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These roots, known in Bogotá as cubios, are produced by a plant which is closely related to the nasturtium. Botanically it is known as Tropaeolum tuberosum; it grows in the cool, moist climate of the higher Andes and has been used for food since prehistoric days. Cubios are boiled with meat or other foodstuffs.

We made out a breakfast of sorts and proceeded to business.

In the excitement of being at last in the very region where the giant blackberry had first been discovered, my discomfort was soon forgotten. Marcos led the way, machete in hand.

A drizzling rain was falling, and the boggy ground beneath our feet suggested that this must be the usual condition. It was one of the most curiously fascinating regions I have ever seen. Moisture, moisture everywhere; everything was dripping with it, and the plants looked as if they had never seen brilliant sunshine.


Suddenly Marcos stopped and reached forth with his machete to cut a branch which crossed our path. Looking up. I saw that it bore upon its outer end several red fruits the size of large walnuts-undoubtedly the giant blackberries for which I was searching. I grasped the branch with a shout.

We dug roots, picked fruits, and took

photographs as best we could, for it was drizzling steadily and we felt certain that it would be raining harder by afternoon. The plants were abundant, and their long, prickly canes scrambled to lengths of 15 feet or more. Their purple flowers, an inch across, were only less interesting than the gigantic berries, which I found to be flavored like loganberries, but to have larger and harder seeds.

We packed up our spoils and took the trail for Sibaté. It was a long, hard climb through the rain, but we finally got our precious freight on board the train, and late that night found ourselves back in Bogotá, where Bernardo, the youthful manager of the hotel in which I was stopping, was busily engaged in writing ardent verses to the photograph of a young lady, which stood upon the table in my


Bernardo had not, of course, seen the young lady; indeed, he did not even know her name, which seemed to "cramp his style" a bit. But he had fallen violently in love with her, he explained to me, and

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The fruits of the tuna, or prickly pear, are sold in the Bogotá market tied with a dry banana leaf to form bundles of three. These fruits, which are similar to those of several North American cacti, are popular among the poorer residents of Bogotá. They are dark red in color, with many seeds and soft, juicy flesh of sweetish flavor.

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Here are to be seen limes, bananas, and papayas. Fruits of the Temperate Zone, such as apples, peaches, and pears, are grown successfully on the Sabana of Bogotá, but tropical species which will not withstand frost must be produced in regions of lower elevation, such as the Magdalena Valley.

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Because no iron is available locally and because freight charges from the Caribbean coast are necessarily very high, relatively few iron utensils are used in Bogotá. The poorer classes especially do most of their cooking in pottery vessels such as the ones shown here.

asked my permission to send her some of the verses he had written during my absence, together with a photograph of himself, on which he had inscribed in English (a language he had not yet mastered): "To Anita, Light of my Life, Queen of my Sole!"


After this somewhat arduous journey I felt that I could afford to declare a holiday. Perhaps I was influenced in this determination by an invitation which I found awaiting me on my return. The Herreras, fellow-travelers of the voyage up the Magdalena, wished me to join them in a día de campo (picnic) at their country place, near Cajicá, some miles to the north.

We left the city on the morning traina dozen of us, more or less-and I believe the guitars which went along averaged pretty nearly one to each person. It was my first experience of the sort and I was. glad of this opportunity to come into intimate contact with an institution of such

standing and popularity in Bogotá as the día de campo.

Various servants went with us, carrying hampers of viands and countless bottles of light beverages. We clambered down from the train, with much shouting and pushing on the part of the servants, as they hastened to pass hampers, guitars, wraps, and liquid refreshments out of the car windows and through the doors.

We walked down the broad level road for half a mile, until we came to the hacienda. It was just such a morning as we experience in Maryland during the month of May-the air was fresh, balmy, and filled with the fragrance of growing things. Birds were singing in the meadows, where herds of cattle grazed contentedly. The cornfields, visible on all sides, were broken by patches of wheat and barley. It was hard for me to realize that I was only five degrees from the Equator.

The servants set about the preparation of luncheon, while the rest of us walked through the attractive garden, congregating finally in the large sala, or parlor.

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The rough-looking roots piled in front of the woman are arracachas, which taste somewhat like parsnips when boiled (see text, page 131). On her right are ears of green corn, while plantains and cassava roots appear in the background. Photographed in the Bogotá market.

While the girls recited verses, several of the young men tuned up their guitars, and then they took turns at singing couplets of the Colombian highlands.

Simple, sentimental, frequently with tragedy as the keynote, these songs are one of the characteristic features of the country. The plaintive voice of Humberto filled the room with melody as he sang a somber stanza; and then Octavio, with a flourish of chords, struck up an even more tragic rejoinder.

The girls picked flowers, and amid much bantering and bashful laughter placed them on our coat lapels. Luncheon was announced, and we rushed into the dining room with all the enthusiasm and abandon of a crowd of schoolboys. The


table groaned with good things.
chicken was the pièce de résistance; and
there were sandwiches, small cakes of
various sorts, and fried plantains and
boiled potatoes; then, finally, the excellent
black coffee of which Colombia so justly.

Later, we danced the fox trot to the tune of the latest popular music from the States, played upon the phonograph; and then the young Colombians turned their attention to the pasillo, a slow native waltz. which I endeavored in vain to master, though the girls assured me that my progress was remarkable. Suddenly someone discovered that it was train time. There was a scramble for coats and hats, hasty gathering together of bouquets which had

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