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Day 17: Between Heaven and Hell

A voice rasps in the dark. A low whisper, its words barely discernible, lost beneath the grinding of bones and the wailing screams of the damned. The blood-soaked mountain, our destination, our home for six months, glistens crimson in the setting sun.

Then the words form a sound.

“Sari. . . Sari. . .”

CARIMARA,

VENEZUELA

Okay, it’s a fanciful tale, a ghost story told to frighten the expedition members, the joking face of our tour guide glinting with mischief. But, to the traditional Ye’kuana people who inhabit the rainforest around Sarisariñama, it is more than a legend. It is a warning: any who go there do not return.

After a few too many Zulias at the local bar last night (which, by the way, is about as much of a dive as the rest of the Carimara), I kind of regretted booking onto a tour which picked up from the motel at 8 am. Nevertheless, Sid and I hauled ourselves from our tent and scoffed down some breakfast. Then, along with Karen and a few others who weren’t heading to Sarisariñama today, we plodded up the road to the rendezvous.

Three Toyota Land Cruisers rolled up a few minutes later. Then, along with five ‘tourists’ who weren’t part of the expedition team, we clamoured on board. Our driver/guide introduced himself as Rodrigo and explained that the trip to the cave would take about an hour. He warned us that the ‘interstate,’ as he jokingly called the single road leading out of town, was pretty bumpy.

He wasn’t wrong – we were tossed about like flotsam and jetsam in the back of the 4×4 as he hurtled down the road, passing Willy’s Airfield.

I knew from McKinney’s briefing yesterday that this has been the hub of activity for the expedition’s final sojourn to Sarisariñama over the past couple of weeks, even before we arrived in the country. Several light aeroplanes, used mainly for tourist flights over La Gran Sabana, the vast area of southern Venezuela home to the country’s iconic tepuis, sat idly by the runway. What looked like an old military helicopter waited on the lone helipad. This was the one, Rodrigo explained, that the ‘blue-eyed American’ had been using to fly supplies from the airfield to the basecamp on the mountain.

The helicopter, a Huey, I think (only from watching Apocalypse Now), was silent as we drove past. This was unsurprising considering its pilot, Nathan Raine, was last seen in the bar last night, nursing a large glass of tequila.

We all laughed at the rather distasteful sign hanging above the entrance to Willy’s Airfield – a phallic-shaped image sporting a pair of wings and a propeller on the head nose.

Our convoy of Land Cruisers continued for about another forty minutes before pulling off the main road (if indeed one can call it that) onto a side track (if such a thing is distinguishable). If the main road had been narrow and bumpy, the sidetrack was . . . well, it was pretty much non-existent. But Rodrigo gave no notice to the screech of tree branches scraping down the side of the battered 4×4 or to the giant puddles we splashed through.

The track came to a dead-end in a roughly circular clearing. We dumped the vehicles and proceeded down a muddy path on foot for about five minutes. The trail was steep in places, taking us down along the base of what began as a low bank to our right but soon a vertical cliff. Eventually, another cliff arose to the left, channelling us in a single file around several sharp bends to a dead end.

Or, rather, it wasn’t a dead-end, per se, but the entrance to a cave cut low into the base of the right-hand rockface.

Even from up here, I could see a magical blue light reflecting from the rocks. As Rodrigo let us underground, that light only intensified.

The deeper we went down roughly hewn steps, the cooler the air became, losing the sweltering humidity of the jungle. About halfway down, I actually felt comfortable for the first time in weeks. But as we progressed further, the air became cold. Yes, cold. A sensation against my skin I never thought I would feel again!

Stalactites hung above us, bright green moss hugging their sunny sides on those nearer the surface. Deeper down, reminding us that we were travelling through the history of the very earth itself, those stalactites grew more prominent. Some met their counterparts growing up from the ground to merge and twist into one another, like lovers forever petrified by Medusa’s gaze.

And then, seventy metres down, the lake came into view.

Were it not for the occasional drips from the ceiling, giving birth to ripples which themselves seemed perfect, the surface would have been motionless.

To say the Blue Cave is magical is a disservice. Indeed, the photos on the sales boards in the shops in Carimara, ‘selling’ it, do not do it justice. Nor do my own.

The entire cavern is alive with a surreal blue glow emanating from beneath the water. It glistens from the contours of the cave, reflecting from the abstract shapes that nature has crafted out of calcium for millennia.

Rodrigo explained that some people think the light is a reflection of the sky, just about visible through the narrow entrance high above. Others suggest that sunlight is reflected into the chamber from another opening along the underwater tunnel system, which he says cuts through the entire area. But he insists that he has come here at night when there is no sun and no blue sky, and the water shone the same fantastic sapphire blue.

The Ye’kuana, an Indigenous group who live in the area (but have sadly been sucked more and more into a ‘western’ lifestyle in recent decades), consider the cave to be the entrance to dama. Rodrigo’s opinion of the Ye’kuana is pretty poor, an unfortunate prejudice born from centuries of friction between the indigenous culture and the descendants of European invaders/settlers. But he nevertheless explained that they believe the world comprises three layers – caju, the sky, nono, the earth, and dama, the sea at the centre of the earth.

While considered an expert on cosmology and belief systems, albeit generally in the archaeological rather than ethnological record, I confess that I know nothing of Ye’kuana ritual and religion. Yet, I can understand how, standing at the shore of a sapphire lake, seventy metres underground, one can imagine an entire ocean existing at the centre of the earth.

Rodrigo then told us another story, failing to completely hide the disdain in his tone as he spoke about such non-Christian myths. It was mainly for the benefit of my fellow teammates and me.

He explained that the mountain we are heading to was named Sarisariñama by the Ye’kuana. According to their stories, an ancient, evil spirit lives there . . . and he consumes anyone who dares set foot upon it. As he eats, he makes an unusual sound . . . sari, sari . . .

Hmm, good to know.

Satisfied that he had unnerved us, Rodrigo then led us back up the steps and into daylight. By lunchtime, we found ourselves back in Carimara.

After lazing by the tent for the afternoon and eating an early meal, some of us (including, to my surprise, Nadia) headed back to the local bar for a few drinks.

We sat outside on plastic garden chairs for most of the evening, looking at the graffiti mural on the side of the building. Insect traps buzzed and sparked more incessantly than the bugs they zapped but fought a losing battle.

To my annoyance, Nathan Raine appeared, having returned from his round trip, taking the next load of us to Sarisariñama basecamp. He sat in an empty chair next to me, trying to engage me in small talk.

His presence, however, was made more tolerable by his companion – Maria, a young, local woman who I later learned was the daughter of a ‘European-Venezuelan’ man and a Ye’kuana woman. She had been raised in a Ye’kuana village, and while I didn’t ask about the particulars of her conception, I sensed the union was not a positive one. She explained that she had been somewhat of an outcast. So, when the Venezuelan government launched a campaign to provide ‘education’ to Indigenous populations, her people nominated her to participate.

The result of this, I would say, is a genuinely remarkable person, a young woman with a degree in anthropology from Caracas university and a unique perspective. She straddles the ‘traditional’ world of the Ye’kuana and the ‘modern’ (though I hate the implications of using such a term) world. Unfortunately, she seems to see this duality as almost a curse. A child of two worlds yet belonging in neither.

After her funding dried up, prejudice prevented her from securing a job or ongoing research, forcing her return to Carimara. I offered to see if I could get her a position on the expedition. I am confident she could bring a unique perspective and understanding to whatever we find. But she declined my offer, and I can’t help but wonder if the legend Rodrigo told us about has any bearing on her decision.

One thing’s for sure – she can do better than Nathan Raine!

As the evening wore on, it started to rain, and a few rolls of thunder in the distance promised a substantial storm was on its way. Sid and I headed back to our tent. Unexpectedly enthused by our little adventure today, we decided to make the most of tomorrow, get up early and go on that Duck tour to the Blood Falls or whatever it’s called.

Benjamin King

My name is Dr Benjamin King, and I am an archaeologist working on the UNESCO Sarisariñama Expedition. Join me on my epic journey to one of the most remote places on the planet – a tabletop mountain towering above the Venezuelan rainforest. This will be my home for six months as my colleagues and I attempt to unravel the mystery of the ancient ruins that lie buried within an enormous sinkhole. Not only do I blog updates about the project, but also the trials and tribulations of life in the jungle. Something tells me that the danger of the jungle’s predators is nothing compared to the perils of being trapped with the same group of people for the next six months! Don’t miss out on a single moment of this extraordinary adventure - follow me on social media @benking1209 Benjamin King is also the fictional hero of the action-packed adventure series ‘The Xibalba Saga’ by James Richardson. Read it now https://amzn.to/3dD9wZW Stay up to date on new releases and exclusive free content at www.moonmask.net and @worldofmoonmask

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