 ports of call. Far at the world's end, strange fascinating lands back in us bid us revel in their exotic splendors. Come with us as we head for ports of call. On the northern tip of South America wedged in by tall mountains, crackless plains, and creeping jungle, lies Venezuela. Venezuela a land born of conquest, christened with blood and made prosperous by the riches of the soil. Behind us the Spanish main shines blue, and ahead mingling with the cobalt sky, we see the hot green lowlands of Maracaibo. It is the year 1499, a high sterned galley in a sailing over the brackish waters of Lake Maracaibo. Standing on the salt-caped wooden deck is Alonso de Ojeda, a bulky broad shouldered Spaniard. He is talking to a sad-faced Italian named Amorigo Vespucci. Vespucci leans against the ship's rail and gazes morosely at the shore. Well, why don't you say something Vespucci? How does it feel to be one of the first white men ever to reach these shores? I wish I were back in Italy. Yeah, Vespucci, you have the soul of a rabbit. It's true I'm not a great captain and warrior like you don Alonso, but I am a scholar. Scholar? An Italian pickle merchant who's read a few books. Captain! Captain! Don Alonso! What is it? What is it? Natives! Look at the port side. Hundreds of them. They're coming across the lake in canoes. Have the guns ready. Cannon and musket both. We must take no chances. Yes, Captain. Then you're full! Perhaps I'd better go to my cabin. The sight of bloodshed makes me... No, Vespucci, you'll come with me. You will watch. I'll subdue these natives even though they'll be giants as large as Goliath. Don't squeeze my arm so tightly. I'm coming. There they are, heading straight for our bow. At least 20 canoes for them. And more of them are gathering along the shore. Well, now you can see the houses. Yes, I see them. Those are strange dwellings. They're built on poles. And they rise from the surface of the lake. The houses are made of Russian bamboo and everyone has a drawbridge. One would almost think that those savages had patterned their village after the streets of Venice. Yes, it does resemble Venice. Oh, Venice. Would I wither now? I have an idea, Vespucci. We shall call this country Little Venice. Venezuela. In honor of your native land. Venezuela? Yes, admirable. I can think of no better name. You watch out. Here comes a canoe alongside. Take my pistol, Vespucci. You may need it. This is Lord the Saint Sir Withers. Don Alonso, what do you see? That fresh canoe. It's filled entirely with women. Women? Yes, women. Beautiful women. Girls as fair as the roses of Castile. Men, throw over the ladders. Help the men on board. Captain, the Indian men are coming up the ladders to you. So we let them board? No, Pedro. Keep them in their canoes. We want only the women. Aye, Captain. Keep the men back. Only the women are to come aboard. Ah, Vespucci. These are the glories of conquest. Gold, pearls, and beautiful women. One of the mages coming toward us now, Don Alonso. Her skin is as brown as the coffee belly. And her eyes. Vespucci, when were eyes ever so black and sparkling? Senorita, come here. If not, let's just fuck a king. It's creepy. Vespucci, I thought you were going to your cabin. Oh, but Don Alonso, you told me that. Come here, little senorita. Come to Don Alonso. She is a happy sort of man. Let me embrace your little flower, and I'll hold you close to me. And for the first time, you shall feel a Spaniard's kiss. Ah! Vespucci, catch her. Seize her before she comes over the side. I'll get her. Come here, you little impulsive. She got away, and the rest are following her. They're swimming for the shore. Stop them. Men, lower the boat. Well, Don Alonso, stand back. Oh, now you'll just miss your head. The natives are attacking. Let them come. Touch off the count and blow the pagans through eternity. They'll find they can't travel with a Spaniard. Fire, Gunner, fire. What a hit. What's the savageest fairy? Keep firing, men. We'll show them. We'll show them what it means to slap a Spaniard's face. Aim for the shore and destroy the village. No, Don Alonso, let the village stand. You've named it for Venice. Let it remain so that men will forever know the land as Venezuela. Very well. The village shall remain. But from this day on, Venezuela shall proud of the will of King Ferdinand and grow old before the glory of Spain. Such was the beginning of Venezuela. But arrogant Alonso de Ojeda was finally killed by the very Indians he so freely massacred. While Amorigo Vespucci returned to Europe, and by a queer prank of fate, both continents of the new world were named America for this scholarly merchant who did most of his exploring by remaining safely on board ship. The 16th century brought adventurers to Venezuela by the thousands, all searching for gold for the fabled city of Manoa and the treasures of El Dorado. And as colonies sprang into existence, the iron grip of Spain became tighter, more ruthless. Then, in the year 1586, a strange occurrence took place in the town of Caravalleda. The scene is a long room with white plaster walls, decorated only by a gaudy coat of arms that hangs behind the crude mahogany table. Seated at the table is the governor of Caravalleda, Don Luis de Rojas. To describe Don Luis's face would be a most unpleasant task, because at this moment his features are twisted in an ugly scowl. Senora Gonzalez, that is your name, I believe. Yes, sure, Excellency. Thomas Gonzalez, I am a peddler. I sell coffee, berries and fruit, which I pick myself during the rainy months. Do you understand, Thomas Gonzalez, that you travel from place to place through Albin's away life? Only during the dry months, Your Excellency, when it rains, I sharpen swords and knives. Balance. Your trade does not interest me, answer my question. I did, Senora Gonzalez. No, so you admit it. Admit what? I have done nothing wrong. Surely it is not against the law to sharpen swords and knives? No, Thomas Gonzalez, but it is against the law to travel without a permit. A permit? Yes, from His Majesty the King, or perhaps you have not heard of the King of Spain. I did not know. Ignorance has never been an excuse for breaking the law. I am a poor man, Your Excellency. I can pay no fine. Please don't throw me in prison. Have no fear, Thomas, my friend. There is no prison sentence for traveling without a permit. Neither is there a time. I am grateful, Your Excellency. May I obtain a permit now? Will Your Gracious Excellency give me permission? Unfortunately, you cannot go on with your work. The King demands that his laws be kept in the penalty for traveling without a permit is death. Death? Death. You heard me? Your Excellency. You will die at dawn, Gonzalez. The gavette. I am to be strangled slowly. My neck rockened against a post. Oh, no, no, Your Excellency. God, take him away. Don't do this. Don't let him take me. I don't want to die. A stupid pig, mercy. Father! Father! What is it, Raquel, my daughter? Oh, the man I saw being dragged from the room just now. Oh, some kind of a peddler. What are you going to do with him? Execute him. But for what? What has he done? That is none of your business. Raquel, I am very angry with you. With me? I know all about it. About the young man who's been prowling under your window, talking to you of love, serenading you when I am away. The servants have told me. I'm in love with him. Love? What is a girl like you know about? What is his name? Father! Don't! You're hurting my wrist! What is his name? Speak! I won't tell you! Very well. I shall find it out myself and when I do, I shall take great pleasure in torturing the wreck with my own hands. You wouldn't dare. Now go to your room and stay there until I give you permission to leave. Now go. It's a pleasure. I'll teach that girl a thing or two when I finish with her. Enough, little Lewis. You seem to be in a bad humor. I heard you tell the senior eater that... How dare you went to my house without being here? The servant admitted me. I was in the hallway and I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. Well, what do you want? I've come to talk politics. It's a wonder you wouldn't take off your hat in the presence of the governor. Oh, sorry, don't lose. I'm very absent-minded. That's a very queer-looking hat. You like it? No. I did test green. But it has a red feather. Oh, come now. Admit that you like a green hat with a red feather. I do not like red. But surely you didn't come here to talk about hats. State your business and leave. I've been delegated by the townspeople to grant you one last chance. One last chance to treat the citizens of Caravelleida like human beings. We ask only that you give us the right to live like men and women of Spain. If you refuse to heed our warning, it will go very badly... Warning! What do I care about your warning? I am the governor, appointed by the king. Remember that, young man. And I will remain the governor until the king sees fit to replace me. That is your answer to the people? I think I shall hang you sooner or later, don't you say? But for the time being, that is my answer. And that comrades is the governor's answer. He refuses to lower taxes or to help the people in any way. Somebody ought to slice his throat. No, no, no. That would only bring troops from Cartagena. If we harm the governor, our cause is lost. Now, the other scheme is better. Are you with me, men? Shall we act tonight? Yes, yes. Then tonight it is. And when Don Luis wakes tomorrow morning, he will still be governor of Cala Belieda. But he will no longer be a tyrant. Carlos. Carlos! A curse on that slave. Carlos! Yes, I called. I've been yelling for you for ten minutes. Now, help me on with that boob. Yes, senior. Why didn't you wake me up this morning? It's past nine o'clock. Last night, Senorita Raquel told the sergeants you had given orders not to be disturbed. Since when has my daughter been giving orders? I suppose she didn't want me to see the execution. Execution? Certainly, you fool. The peddler whose death warrant I signed last night. Now, put that other boot up. There. You do not know, sir? Know what? There will be no execution. There are no soldiers. In fact, there is nobody in town. Nobody in town? What are you jabbering about? They left last night, Senorita. The whole town. Men, women and children. They took horses, mules, wagons and furniture. And they started down the east road. That's impossible. What it is through, senior. Look out the window. The streets have deserted. The shops are closed. And not a living soul remains in Caledadierda except you and your slaves. Hmm. It does look strange. Of a person in the street. But it's too fantastic. A whole town wouldn't pack up its belongings and vanish in the night. Every house is empty, senor. This is the work of that wretch, Don Jose. I'll have him hanged. I'll have the whole town hanged for traveling while I'm a pernate. I would have waked your excellency but the senorita's... Where is the senorita? I'll tell her a thing or two. Raquel. Raquel! Perhaps she's in her room, senorita. Raquel! No, she's not in here. Look. Her belongings are gone. And there are no clothes in her closet. She too has gone, senorita. Stay by that window. She's alope with some man. If I only... Hello. What have you in your hand? Only I had, senorita. I found it lying by the window. Give it to me. Yes, senorita. Now get out! Get out! Raquel! Raquel! Carlos. Why are you so pale? What is wrong? A muster has gone mad. I found it lying by the window and immediately he snatched it from my hand and now he stands there rolling his eyes and tearing it to bits. What are you talking about? What is he tearing? A beautiful green velvet hat with a red feather. And so it happened that the people of Caraballeda abandoned their homes in a body leaving the tyrant Don Luis Rojas ruling over an empty town. Travelling eastward, the wandering townspeople stopped by a cliff overlooking the sea and founded the quaint city of La Juira. La Juira, with its spicy odors, its churches, lotteries and bullfights, is today one of the most picturesque spots in Venezuela. The centuries of Spanish misrule brought thoughts of hatred and rebellion to the colonists of Venezuela. In the year 1803, an obscure event took place at a plantation near the village of San Mateo, an event which was to change the history of an entire continent. It is late in the evening. A soft breeze whispers over the fields, bringing the scent of folded blossoms into an airy bedroom. Cushed by white pillows and a large four-poster bed, lies a young girl. She is very beautiful and very pale. By her side sits her husband, his olive skin drawn taut over his high cheekbones. The man's black eyes smolder like dying embers. His long nose twitches nervously as he speaks. The man is Simon Bolivar. Marry up, Teresa. My darling. It was just such a night as this that we were married in Madrid. You were dressed in white lace and there was an ebony comb in your hair. It was only a year ago, Simon. But I will remember it always. I'm glad, Simon. You'll remember me when I... When I'm... Maria, don't say it. I'm sorry, Simon. You're such a boy. You need someone to watch over you and help you. And I... I haven't been of much use. But you will soon be well within a month. There's no use pretending. The doctor has told me that... Yes, the doctor. What does he know about life? About love? My love shall make you strong. You are my wife. God has joined us. He wouldn't part us now. I'm not afraid, Simon. Death has no terror for me. Maria, listen. I love you. I love you more than life, more than anything. We shall both live on this plantation together until the end of our days. Oh, my husband. If only life could be real instead of a dream, a bright, shining dream that ends in darkness. Darling, when you are well and strong again, we shall take another trip to the wire. It's such a pleasant place. If I could only see it again. Remember, Maria, the huge yellow lizards we saw along the roadside, basking in the sunshine, music ringing from every doorstep, and the broad brimmed hats and bright-colored punctures. And the Indian who was sitting backwards on his mule and using the animal's tail for a whip. Now we laugh. And Maria, we'll visit the waterfall where you and I sat under the rubber tree and watched the parrots with their red and green plumes flying in the... Maria, are you listening? Are you awake? Maria. Maria. Maria! Why are you shouting? Maria, quick. Do something. Her eyes are open yet she doesn't move. Help her. She's very ill. I implore you. Calm down. There is nothing I can do. Maria is... Simone, your wife is dead. But Maria has been gone over a year now, Simone. You were young and yet you waste your life mourning for the dead. Oh, what can I do? You ask me that question? Have you forgotten my teachings? You have a duty, Simone. A duty to your country. My poor oppressed country. But what can one man do? Nothing. Unless he is a leader. You should be a leader, Simone. You are brave, intelligent, and you believe in the rights of man. Perhaps you are right. Simone Bolivar, kneel before me. Kneel and swear that you will carry out my teachings. That you will fight for Venezuela and for liberty. Very well. I swear before you by the God of my forefathers and by my native country that I shall never allow my hands to be idle or my soul to rest until I have broken the shackles which chain us to Spain. Thus does Simone Bolivar, a widower at the age of 21 begin a career of conquest that is destined to make his name immortal. Soon the roar and rattle of cannon thunder up and down the bright sea coast of Venezuela. And out of the vast plains, the lanyos of the south come centaurs. Savage horsemen killing, slashing. Their long lances bearing the message of sudden death. The roar of battle echoes from sea to jungle. Purple hills grow rare as the screams of steaming heavens and the accurate stench of gunpowder blots out the fragrance of lush tropical flowers. Onward, ever onward streams the banner of liberty and the cry rings on every tongue. Viva el Libratador, all hail to Bolivar the Liberator. And so after more than three centuries, rule of Spain was forever broken in Venezuela and the whole continent of South America was free. The troubled years passed quickly and we next find Simón Bolivar in his native city of Caracas. Glory lies within his grasp. Nations worship at his feet. He is Bolivar the Great, the Liberator. He stands before a tall mirror adjusting his neckerchief. A trim, slender figure clad in a blue uniform. Wearing a glittering gold sword in a scabbard of silver. But the face in the mirror is drawn weary. And the toil, suffering and hardship. The mark of war. Only the eyes remain the same. They are wide, black, passionate. And they smolder like dying embers. Come in. Come in, I said. Is that you, Lieutenant Pucre? Simón. Rodriguez. Rodriguez? Yes, Simón. After twenty years of wandering the old teacher has come home. Oh, you've been away from me too long. But now you have come back to share in my victory. What share belongs to me? I am only proud to say that I have been teacher to Simón Bolivar. You have been more than teacher. You were my inspiration. The oath I took before you twenty years ago. You remember? It has been engraved in my brain with letters of fire. I shall not allow my hands to be idle. Nor my soul to rest until I have broken the shackles that bind us to. Oh, Simón. Simón, I am happy. Today when you make your speech to the people I shall be listening. Applauding. I shall tell everyone that is my pupil, my Simón. Rodriguez, from now on you shall stay by my side. You shall be my counselor. You need no counsel now. I am a young boy broken with grief that you needed advice. I shall always need advice. You are a great man. May your reward be fitting to your greatness. Rodriguez, I was hoping you'd come. I have something to show you. To show me? Yes, it is in this truck. One moment, I'll get it. Oh, a flag. Yes, this silk and flag could tell a story, my friend. A story of conquest, bloodshed and of freedom. It was embroidered by the Queen of Spain. The Queen gave it to Vizaro, the conqueror of Peru. For over 300 years this flag has stood for slavery and oppression. But where did you find it? It was taken from the cathedral in Lima. Today, I shall give this flag to the free country of Venezuela. This flag is the answer to my oath, Rodriguez. No, if you are wife. If you and Maria were only here to see what a miracle you have brought. If she had lived, I would have remained with her on the plantation. I would never have become Bolivar the liberator. But since fate has wielded otherwise I have no wife and I... You have become glorious. Yes, I have become glorious. But I must be content with a flag. All tribute to Simon Bolivar. A man who dared to fight for an ideal and a warrior who dared to dream. Today, his memory is revered not only in Venezuela but in all South America. And the flag of Pizarro still hangs in the city of Caracas. A symbol of Spanish tyranny forever broken. Before we depart from Caracas we pause for a moment beside the statue of Bolivar which stands in the plaza. The chiming bells of the old cathedral ring out over the city. Bringing memories of hooded monks, grandies of Spain and savage pirates who sacked Caracas when these bells first began their tolling. But Caracas now is a modern city with clanging streetcars, schools and gay Parisian shops. It nestles against the side of a high mountain six miles from the sea. To reach the seashore, however, we must travel 24 miles by rail over a circuitous track that winds snake-like through gorge and chasm until finally it descends to the bustling port of La Jolla. This is the eastern basin of Maracaibo, the land which has made Venezuela today a country richer than the fabled El Dorado. Its riches have come not from gold but from oil wells which have probed searchingly into the hot, wet soil. The clash of machinery echoes through the matted forest. Great oil tankers throb daily to the blue gulf and the Spanish main hums with ever-growing commerce. But far to the south, vast plains still stretch into trackless wilderness. The creeping jungle which borders the Orinoco River is still unexplored and Venezuela is still a land of mystery, of intrigue. A fascinating port of call. We invite you to join us again next week at this time as we journey to another of the world's fascinating ports of call.