This in no way is the opinion of a coffee connoisseur; just an anecdote in the ongoing education of a layman who likes coffee.

I often wondered why coffee tasted so good in Venezuela but so bad in Colombia. The conundrum was a challenge because having brought both Venezuelan and Colombian coffees to our home in Michigan and, later, Texas, preparing and drinking the Colombian was a delight, whereas the Venezuelan was a bitter memory. This neatly inverted my experience when actually drinking coffee in the respective countries: in Venezuela, coffee good; in Colombia, coffee bad.

Why was that? Why was coffee so flavorful in Venezuela, whether in fine restaurants or on street corners or in middle-of-nowhere joints, but so insipid in similar venues in Colombia? And yet, when you took the same coffees out of the country, the experience was exactly the reverse?

During an assignment in South America in the early 1990’s, I was invited for dinner at the home of a European executive and his wife. They served exquisite coffee.

“This coffee is very good. I assume it’s Colombian,” I said.

“Well, no. It’s Venezuelan,” our hostess replied. And then she and her husband laughed. They went on to explain that the reason coffee tasted good in Venezuela is that, although Venezuelan coffee is, in general, really not very good, the country’s bistros, restaurants, street corners, and country kiosks were equipped with the best European coffee makers, whether simple, Italian-made stainless steel stove top expresso makers (not to be confused with made-in-China Bialetti’s, whose coffee soon has the whiff of aluminum) or the marvelously complex, Swiss-or-Italian-made stainless steel commercial barista-operated machines.

“That is not the case in Colombia, for the most part. Yes, their coffee is indeed superior, but they go cheap on the coffee-making equipment and hence their coffee suffers.”

The point they drove home was that, for a tasty cup of coffee, the coffee maker can be more important than the coffee itself. Experts may disagree with their statement, but my own experience, anecdotal and unprofessional as it is, bears it out. And did I mention that the executive was a longtime employee of one of the largest food and beverage companies in the world? He likely knows what he’s talking about.

Once, in my mid teens, during a 24-hour drive from the interior to Maracay (a city to the west of Caracas), my father was not comfortable stopping for the night given that the inns we had inspected were, shall we say, not family friendly. He decided to continue driving but asked me to assist given that my mother was too sleepy to do so. I was excited for my first opportunity to drive on one of our excursions but was just as sleepy as he was. My father knew that the large cattle ranches in the area (known as hatos) would at times have giant kiosks with generators and excellent coffee along some roadsides. Around three in the morning, we saw one, like an oasis bathed in bright lights piercing the stark darkness. It was open air and the cowboys could be seen from the road as they leaned on the massive mahogany counter chatting and sipping their “negritos”, a very strong espresso-like concoction. My father ordered two. It was my first ever and it kept me awake and wired through the rest of the dark hours and into the middle of the morning when we drove into the city.

Three impressions stay with me from that incident: first, the bright lights in the darkest period of the night; second, the vaqueros in their boots and large hats as they leaned and talked and took their coffee; and, third, the intricate and polished espresso machines which, to a boy, seemed to extend the length of the wooden counter. This was an example of the Italian-made coffee makers one would find in the remotest corners of Venezuela, producing a coffee so excellent, that it would make Venezuelans dining in Paris bistros yearn for that homemade brew.

Venezuela once rivalled Colombia in terms of coffee production (not taste, except for rare artesanal coffee). Sadly, Venezuela’s coffee production has been in steep decline, especially since early this century when the effect of state regulations interfered with and disrupted coffee growers’ operations. In this regard, Venezuela has more in common with Cuba than to its neighbor. In Venezuela, power is now officially rationed but we can be grateful that, unlike Cuba, coffee is not.

Well, Colombia and Venezuela were supposed to be one country, not two. Maybe they’ll agree to unite one day, for the perfect cup of coffee.