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and chicken salad and the best coffee we have had anywhere. 

     We went shopping afterwards, prowling through Harrod's in search of bargains, and walking along Paraguay to admire the little shops that sell exquisite handwork - lingerie and blouses. 

     In the evening Bill and I went to a dinner party at the Davises, where we met Dr. Marelli of La Plata, looking very big and friendly after all these years.  Dr. and Mrs. Holmberg and Dr. and Mrs. Soler were also there.  Nobody spoke English, and although I was lost in most of the Spanish conversation I managed to get along quite nicely with Dr. Marelli in French.  We were late in getting back to the hotel, and the early hours of the morning found me packing the trunk, and getting ready for our trip to-morrow. 

[[underline]] May 5 - Delta [[/underline]]

     We left the hotel at six o'clock by zoo automobile for El Tigre.  We had thought we were merely being taken to the railroad station, and had put Dr. Gray and Bill Shippen in a taxi with the baggage.  As it became apparent that we were [[strikethrough]] to have [[/strikethrough]] not heading for the station, we found out we were to be driven the whole 30 kms. and had to stop and haggle with the taxi driver to take the rest of the party for a reasonable sum. 

     At El Tigre we found a crowd waiting for us.  The four students we had met in the Zoo, young Holmberg, Lopez, Oesterheld and Gallan, as well as Senor Chiarelli of the Department of Agriculture, were already aboard the [[underscore]] Ceres, [[/underscore]] the beautiful launch of the Minister of Agriculture.  There was plenty of room for them as well as for the five of us, and we started off on a beautiful bright morning, [[strikethrough]] with [[/strikethrough]] ^[[along]] the river lined with trees in autumn foliage.  The first part of the day we passed summer homes, and wealthy suburban villas; later we came into the farming districts, where the houses ranged from mud shacks on stilts to prosperous frame or cement buildings.  Of course there were long stretches without a sign of human habitation, where the river was lined with coarse reeds,and the [[strikethrough]] bank was lined [[/strikethrough]] land beyond was gay with tall, silvery plumes of pampas grass, waving against a background of willow or Lombardy poplar.  I have never seen so much poplar in my life.  It is planted here, mile after mile of it ^[[in]] straight rows, [[strikethrough]] of it [[/strikethrough]] denuded now of foliage, silver pointers to the blue sky.  

     This is a marvelously rich farming country.  The soil, enriched by regular flooding of the Parana River over the land, is black as chocolate.  Citrus groves flourish, and we stopped at occasional plantations to wander along under orange, grapefruit and lemon trees, where the crop was so heavy the branches had to be supported by poles.  At one farm we met two charming old people named [[strikethrough]] Russoich [[/strikethrough]] Russovich (Jugoslavs) who invited us all into the house to drink home-made cherry brandy. 

     One man combined citrus and nutria.  He had 1400 live specimens.  As he led us along the corrugated iron paddocks, each one with its generous pool of water, we saw the sleek, bewhiskered fur-bearers swarming like ants.  He had four albinos, and some hope of