Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
back over the Quindio. I could not afford to lose time, the rainy season being nearly due. As
I had been over this trail before I thought I could travel after dark without running a risk, and
this nearly caused a disaster. Before reaching San Miguel, the little settlement halfway up the
mountain,asmallbridgespansadeepcanyonwithroaringwatersbelow.Nearthisbridgewas
a sharp curve I had forgotten all about. It was pitch dark and, when I heard the noise of the
water, I knew that I was near the bridge. I guided the mule along slowly, and suddenly the an-
imal refused to move. Try what I would, I could not make it take another step forward. After
a few more futile attempts I dismounted and struck a match to see what the animal might be
shying at. A cold ripple went down my back when I was aware that we had come off the trail,
having missed the curve, and were at the very brink of the precipice. 'Mule sense' had saved
me.
NextdayIpassed'LaLinea'.Nearthispointtravellershaveahabitofmakinglittlecrosses
with sticks and planting them alongside the trail, believing this will bring luck. Others carve
crossesinthesoftrocks,andinthecourseoftimeextraordinarynumbersofthesecrosseshave
accumulated.
A heavy rain began to fall and the trail became rather slippery. Halfway down the other
side I passed a family on their way up. Two pretty little girls with curly hair and chubby
cheeks were at the head of the caravan. Just as I passed them the mule of one girl slipped
and stumbled. The kiddie hung on like an expert and as soon as she had recovered balance
she gave me a merry smile. There are smiles we never forget, and this was one of them. The
rain was beating into her rosy face, and from her long, light-brown curls heavy drops were
dripping, and when she showed me her pearl-white teeth between cherry-red lips I felt like
bending over and kissing her.
Next came Pa and Ma, both looking worried and tired out, which did not surprise me. Be-
hind them a man led a mule with two crates, one on each flank. Inside the crates were two
little children who were peeping out through a small opening in the sail-cloth that protected
them against the rain. At the rear came another mule, fairly groaning under a huge load of
household articles, pots and pans clattering like an old-fashioned tinker's barrow. On the very
top of this extraordinary load were cages with birds of various species and even a couple of
cats. I have seen several such family caravans in the Andes, but I shall always remember the
two cheerful and plucky little girls of the Quindio.
Therainlastedalldayandthroughoutthenight.WhenIwasabouttoleaveArmenianextday,
I was advised to make a two days' detour over a fair road. Mule drivers warned me that the
trail I had used a week before was now in a terrible condition. Thinking their report was ex-
aggerated, and to save time, I took no notice and started back by my old route. At first I found
everything as I had expected, but when I entered the forest I began to think I was lost; every
now and again some peculiar landmark convinced me that I was on the right path, although
it was impossible to recognise it. The recent rains had transformed it into one mass of heavy,
