Hudson Filmmaker Shows Amazon Film

www.kamarata.net

Hudson filmmaker Isabel Barton has been working for nine years with an indigenous woman in the Venezuelan Amazon to help rescue her tribe’s disappearing culture and language. The film is in post-production. A finished segment of this unique film will be shown in Columbiaville (postal address Hudson, NY) at 6 pm on Saturday 7 September. E-mail Isabel Barton for more details and address. (ibarton@arcanapictures.net)

A brief synopsis follows:

An intimate look into how Kamarakoto tribal chief Hortensia Berti unravels the history of her tribe by piecing together the stories of her great-grandfather, a legendary chief whose teachings form the canon by which the Kamarakoto people live. Berti seeks the elders in their mud-huts, at the edge of the Amazon forest, and their stories illustrate not just their indigenous traditions but also their serendipitous interaction with the American explorers who “discovered” and studied Angel Falls, the tallest waterfall on earth, in the mid 20th Century. This is the first time these histories are woven together: The Making of a Chief is history in the making, of one of the world’s endangered cultures.

Present at the event will be New York Foundation for the Arts executive director Michael Royce, who will speak briefly about the importance of this kind of events by artists in the present economic atmosphere.

Barton is raising funds to complete the editing of the film. Donations are tax-deductible and contributors are instrumental in the rescuing and preservation of the culture and language of the Kamarakoto people. Suggested donation for the event is $50 per person. Donations of any amount will make a difference.

To reserve a seat RSPV to Isabel Barton @ ibarton@arcanapictures.net .

To make a donation click here:https://www.artspire.org/Donations/DonatetoFiscalSponsorship/Donate.aspx?view=donateNow&pid=IB0562

Also present at the event will be Karen Angel, niece of Jimmie Angel, the fabled American aviator who discovered Angel Falls in 1933, as well as Patricia Hubbard, legacy executor of Ruth Robertson, the American photojournalist who was the first to measure the falls in 1949. Both Jimmie Angel and Ruth Robertson’s stories are integral to the history of the Kamarakoto people and Angel Falls.

The event is hosted by Hedy Roma and Tony Gonzalez in the Screening room of their residence in Columbiaville.

Wine and Venezuelan tapas by CIA graduate Chef Marianna Morrison will be served.

It will be a unique event.

Cultural Survival and the Contribution of Indigenous Cultures to Humanity

By Anthony Ippolito

Soon after arriving for the first time amidst the towering, enduring behemoths, the famed tabletop tepui mountains, my new Pemón friends were teaching me the significance of a fruit of a local tree.  The juice of the fruit was clear but was the basis for tattoos used to adorn their bodies during various rituals.  The beauty and significance of their invisible design would only be revealed with a night’s passing.  As they painted various parts of my body they were giddy but appreciative that I was an enthusiastic participant.  I was mildly confused because their transcriptions were not visible and the approximate 12 hours had yet to pass.  Their work came into its full fruition the next morning as I awoke and noticed the simple yet moving patterns that covered my body: symbols of protection, homage, and unity of the burgeoning and sustaining life around them.  Admittedly, I, nor any outsider, could grasp the meanings, depth, and rich intricacies of their culture.  Nonetheless, I felt warmly welcomed into their lives and honored by their act of sharing this ritual, an invitation that I graciously and humbly accepted.

I went to teach on that trip but I could not help and was willing to learn from the Pemón.  The Pemón perspective of their wild surroundings is refreshing, the respect and awareness of the life around them is inspiring, their knowledge of how to use the forests is voluminous, their (lack of) governmental organization is respectable, their interactions with their natural surroundings are compassionate and thoughtful, and their acceptance of foreigners is charitable and genuine.  The Pemón perspective is unique to them, but indigenous cultures across the globe each have unique perspectives of their environs, their people, and the people outside of their communities.  However, like a falling raindrop is lost forever into the homogenous ocean, the theme that unites most indigenous cultures is that they are being engulfed into the sea of modern industrialized culture and the advance of globalization.  Indigenous cultures are in danger of being lost forever, no documentation of their heritage, their wealth of knowledge, and, frequently, like a raindrop into an ocean, no longer with a cultural identity and unity.

The industrialized knee jerk reaction to preserving indigenous cultures is to keep them in a hypothetical pristine state, as if to maintain a living anthropological museum.  However, the wave of globalization and modernization has already drenched most indigenous cultures, and to deny these people access to modern technology or methods that can improve their lives, would be criminal.   At some point in the near future, inevitably, modern ways and cultures will reach even the most isolated or insular indigenous people.   This is a certainty.  One challenge is to make sure these people do not drown in the wave and lose themselves as the outside world arrives.  A second challenge is to recognize that the current flows both ways; indigenous cultures are not just receptacles of outside information but are sources of information as well.  However, most indigenous cultures do not yet possess the modern vehicles of rapid dissemination of their knowledge such as computers or the internet, and frequently, the “intrinsic value” of their cultures (Musschenga 1998) is not fully appreciated by the outside world. 

         UNESCO made preserving cultural identity a priority in October of 2003 with their adoption of the Convention for the Safe Guarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage (Keitumetse 2006).  The term safeguarding is defined as 'measures aimed at ensuring the viability of the intangible cultural heritage, including the identification, documentation, research, preservation, protection, promotion, enhancement, transmission, particularly through formal and non formal education, as well as the revitalization of the various aspects of such heritage" (Article 2.3, unesco.org).   Although some of the stated goals are to catalog, preserve, and protect, the definition also thoughtfully includes the hope of maintenance of the culture within the people themselves by teaching or reeducating about the nuances and meaning of various cultural aspects.  The people from these cultures, living, practicing, understanding, and transmitting their own culture, will be the surest and most secure safeguard.  This is an important step towards preserving the information but the information also needs to be available and flow outside of these cultures.

            The importance of indigenous knowledge has been recognized and is currently being integrated in many useful and creative ways.  Indigenous cultures can contribute significantly to contemporary issues, such as, conservation, sustainability, resource management and utilization, global education, partnerships with research scientists, and the development of tourism (Davis and Wali 1994, Mabulla 2000).  Orlove and Brush (1996) argue that protected areas and genetic resources, particularly from plants, are dependent on indigenous groups and links are naturally forged with these groups, regional and national agencies, and international organizations (Schwartzman and Zimmerman 2005, Brosius 1997).

I work with the Pemón in an attempt to develop their tourism potential.  The Pemón have been diligent to keep out the logging and the mining companies and preserve most of their native lands.  This is not an easy task knowing that large sums of money could be made if they acquiesced to powerful industry.  But because they stand firm, they need to build a viable industry based on the preservation of their natural resources.  Developing tourism in the more out lying areas seems to have enormous potential to create a revenue stream that maintains their lands.

Ultimately, the reasons for preserving indigenous culture and knowledge can be argued academically from many points of view.  More philosophically, why do we care when most of humanity will never meet, contact, or perhaps, never be directly affected by these cultures?  Why do most of us agree with saving elephants, giant pandas, or even obscure plants in the wild when we will never see them outside of zoos and conservatories?  From my perspective, humanity has become more than an evolutionary, integrated part of ecology.  We have put ourselves in a position of stewardship, not only for other species, but for other humans in which we share the planet as well.  The preservation of indigenous cultures offer more than information and knowledge, but a context in which we understand ourselves, the accomplishments, and diversity of humanity.

Works cited in this blog:

Brosius, J.P. 1997.  Endangered forests, endangered people: Environmentalist representations of indigenous knowledge. Human Ecology: 25 (1), pp. 47-69.

Davis, S.H. and A. Wali. 1994.  Indigenous land tenure and tropical forest management in Latin America.  Ambio: 23 (8), pp. 485-490.

Keitumetse, S. 2006. UNESCO 2003 convention on intangible heritage: Practical implications for heritage management approaches in Africa. South African Archaeological Bulletin: 61 (184), pp. 166-171.

Mabulla, A.Z.P. 2000. Strategy for cultural heritage management: A case study. The African Archaeological Review: 17 (4), pp. 211-233.

Musschenga, A.W. 1998. Intrinsic value as a reason for the preservation of minority cultures.  Ethical Theory and Moral Practice: 1 (2) 201-225.

Orlove, B.S. and S. B. Brush. 1996. Anthropology and the conservation of biodiversity.  Annual Review of Anthropology:  25, pp. 329-352.

Schwartzman, S. and B. Zimmerman. 2005.  Conservation alliances with indigenous peoples of the Amazon. Conservation Biology: 19 (3), pp. 721-727.

Cultural Survival and Humanity by Anthony Ippolito

Soon after arriving for the first time amidst the towering, enduring behemoths, the famed tabletop tepui mountains, my new Pemón friends were teaching me the significance of a fruit of a local tree.  The juice of the fruit was clear but was the basis for tattoos used to adorn their bodies during various rituals.  The beauty and significance of their invisible design would only be revealed with a night’s passing.  As they painted various parts of my body they were giddy but appreciative that I was an enthusiastic participant.  I was mildly confused because their transcriptions were not visible and the approximate 12 hours had yet to pass.  Their work came into its full fruition the next morning as I awoke and noticed the simple yet moving patterns that covered my body: symbols of protection, homage, and unity of the burgeoning and sustaining life around them.  Admittedly, I, nor any outsider, could grasp the meanings, depth, and rich intricacies of their culture.  Nonetheless, I felt warmly welcomed into their lives and honored by their act of sharing this ritual, an invitation that I graciously and humbly accepted.

I went to teach on that trip but I could not help and was willing to learn from the Pemón.  The Pemón perspective of their wild surroundings is refreshing, the respect and awareness of the life around them is inspiring, their knowledge of how to use the forests is voluminous, their (lack of) governmental organization is respectable, their interactions with their natural surroundings are compassionate and thoughtful, and their acceptance of foreigners is charitable and genuine.  The Pemón perspective is unique to them, but indigenous cultures across the globe each have unique perspectives of their environs, their people, and the people outside of their communities.  However, like a falling raindrop is lost forever into the homogenous ocean, the theme that unites most indigenous cultures is that they are being engulfed into the sea of modern industrialized culture and the advance of globalization.  Indigenous cultures are in danger of being lost forever, no documentation of their heritage, their wealth of knowledge, and, frequently, like a raindrop into an ocean, no longer with a cultural identity and unity.

The industrialized knee jerk reaction to preserving indigenous cultures is to keep them in a hypothetical pristine state, as if to maintain a living anthropological museum.  However, the wave of globalization and modernization has already drenched most indigenous cultures, and to deny these people access to modern technology or methods that can improve their lives, would be criminal.   At some point in the near future, inevitably, modern ways and cultures will reach even the most isolated or insular indigenous people.   This is a certainty.  One challenge is to make sure these people do not drown in the wave and lose themselves as the outside world arrives.  A second challenge is to recognize that the current flows both ways; indigenous cultures are not just receptacles of outside information but are sources of information as well.  However, most indigenous cultures do not yet possess the modern vehicles of rapid dissemination of their knowledge such as computers or the internet, and frequently, the “intrinsic value” of their cultures (Musschenga 1998) is not fully appreciated by the outside world. 

         UNESCO made preserving cultural identity a priority in October of 2003 with their adoption of the Convention for the Safe Guarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage (Keitumetse 2006).  The term safeguarding is defined as 'measures aimed at ensuring the viability of the intangible cultural heritage, including the identification, documentation, research, preservation, protection, promotion, enhancement, transmission, particularly through formal and non formal education, as well as the revitalization of the various aspects of such heritage" (Article 2.3, unesco.org).   Although some of the stated goals are to catalog, preserve, and protect, the definition also thoughtfully includes the hope of maintenance of the culture within the people themselves by teaching or reeducating about the nuances and meaning of various cultural aspects.  The people from these cultures, living, practicing, understanding, and transmitting their own culture, will be the surest and most secure safeguard.  This is an important step towards preserving the information but the information also needs to be available and flow outside of these cultures.

            The importance of indigenous knowledge has been recognized and is currently being integrated in many useful and creative ways.  Indigenous cultures can contribute significantly to contemporary issues, such as, conservation, sustainability, resource management and utilization, global education, partnerships with research scientists, and the development of tourism (Davis and Wali 1994, Mabulla 2000).  Orlove and Brush (1996) argue that protected areas and genetic resources, particularly from plants, are dependent on indigenous groups and links are naturally forged with these groups, regional and national agencies, and international organizations (Schwartzman and Zimmerman 2005, Brosius 1997).

I work with the Pemón in an attempt to develop their tourism potential.  The Pemón have been diligent to keep out the logging and the mining companies and preserve most of their native lands.  This is not an easy task knowing that large sums of money could be made if they acquiesced to powerful industry.  But because they stand firm, they need to build a viable industry based on the preservation of their natural resources.  Developing tourism in the more out lying areas seems to have enormous potential to create a revenue stream that maintains their lands.

Ultimately, the reasons for preserving indigenous culture and knowledge can be argued academically from many points of view.  More philosophically, why do we care when most of humanity will never meet, contact, or perhaps, never be directly affected by these cultures?  Why do most of us agree with saving elephants, giant pandas, or even obscure plants in the wild when we will never see them outside of zoos and conservatories?  From my perspective, humanity has become more than an evolutionary, integrated part of ecology.  We have put ourselves in a position of stewardship, not only for other species, but for other humans in which we share the planet as well.  The preservation of indigenous cultures offer more than information and knowledge, but a context in which we understand ourselves, the accomplishments, and diversity of humanity.

Works cited in this blog:

Brosius, J.P. 1997.  Endangered forests, endangered people: Environmentalist representations of indigenous knowledge. Human Ecology: 25 (1), pp. 47-69.

Davis, S.H. and A. Wali. 1994.  Indigenous land tenure and tropical forest management in Latin America.  Ambio: 23 (8), pp. 485-490.

Keitumetse, S. 2006. UNESCO 2003 convention on intangible heritage: Practical implications for heritage management approaches in Africa. South African Archaeological Bulletin: 61 (184), pp. 166-171.

Mabulla, A.Z.P. 2000. Strategy for cultural heritage management: A case study. The African Archaeological Review: 17 (4), pp. 211-233.

Musschenga, A.W. 1998. Intrinsic value as a reason for the preservation of minority cultures.  Ethical Theory and Moral Practice: 1 (2) 201-225.

Orlove, B.S. and S. B. Brush. 1996. Anthropology and the conservation of biodiversity.  Annual Review of Anthropology:  25, pp. 329-352.

Schwartzman, S. and B. Zimmerman. 2005.  Conservation alliances with indigenous peoples of the Amazon. Conservation Biology: 19 (3), pp. 721-727.

Oh the places that you’ll go, and Canaima could be one of them…by Anthony Ippolito

This is the initial installment of my contribution to the blog of the non-profit cultural preservation organization, Angel Conservation.  Admittedly, I haven’t read many blogs and am unsure if a certain protocol is followed. Having said that, my contributions will cover the spectrum from educational to reflections to off of the cuff story of my experiences with Angel Conservation and particularly the interactions with the indigenous Kamaracotos, the Pemón, and their native lands inside of Canaima National Park in Bolivar State, in Southeastern Venezuela.

As an ecologist, I have been fortunate to fulfill my dream to travel and work in many exotic, mostly remote, intriguing, and inspiring locations around the planet.  My life, like every traveler, has been enriched by my wanderings, my wonderings, people whom I’ve met along the way, worked with, and whom I’ve have shared the adventure.  Many travelers are compelled to share their personal anecdotes to illustrate how their lives have been enhanced or simply to tell the tale of their experiences.  Despite having my voluminous share of colorful rides in dusty, dented, tin-can buses, eating things that had more than 4 or no legs at all, being the host of ecto-parasite party crashers on every microhabitat of my body, or eyeballing, at nose blank range, various caliber of arms, hoping the wielder doesn’t have an itchy trigger finger that needed scratching, I’ve only mildly had ideas of ever making a record of such events, as prime as they seem to be for such an endeavor. Although some experiences certainly have had a dangerous or potentially stomach turning element, perhaps naively, like movie make-believe where no one really gets hurt and everyone gets up and goes home when the day is done, I’ve never thought my life was ever seriously in danger and I have appreciated each moment in its own context.  I haven’t reached some age of enlightenment that is coercing me to teach the world what I’ve seen or how I’ve been affected.  However, I have had many in depth, inspiring, at times, surreal, moments, and from a mild coaxing sense of obligation and a sense of pure amusement, I’ve decided to start writing them in “blog” form.

I’m often asked which country or place I like the best and why.  I don’t find the question annoying but misguided and comparable to asking a parent which one of their children that they like the best.  I would guess that most parents would likely shirk the question as they realize that each one of their children has their own story and nuances.  Although children can be compared, they can hardly be ranked because each possesses a unique combination of attributes that individually taken, would not reflect the whole of the person.  Frankly for me, a comparison would be a distraction from the experience.  And so is my approach to the question of my favorite place in the world, I appreciate each place where I have traveled and relish each for the natural wonders, cultural anomalies, and the essence of the whole.   Although in the future I may get to other parts of the world, this blog concerns my continuing work and travels to the remote, unique, Kamarata Valley within Canaima National Park in Southeastern Venezuela, which provide an enriching set of experiences that are certainly worthy of their due in writing, and here they begin.

The region is an unparalleled wonderland from any perspective that one may take.  Anthropologists have been enthralled with the indigenous “society without government” that is embedded between the ominous but energizing table topped tepui-mountains that fascinate geologists and poets alike.  The Kamaracoto people of the region, the 30,000 or so people that call themselves the Pemón, manage a modest existence scattered throughout the valley within the boundaries of the national park in or near 30 villages.  They mostly keep conocos, or small cassava farms, fish, and still derive a large part of their nutrition from harvesting the ecosystems where they live.  Villages are a relatively recent missionary introduction to their culture as the Pemón historically lived in small familial congregations.  Much like most of the remaining indigenous people in the world, Pemón tradition and lore is interwoven with their surroundings, the plants, animals, and, of course, the tepuis and permeates their culture.

The tepuis are some of the grandest and oldest geological formations on the planet and were first brought to the wider public attention in 1912 by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s novel, The Lost World.  Frequently, clouds bathe and burst showers a top of the tepuis.  Like giant rain barrels that endlessly overflow and erupt from every split and notch in the mountainsides, thousands of waterfalls and cascades stripe and carve through the lush, verdant forests.  The tallest of these waterfalls bears the name of bush pilot, Jimmie Angel, who in 1933 flew into Churún Canyon and past a waterfall that he claimed was a mile high.  In 1949, photojournalist Ruth Robertson’s persistence earned her the honor of being the first person to arrive at the base of Angel Falls, officially measuring the falls at 3212 feet (979 meters).  Not quite the mile that Angel originally claimed, but nonetheless, the tallest waterfall in the world that Angel proudly called the 8^th natural wonder of the world.  A waterfall that is 2 ½ times the height of the Empire State Building is no less than breathtaking and a testament to the height and magnitude of the tepuis.

Each tepui rises and reaches into the sky and is a literal island that is separated from each other by oceans of air and clouds.  The tepui “islands” are a patchwork of habitats with diverse sets of plants that demanded over 20 volumes to systemically categorize and describe all of the botanical richness of the region.  From the “carnivorous” sundews to the explosion of orchid species atop the tepuis to the Moriche “tree of life” palms to giant arum leaves that stand upright formidably in the understory of the gallery rain forest that seem to drip down the sides of the mountains, botanists could spend lifetimes here pouring through the greenery without exhausting the natural wealth that sustains the animals and people of the region.

So this is the stage in which my blogs will be set, a wonderfully friendly and humble culture, awe-inspiring geological wonders, lush deep forests abounding with all the elements and animals of the tropics.  Such a place is a wonderland indeed and certainly a tourist destination.  I have had the privilege to know this place and to work there. My hope is that through these blogs, those that read them may get a similar, vicarious emotional response, imaginative stir, and intellectual curiosity that keeps me going back.  Wakuperukeruman! (Thanks!)

A very special trip to Venezuela's Lost World by Antonio Volpe Pasini

DEDICATED TO A FRIEND

While I’m working on the final touches to this feeble attempt to put together a humorous travel diary about an otherwise very serious and incredible trip, Paul (Graham Stanley) calls me with news that fill my heart with sorrow and pain. One of the most colorful and interesting characters I’ve met in my first peregrinations in this beautiful niche of the world was “Captain Alfonso” or “The Pilot”. Well the news was that he had died in a crash the day before Paul was scheduled to arrive in Canaima on July 4^th. For some time I have struggled with the feeling that maybe I should tone down the couple of parts in which Alfonso is the protagonist and use a more somber approach. At the end I decided not to. Having known him ever so briefly I like to think that he would have liked it exactly the way it is and have a good laugh about it. What I want to do tough is to dedicate this diary to his memory.

God speed Alfonso!

INTRODUCTION

Dear Friends, 

This is how and why my eyes that had been shut for so many years reopened. How and why my soul that has been devoided of feelings for so many years has been relifted. How and why my heart that has been in the deep freezer of “real life” for so many years has been thawed. This is how and why I owe this to all of you – Paul above all – and the Pemón people. I hope you can bear with me and read what follows.

As many of you know I have been involved with Angel Conservation since before its conception, and for all these years I have devoted a lot of my free time and my energy to our mission. Regrettably though, I never had the chance to go to Venezuela and meet the Pemón and see the status of our projects and the difference these projects actually make in the lives of the locals. Finally this has changed. Finally the planets aligned, the winds where blowing in the right direction, my work days where cut to three a week, but most of all Paul said that he would never  speak to me again if I didn’t go. I realized that this time I had no good – or bad – excuse to keep my sorry rear end in Brooklyn.

So there I was, at the beginning of January thinking that I was going to embark in another adventure – I had quite a few of them in my younger years – and I must admit that at first I had mixed feelings. What will I find? Will I be disappointed? Will the people accept me as they apparently did Paul?  Why then did I feel this underlining of excitement?

For days I tried to keep this dichotomy of emotional approach to “The Trip” at bay. I tried not to think about it. I tried to dismiss the personal implications trying to convince myself that it was nothing more than one more of the hundreds of trips that dotted my life. Useless exercise in futility.

As the X hour approached my excitement soared. I couldn’t stop telling anybody who had the gift of hearing where I was going and why. I was counting the hours, the minutes, the seconds to 4:30 am on February 25, the moment Paul and I would leave Brooklyn Heights. Destination: Gran Sabana, Venezuela. 

 

Nevertheless on the plane that from JFK was propelling us to San Juan Puerto Rico and then Caracas, my anxiety started to raise its ugly head again. My heart started pounding. Was it fear of disappointment? Was it anticipation for a new adventure? Was it fear of the anticipation of a life changing - for experience? I soon would know the answer. An answer that now, in hindsight, is the one I was hoping – but also fearing – for. An answer that will forever change my life.

THERE WE GO

The beginning was traumatic: I don’t do 4:00 in the morning! That is usually the time I go to bed, not the one my alarm goes off! Nevertheless here we go, destination JFK. As soon as we set foot in the lounge on the TV screen, tuned on CNN, roll the images of a plane crash in Holland. Great! No, wait a minute – Paul and I had the same thought: the probabilities of two plane crashes in a few hours from each other are astronomical. So San Juan here we come!

After a brief layover in Puerto Rico it’s off to Caracas. I almost dislocate my cervical vertebrae to look out of the windows and take in everything that we fly over. In Caracas another short wait and then off again: destination Puerto Ordaz. The planes kept getting smaller and smaller. Little did I know what lay ahead!

After flying over the mesmerizing Orinoco Delta we land. We have arrived. Finally some rest!! No way!! Paul literally drags me through the airport. It’s tiny but at this point it looks as big as Place de la Concorde. I ask him what we’re looking for. “Oh-La-La!” he screams. I didn’t know he spoke French, thinking that he found our destination. Sure enough he doesn’t. It’s only the bar we are looking for and where we are going to meet the rest of the crew. Obviously there are two of them, and this adds to the confusion, but eventually we manage to find the right one. There we have an incredibly warm greeting from Lydia, Valentina, Martha Vazquez (a local anthropologist) and Zam. The three ladies are part of the team, and with them Paul and I board a couple of cars and off we go. Destination: Cuidad Bolivar.

We arrive at the Hotel La Cumbre after sunset. In the dark the place is beautiful. Almost mystical. We are dead tired but the allure of a couple of Cuba Libre is irresistible. So after dropping our luggage in or rooms we gather at a table on the patio. There we meet the owners, Chelo and her husband Pedro. Their welcome is so warm and their hospitality so gracious that we immediately feel like family and the lure of a soft warm bed disappears in an instant.

We spend the night chatting about Angel Conservation, Ecotourism, the Pemón, the Grand Sabana. I try to soak in every word while tasting some of the local delicacies that Chelo keeps having sent to the table (alongside a steady stream of Cuba Libres). Even the worm that Paul urges me to eat looks sort of appealing and I decide to go for it. Lydia is about to follow my example but at the last second she backs out. “It was because of the face you made while you ate it”, she explains. Some face it must have been! In any case it wasn’t that bad.

At the end one by one we start fading and we retire to our sleeping quarters. It’s going to be an early morning. Our next leg of the trip will start at six! Damn.

DAY 1

Good morning sunshine! I only had the vaguest recollection that Helios woke up so early. Anyway at six here we are, groggier than shining (at least I am – the ladies look like they just woke up from a 12 hour sleep). Fast breakfast and then off we go to the airport to meet with Capitan Alfonso who has to ferry us to Uruyen. What a character. Smiling and bald, with a pair of legs so bowed that a dog with a broom in his mouth could easily run through them! “When we play football I always have fun kicking the ball through his legs. It’s so easy,” Paul chuckles. Unfortunately, due to a slight misunderstanding we are a little late so we have to take another flight. Paul and I take advantage of the short delay and go to have a look at the replica of Jimmy Angel’s plane. I know it’s not the original but nevertheless just standing in front of it sends shivers down my back. I still can’t believe I’m here, that I’m only minutes away from a place I have dreamed of for the last four years.

They call us. We have to go. As soon as we get out on the tarmac Lydia, Valentina, Martha and I look at each other: in front of us stands something that looks more like a fly with a propeller stuck to its nose rather than a real plane. Swallowing our fears we clime in joining Paul and the captain. There is barely space to move and the fact that a piece of the plane breaks right in Martha’s hand doesn’t add to our level of comfort. Thank God that the landscape we are flying over is breathtaking. I can’t take my eyes off the small window and can’t believe that Lydia and Vale actually managed to fall asleep!

As the cliche goes: every cloud has a silver lining, and our being late turns out to be great as we have to make an unscheduled stop in Canaima before moving on to Kavak. What a magnificent place albeit a little disappointing. I found it a little too touristy, in a slightly cheesy way. It reminded me of some of many villages I have visited in the past throughout the world: too many trinkets, to little indigenous flare. But the people are great, especially Eulalia and her little son that we meet there by chance. It warms my heart to see how they treat Paul, as if he where family.

It is an epiphany. It is the moment in which I realize why we do what we do in this part of the world. We are not intruders. We are friends welcomed with open arms and hearts!

Then the moment comes for us to move on. We board the plane and all of a sudden I realize that this time I managed to accomplish something that I’ve tried to do since we left New York: I lost something. After the Blackberry and my passport that I lost and then retrieved from two of the planes that took us here (at a certain point Paul took charge of all my possessions) this time I left my America Oggi hat on the bar table. The captain tried to retrieve it. Unsuccessfully. Strangely the loss gave me a sense of well-being for two reasons: first, in Italy we believe that if you forget something somewhere it means that you are meant to return; second, I like the idea that some local kid is prancing around boasting a hat sporting the logo of an Italian daily newspaper.

Smiling I settle in our little tsetse fly with a propeller stuck to its nose, and off we go over thousands of acres of untouched land towards Uruyen and an adventure that at this point I not only feel, but know will change my life. The flight to Uruyen is almost uneventful. The passengers in the rear cabin are dozing off  - tiredness is getting the best of all of us – until the captain, I’m sure with Paul’s delighted complicity, does a sharp right turn and a nose dip right on the steep side of the Auyantepui (Devil Mountain) to slide perilously close to a beautiful waterfall. Great fun! Probably not for the sleeping beauties in the back, who let out a couple of shrieks, even if more out of surprise than fear.

Anyhow, after flying around Edgar Rice Burroughs’ “Land That Time Forgot” (one day, I swore to myself, I will do the three day hike and go to the top of this unbelievable Tepui) we finally line up with the landing strip at Uruyen. Shoot, if the one at Canaima looked like little more than a two lane dirt road, this appeared even smaller! The only reassuring thing was that it was in the middle of a vast space bare of almost any type of vegetation taller than a few inches. So, if anything went wrong at least we didn’t risk hitting any tree. Some consolation it was.

All our fears dissipated as the captain performed a book perfect – if a little rocky – landing, although I think that some of us after getting out of the “tsetse fly” would have liked to perform a “Papal stint” and kiss the land on which we just set foot.

All of our jitters vanished when we looked up and saw the sincere smiles of the “welcoming committee”. It was made up of a bunch of happy, raunchy kids and a couple of guys with open smiling faces. One of them immediately caught my attention. His eyes where smart, inquisitive and alert, filled with the soft glow of self contentment. He came forward and embraced Paul as if welcoming a brother coming back home after a long trip abroad. The scene sent a chill down my spine. Immediately he turned towards us and said his name was Clemente. Finally! I’ve heard his name for years, and now I at last got face to face with him. I liked him from the get go, and I am happy to say that now I to have a new good friend.

Like a swarm of busy bees the kids flocked around the Yugo with wings and extricated our luggage while Clemente introduced us to the owner of the lodge, Victorino, and his family. We are immediately ushered to the communal hut and offered refreshments before we were shown our accommodations. As soon as I opened the door I was impressed. It was Spartan but not as much as I expected. Certainly not a resort for pampered travelers, but neither a down to the bone shelter that modern “explorers” apparently dig. Good, the first group can go to Canyon Ranch in Arizona, and the second can set up camp under a solitary tree in the middle of the Grand Sabana. As for me, I was more than happy. There was a shower! Almost a mystical vision. And who cares if the water was only luke warm, thanks only to the sun. The bed was big and looked clean and comfortable. I couldn’t wait to test it with a little nap. While I was considering this appealing proposition, my dreams got shattered by a sort of a “call to arms”.

“Everybody ready in five. We are going on an excursion”. I think it was Paul’s voice, but to this day I’m not sure. Otherwise… Just kidding. Anyway, the five minutes turned into fifteen (and it was not the ladies fault) before we all gathered at the meeting point. On my way I eyed a once red pickup truck that had probably schlepped around Jimmy Angel himself in the 1930’s. Jokingly I told Lydia and Valentina: “Want to bet that that thing will be our next mean of transportation?” Little did I know that in a few minutes I would be proven correct.

So, here we are climbing on the bed of the vetust vehicle (a lot harder than the one I was courting a few minutes ago), that might have been used by Hannibal when he crossed the Alps with his elephants, and off we go for our first land adventure. Destination: Yurwan Falls.

The ride on the barely visible trail in the open Savanna was bumpy but unexpectedly, and pleasantly, pretty smooth and a lot of fun. Great, I thought, a nice ride to the bottom of the falls, a few pictures, maybe a dip in the pristine waters at the splashing of the drop and then back for food, a couple of drinks and a leisurely decadent nap on a hammock contemplating the sunset pretending to be Hemingway.

Ha! Nothing further from the truth! The “red wonder” stops in the middle of an open space just at the foot of the imposing mass of the Auyantepui. “Everybody down!” Clemente’s order shatters my hopes. “How long to the falls?’ I ask understanding that from now on the journey would be on foot. “Oh, not that far”, he answer with a smile that means exactly the opposite. Damn, I hate walking. When I lived in Italy I used to take the car to go across the street. Sure, I used to be an athlete (a couple of centuries ago) but it was in a sport that didn’t require walking: skiing. Once, a friend of mine coerced me to snowshoe to the top of Buttermilk Mountain in Aspen (from the bottom if you can believe that!). Half way up I was ready to spit my lungs and tell her to go to places that it’s better not to repeat, but pride took over and I finally made it to the summit. She was very proud of me. I, instead, was more convinced than ever that mountains were made to be skied down and not walked up. But that’s another story.

Back to us. We disembark and realize that the only place were there could have been a water fall was “on” the Tepuy. The only problem is that I don’t see any, and the wall of the Devil Mountain is quite far away. I look at Clemente while he (and a group of young Pemón, including his son) is starting to lead the five of us towards our destination. I’m determined not to slow them down. I didn’t want to look like an old fart to the ladies, our guides and especially to Paul, otherwise back in “The Hood” I would be ridiculed by everybody. Without malice he would make sure of it. Therefore, I start putting one foot after another and incredibly, after a few steps, I fall in to a rhythm that puts me at the head of the line, right on Clemente’s six o’clock. I feel rejuvenated, full of an energy that I haven’t felt in decades. Can it be the magic of this place? The only time I felt something like this was approaching Ayers Rock in Australia.

So on we go through a grass knoll speckled with strange black rocks (Paul tells me they have been charred because of the “slash and burn” method of agriculture that is still used in this area) and then we are finally at the foot of the Devil Mountain. From this point of observation it doesn’t look devilish at all. It’s beautiful! We stagger along a trail that winds and climbs through the luscious tropical rainforest, and forces us to ford a few small rivers. Luckily it’s the dry season so the endeavor is not that grueling. Even Martha, the self described “Gorda Feliz” (The Happy Fatso) manages, with a little help from the youngsters, to keep up with the rest of us.

All of a sudden Clemente stops and instructs us to leave everything on the rocks on the bank of a river much bigger than the others. The goal is near, but from now on we will be in water deep up to our necks. We comply, and he takes charge of our cameras putting them in a black plastic garbage bag. Splash! In we are. The impact with the frigid water shortcuts my synopsis for a few seconds, but then I realize that the water is not that cold, on the contrary it’s rather pleasant.

Finally after a few hours of back breaking truck ride, a lot of walking, as much slipping, sliding, holding to branches, and a little swimming, we reach our destination. The majesty of Yurwan Falls is in font of us. Spectacular. Every hardship to get here was worth wile, and then some. The pool at the bottom of the fall is so inviting that nobody can resist its lure, and soon we are all happily splashing around as kids at one of the most beautiful water parks in the world.

Unfortunately good times don’t last for ever and we have to leave. I coped with the abandoning of this incredible place thinking that if this was only the beginning I couldn’t imagine what marvels laid ahead. I was soon going to be proven right. Back we went into the river and to the huge rocks where we left our meager belongings. There the young ones, and Clemente, prepared a very nice meal that we all enjoyed while basking in the sun like a bunch of albino lizards.

Thankfully, before we can turn into baked lobsters Clemente starts playing drill sergeant again, albeit a nice one (no it’s not an oxymoron), and sets us back to the point of origin, not after sticking himself to Martha in order to give her all the help she needs without making her feel self-conscious in front of us. Off we go on the way back. It feels easier and shorter than the incoming trail. Paul and I take the lead, laughing and chatting and admiring the flora and little fauna that we encounter. Our pace must have been Carl Lewis style because when we finally have the old red and rusted “sabana-ship” in our sight we turn around and see nobody behind us for miles. Did something happen? Did someone get hurt? Should we turn around? One of the young kids reassures us saying that while we where focused on beating the world record for tropical forest crossings the rest of the group took a detour to go admire another waterfall. Damn, I thought. I’m missing it. The disappointment lasted just a few seconds, because in that long hour that we waited for the rest of the gang the two of us had what turned out to be the only time alone for the reminder of the trip, and sitting on a burned rock I listened to Paul pointing out plants and flowers that I had never encountered before in my worldwide travels, all the while filling me in with the history and legends of these incredible surroundings and their inhabitants.

Suddenly, over the hedge of a shallow ravine, we see some heads bobbing up and down. Clemente and the ladies are on their way back.

Our first day of exploration is over. We pack our tired bones back on the bed of the pick-up. Our driver (who can’t be older than 12 or 13, but drives better than 98.7% of New York cabbies and at least knows his way around) hops behind the wheel, and off we go, destination a nice shower and an even nicer nap.

After a couple of hours, somewhat clean and rested we reconvene at the communal hut. The brightness of the day is fading away and the vast extent of the sabana and the imposing Moloch of the Tepui softly caressed by the wind are magnificent in the sunset twilight. We all have a drink, and then a dinner definitely not indigenous (but more than acceptable). Exhaustion has the best of us and we all retreat to our own thatched roof huts. Lying on the bed I take out one of the couple of books I took with me. I start reading: the same sentence three times before I fall into a deep sleep populated with pleasant and exciting dreams.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Angel Conservation

Mission Statement

Angel Conservation is dedicated to creating, developing, documenting, supporting and working with programs / projects that conserve and preserve the cultures of indigenous peoples, native floral / fauna species and the natural environments that gave them life.

Our goals are achieved by working shoulder to shoulder with the indigenous people and with national and international cultural and environmental specialists, institutions and organizations, to provide the resources and programs for education, research and the restoration of cultures and lands.

A Global Vision

Angel Conservation’s vision is global, as there are dozens, if not hundreds, of indigenous cultures at risk of extinction every year. And it’s a loss that the world cannot afford.   Although there are 370 million indigenous peoples in 70 countries they are only 4 percent of the world’s population, but they represent 95 percent of the planet’s cultural diversity. The earth’s more than 5,000 indigenous groups are scattered from the rainforests of the Amazon to the deserts of India and from the Arctic polar ice to the vast outback of Australia, and they speak some 6,000 different languages. But here comes the awful news: within the next century, 90 percent or more of that linguistic diversity -- all but 250 to 600 languages -- will probably disappear. In one way it is a trend that may facilitate communications between different peoples. However, it also threatens to erase forever aspects of the cultural identity of the tribes or ethnic groups affected. Language not only assigns names to objects and abstractions, it also reveals the importance a particular culture places on kinship and other relationships between individuals. To keep these languages alive has therefore become a pivotal interest in Angel Conservation’s work. So, with our “first friends” the Pemón, we made our initial baby steps in what we hope will become a global effort in sharing lessons learned through our successes in Canaima with many other cultures worldwide that face the same threats. Angel Conservation’s board is an eclectic group of well traveled internationals from many different walks of life but all have at least two things in common: the deep love for native cultures and the fierce determination to help keep them alive. More information: http://www.angelconservation.org/