3 Octuber, 1810
Magdalena Valley

Horses are not my element, definitively.  While this is not the first time I ride a horse, I am not confident on any of these animals, less so when they stop walking and begin to run.  I keep thinking that I am slowing down my companions but I am not, actually.  I am not the only one who feel uncomfortable on a horse.

A week ago I was still and confident.  I had just got a job in Santafé, a free city that was facing towards democracy.  I had just met some of my heroes of the first republic, but. (it must always be a but).

The fantasy begun to fade out.  While I begun to be introduced to the people attending the meetings in the Observatory two realities begun to be clear: that I was not one of them and that this uprising was doomed to fail.

By the 30th it was a reality: a big Spanish army were climbing to Santafé from Cartagena and the Criollos in Santafé had little to oppose to.  Many people begun to incriminate each other, to tell how little they supported the insurrection, that the viceroy should be liberated, that the Spanish would have no mercy to anybody involved.

At some time I begun to feel many people was pointing at me.  This was not my revolution I thought, but for the treacherous Criollos and the Spanish that would matters little.  I was hanging on with Caldas, Lozano, Pombo and other of the leaders and supporters of the insurrection.  In the afternoon the environ was kind of hostile,
mainly towards these scientific people, including that brown guy that appeared from nowhere.

The decision to leave was taken.  The problem was to decide where and who with.  I discussed this a little with my boss exposing my idea.

I knew I could get some support from other Uptimers I had exchange some mails with.  Part of my story included that I have been to Cascadia and witnessed the revolution there and that I still have friends there, so my idea was to go there.  (too much use of "there".)

"Cascadia is a model of what our country should be.", I expressed firmly.  "We can learn a lot from her history and form of government.  Or at least they can shelter us from the Royalists."

Caldas did not seem too convinced, but we all feel that we had to leave, and without a better idea, Caldas, Camacho, Lozano, Pombo and me left that night.  The idea was to go to Buenaventura where we could rent some boat to Cascadia or something so we were travelling West.

Just after we departed I realized that there was no paved road from Santafé to Buenaventura: that we had to cross country two and a half cordilleras and cross two big rivers without bridges, and do it trying to avoid white settlements, with still some hostile Indians around, and on the top of a horse I do not feel comfortable with.

Fortunately my companions know the route.  Caldas, Lozano and Pombo had traveled the country in a botanical expedition few years ago and they had some ideas on the best route to move around.

We have just crossed the Magdalena River and the road is still long.  We still have to climb the Central Cordillera, then to cross the Cauca Valley (and river), the Western Cordillera and some jungle before we get to Buenaventura.  Here the weather is too hot to me.  I should stop telling that I was born in the Middle Magdalena Valley.  To hot.  Hot and humid, my clothes keep sticking to me.  And we have to keep our warm clothes just to survive the coming mountains.

And now the glow of the laptop keep attracting all these bugs.

Good night.

-- Carlos E. T. Pinzón G.