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was in finding some one who would relieve us of our Chilean money and give us coin of the realm in exchange. At first the local bank flatly refused to oblige us, saying that so few people ever went from Peru to Chile that there was no demand for Chilean money, and that they could not realize anything on our Chilean currency without sending it by mail to Valparaiso or Antofagasta, an expensive and risky undertaking which they did not care to assume. In a word it was “against the rules.” So it was necessary to say “delegado” again. As was to be expected, the obliging cashier was now only too glad to relieve us of all our Chilean money. How many bank cashiers in the States, after laying down a rule of the bank to a foreigner, would be willing to break it because the stranger was able to prove that he was an official delegate to a Scientific Congress? I fear we are behind our southern neighbors in realizing what is due to “science”!
The only thing we could find of interest in Mollendo, was a cock-fight in one of the side streets. An audience of fifty or sixty boatmen and their friends, relieved from their duties at the end of the day, were hazarding their silversoleson whichever bird they judged would last the longest in the tiresome and bloody battle that was being fought out on the cobble-stones. The excitement grew fast and furious as the fight neared its close, and one poor bleeding rooster, nearly totally blind, and almost dying, received a few final pecks from his victorious opponent, himself dripping with blood. I have occasionally watched these Spanish-American cock-fights inan effort to understand why the spectator with Spanish blood in his veins gets so excited over them. Apart from a realization that at present cock-fighting is the national sport of South America, and as such, takes the place that baseball does in the United States, and cricket does in England, I must admit that I have failed to work out any reason to account for the frenzied interest.
Probably the Peruvians would have been just as bored if they had been sandwiched into a crowd of “fans” at a baseball game.
We had not expected to stay over night in Mollendo, which has the usual reputation of West Coast ports for harboring persons afflicted with contagious diseases. But the daily train for Arequipa had gone and there would not be another until the following noon, so we were obliged to make ourselves as comfortable as possible in the Hotel Ferro Carril which was not at all bad. The worst feature of it was the partitions, which were extremely thin. The room next to ours was occupied by an English-speaking individual who received a call in the course of the evening from a fellow countryman, resident here, who tried to frighten him out of his senses by vivid details as to the number of cases of “yellow fever, bubonic plague, and smallpox” now raging in the town. “More deaths occurring every day than the undertakers could possibly attend to!” “Scarcely a house without its sick folk!!” “Not a family still intact!!!” etc., etc. What effect these remarks may have had on the person for whom they were intended, I am unable to say. I do know they caused no littleuneasiness among thosedelegadoswho had landed here on their way to the interior. We did not stop to make personal investigations as to the truth of the rumors but were promptly on hand the next day to take the train for Arequipa.
As there was not nearly enough space for all the people who desired to leave Mollendo that morning, we were very much crowded for the first hour or so. This exodus from town was not due to any fear of the prevailing pest, but rather to the fact that January is the season for leaving town and enjoying a short stay in the country. The train followed the coast for eight miles to the south until it reached the bay and beach of Mejia, a summer resort where many of the families of Mollendo have built little villas. From here the road turns inland, east and then north, climbing slowly and affording one a view of the pleasant green valley of the Tambo River with its little country houses and its plantations of sugarcane. Still climbing, the train continued almost due north across the sandy plain known as the Pampa de Islay, or the desert of Arequipa. For miles on either side of the track as far as the eye could reach, there was not a green thing to be seen. Although there was no animal or vegetable life, it is not exactly correct to say there was not a living thing, for this is the home of themedanos, those extraordinary crescent-shaped sand-dunes that travel across the hard ground of the desert floor, driven by the prevailing southwesterly winds. Each hill is a perfect crescent exquisitely drawn, the delicate horns tapering off toward the north, away from the wind. Theycause the railroad no end of trouble, for when amedanoapproaches the track, it must get across some way or other. It is of no use to shovel back the horns of the crescent as they encroach on the rails, for the main body of the mound, twenty feet high and sixty feet or more wide, will advance just the same and must be helped along.
Although we had started from Mollendo immediately after lunch and the journey is only one hundred miles in length, it took us seven hours to ascend the 7500 feet, and it was dark when we left the train at Arequipa. We found on the other side of the station a long line of mule-trams, one of which was reserved for intending guests of the Gran Hotel Marone. After some delay incident to transferring a train-load of passengers and their hand luggage to this caravan of tram-cars, we started off and jingled our way through poorly-lit streets of one-story houses where attractively carved stone doorways, dimly visible in the semi-darkness, told of well-built mansions of former Spanish grandees, whose walls had withstood Arequipa’s earthquakes.
To a person who has experienced a great earthquake, the mere mention of the word is terrifying, and yet we were told by one of the astronomers at the local Harvard Observatory that their seismograph recorded three earthquakes during the four days of our stay here. In fact, scarcely a week goes by without one or more disturbances. Fortunately for us, and for Arequipa, these daily earthquakes that are so faithfully recorded by the delicate instruments of the observatory are not usually perceptible
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to human beings. However, like San Francisco, Valparaiso, and many another city of the west coast of America, Arequipa does have a serious shake once or twice in a century and people do not build two-story houses unless they can afford to use very strong construction.
We were most agreeably surprised and delighted with our accommodations at the Hotel Marone. None of us had expected to find anything nearly so comfortable outside of a South American capital. With this excellent hotel and with the promised improvement of steamship service on the West Coast, Arequipa is bound to become a Mecca for travellers. Charmingly situated, with a delightful climate, picturesque streets, and remarkable churches and monasteries, it offers the additional inducement of being a base from which many pleasant excursions can be made. Mountain climbers and those fond of mountain scenery will be attracted by the active volcano El Misti, 19,000 feet high, and the snow-capped peaks of Chachani that look down upon the city from their lofty altitude of over 20,000 feet above the sea. Arequipa is the distributing centre for southern Peru and contains a number of banks and the warehouses of several large importing houses. To the explorer intending to penetrate the continent, it is an excellent place in which to purchase part of his outfit. It was the base of the DeMilhau-Peabody Museum Expedition to the Upper Amazon. I was astonished to find at the time of my visit, that in one of the English warehouses it was not only possible to get a complete supply of excellent canned goods, but evensuch luxuries as folding-cots and Caracas chocolate. Professor Bandelier, that most distinguished student of Spanish-American lands and peoples, says in his recently published “Islands of Titicaca and Koati” that Mt. Koropuna, lying about one hundred miles northwest of Arequipa, is probably the highest mountain in America. Aconcagua is 6940 metres, while, according to Raimondi’s map of the Department of Arequipa, Koropuna is 6949 metres. Here is a chance for a well-equipped exploring expedition.
For the less ambitious tourist there are shops where one may buy all manner of foreign and domestic supplies, and excellent photographs, the best of which I regret to say were stolen from a scientific expedition many years ago by a native photographer. The lover of curious costumes and quaint shops will be abundantly repaid by long strolls through the Indian quarters.
As soon as the Prefect of Arequipa, Sr. Don Lino Velarde, heard of our arrival, he made haste to call and place himself “entirely at our disposal.” Sometimes this gracious Spanish extension of hospitality means very little, but in this case it was genuine, and the Prefect did everything in his power to make our stay both pleasant and profitable. Horses and a military escort were provided for an excursion to the Harvard Observatory, and the Prefect’s secretary was detailed to act as our cicerone and see to it that we were shown the treasures of the local monasteries.
We found the old Jesuit church the most interesting of all the sights that the city afforded. It hadonce been superbly adorned and embellished with elaborate gilded carvings and magnificent altars. The last earthquake had overturned and destroyed three of the altars, but the four remaining are well worth a visit, and there are many beautiful paintings still on the walls. The west front of the church is a marvellous example of stone-cutting and like the towers of the Jesuit church in Potosí shows what excellent manual training the Jesuits taught their followers. Their expulsion from South America was one of the most serious in the long list of mistakes that Spain made in the government of her American colonies.
The atmosphere of the Franciscan monastery took one back to the middle ages. Everything was scrupulously clean and in good order. In the sacristy we found a beautiful Madonna by some artist of the sixteenth century. The monks treasure it highly and with good reason for the face is as beautiful as any I have ever seen. A pleasant-faced, communicative monk, who seemed glad enough to be permitted to break through the monotony of his quiet life in the cloisters, took us to his favorite spot in the gardens where, under the grapevines, a rude seat had been made from a great millstone that dated back to Spanish days. From here he led us to different trees in the orchard and begged us to sample the pears, peaches, and plums that it was his delight to cultivate. We were permitted also to visit the library and found it well stocked with rare and beautifully printed old books. Naturally most of them were devoted to theology and religious philosophy,but there was one section into which old-fashioned works on natural history had crept, including a fine set of Buffon. On the door of the library was posted a notice telling the monks that on Mondays and Thursdays they could consult books on piety; Tuesdays and Fridays, works on theology; Wednesdays and Saturdays, other classes of religious books, etc., etc. We looked in vain for any day on which it was permitted to use the books on natural history. Much has been written of the degenerate conditions prevailing in the South American religious houses. The Franciscan monasteries we visited here and in Santiago, where an electric dynamo runs a modern printing press for the dissemination of religious information, cannot be included in that category.
As we wandered about Arequipa enjoying the picturesque Indian shops and the bright colors of the native costumes, the Indians themselves were courteous and polite and gave little evidence of any justification for their reputation for turbulence.
The only evidence which we witnessed of any eagerness to join an uprising was on the arrival of Dr. Durand, a notorious revolutionist, who had fled from the country on the failure of a revolution which he had instigated not two years ago, and was now being allowed to return, thanks to the clemency of the Government. He had taken refuge in Bolivia and in going to his home at Lima, had to pass through Arequipa. We happened to be calling on the Prefect when the chairman of the local committee of the Liberal party came to request the privilege of giving Dr. Durand a popular reception. ThePrefect had evidently received orders from the Government to allow any kind of a demonstration short of rioting, and after warning the Liberal chairman that there must be no disturbance of the peace, gave him permission to carry out the plans for the reception. We were somewhat surprised at the daring, one might almost say the bravado, of the Government in extending clemency to a notorious agitator who had done his best to upset the administration by violence.
Our feelings were confirmed the next day on the arrival of the train from Puno. The exile was received by a mob of three or four thousand noisy Liberals who, inspired by the sight of their hero, went to the limit in their manifestations of joy. It goes without saying that the horses were taken from the exile’s carriage and that he was dragged through the streets in triumph by his loyal supporters. The flat roofs of the houses were crowded with interested spectators who did not care to ally themselves with the Liberal party by joining the procession in the streets. A few of the bolder Liberals, encouraged by cognac orchicha, ventured to cry “Down with the Government!” “Down with the President!” “Viva Durand!” “Long live the Liberal party!”
It may seem ungracious to criticise the policy of a country where one has received as much hospitality and kindness as I have in Peru. At the same time I cannot help expressing the conviction that if Peru wishes to give the world evidence that she belongs to the same category of nations as does Mexico, for instance, where capitalists may safely invest and develop the resources of the country; if she seriously proposes to do away with revolutions and make them matters of ancient history rather than of present politics, she cannot afford to allow the instigators of revolutions to enjoy public triumphs such as are usually accorded to the true heroes of a nation.
There is too much of a tendency among South Americans to regard revolutions as a popular game. One of the rules is that after the conflict is over, your enemies must be treated with all the honors of war, and that it will not do to be too severe on the conquered revolutionist for fear that he may take revenge on you when the next revolution succeeds. If these politico-military agitators were put to death after being convicted of treason by a properly constituted tribunal, Peru would enjoy an era of peace and prosperity such as she scarcely dreams of at present—and the Peruvians are good dreamers. But just as long as she enthusiastically welcomes home, after a brief exile, men like Dr. Durand, she offers an extra inducement to any hot-headed young firebrand to start another revolution. If he succeeds, all honor and glory will be his, besides the emoluments of office and the satisfaction of enjoying political power. If he fails and makes good his exit from the country, it can mean at the worst but a brief exile and then a triumphal return, crowned by an ovation. In either case, unless he is so extremely unlucky as to get shot in the scrimmage, he is sure of plenty of honor and glory and those plaudits so dear to the Latin heart. Such a state of affairs insures more revolutions.
In talking the matter over among ourselves the evening after we had witnessed this extraordinary reception to a man whom we could not help regarding as an enemy of his country, we ventured to predict that before the end of the year Peru would see another revolution. It was an easy prophecy and we were not surprised at its speedy fulfillment. In fact, in less than six months a revolution broke out in Lima that for a time seemed as though it would succeed in overthrowing the Government whose mistaken clemency we had witnessed. The President and the Minister of Foreign Affairs were captured and dragged through the streets, and narrowly escaped death in the resulting collision between the revolutionists and the government troops. Fortunately, like so many of its predecessors, the revolution was a failure. But coming as it did just at a time when the city of Lima was endeavoring to sell its bonds on the New York market, it acted as a very effective warning to capitalists who were attracted by an eight per cent municipal bond.
Itis a twelve hours’ run from Arequipa to the wharf at Puno where one takes the steamer across Lake Titicaca. The distance is only two hundred and eighteen miles, but there are fifteen or twenty stops, and there is no hurry.
Our train was mixed passenger and freight and one first-class coach was amply sufficient to accommodate everybody.
Shortly after ten o’clock, we stopped for breakfast at a primitive little railway inn, where, although we had good appetites and were accustomed to native fare, the food seemed exceptionally bad, and some of it was quite inedible. Whether it was the result of this or not, several of the passengers soon began to show signs of mountain sickness. Arequipa is 7500 feet above the sea, but Crucero Alto, a water tank station, which we reached about half past two, is 14,666 feet, so there was good excuse for any one who is at all affected by rarefied atmosphere.
The eastern edge of the plateau brought us to the two mountain lakes of Saracocha and Cachipascana. Although there was no green in the landscape, the snow-capped mountains that surround the lakes lent an atmosphere of romance and charm to the otherwise desolate view. Continuing eastward, the trainwent rapidly down grade for two thousand feet, stopping occasionally at little Indian villages until it reached the important railway junction of Juliaca. Here the passengers for Cuzco left us, and in the dusk we turned south and hurried over the remaining thirty miles of level road. On reaching the wharf at Puno, we found to our dismay that the steamer scheduled to cross Titicaca this evening was the Yavarí, the smallest and oldest on the lake, and the first steam vessel to be propelled at an altitude of 12,500 feet above sea-level. She had already received her full complement of freight, and her deck was covered with railway-ties brought from Oregon for the new Bolivia Railway System. It took but a few moments to get passengers and their luggage transferred from the train to the steamer, and before we realized it, we were plowing through the troubled waters of the highest large body of water in the world. The sky was beautifully clear and the stars shone with wonderful brightness, attracting us to spend the evening on deck, to the amazement of the natives who preferred to sit in the stuffy little dining saloon. It did not take us long to agree with them that it was too cold and damp to make the starlight very enjoyable.
Our slumbers were disturbed by a terrific thunder-storm that made the little Yavarí toss about like a cork. The rain descended in torrents and obliged us to close our porthole. Of course, it was not the first squall nor the worst that the stout little vessel had weathered, but out of consideration for her age, we had unpleasant dreams of swimming in the waterof a lake which is so cold that none of the Indians who live on its banks and navigate their crazybalsasover its surface have ever learned how to swim.
We were up at daylight just in time to see the islands of Titicaca and Koati and the promontory of Copacavana, the old centre of civilization on the plateau. It is still the scene of many quaint Indian festivals. The ancient terraces are still used in slow rotation for raising crops. We passed quite close to the peninsula of Taraco which abuts from the eastern shore and is thickly populated. In fact, so far as we could see, all the valuable lands on the shores of the lake were cultivated to the limit.
Mr. Bandelier says there are probably more Indians here now than there were in the days before the Conquest, all the sentimentalists to the contrary notwithstanding.
The atmosphere was wonderfully clear, and with the aid of glasses, we could see people miles away going in and out of picturesque little churches, driving their cattle to pasture, tending crops, and working on the primitive threshing-floors where donkeys and oxen were treading out the barley. Occasionally the effect was heightened by a mirage that raised the shores up from the lake and enabled us to see new towns and villages. Far in the distance snow-covered mountains added to the charm of the scene.
On the marshy shores the fisherfolk began to embark in theirbalsas, those curious canoes, made of bundles of reeds tied together, quite comfortable when new but most disagreeable when water-logged. At one time we were able to count forty of them dotting the waters of the lake. Not less interesting was a species of wild duck or diver that amused us by swimming directly in the path of the steamer, then becoming suddenly frightened, and with the aid of its wings, running over the surface of the water with incredible swiftness.
Numerous as have been the travellers that have crossed the lake, and easy as it is of access, still Mr. Bandelier is able to write: “Lake Titicaca in most of its features is as unknown as the least visited of the inner African lakes. The shores are so indented and their topography is so complicated, that a coasting voyage of a year at least would be needed to achieve a complete investigation.”
There is only a narrow channel between the peninsula of Copacavana on the west and that of San Pedro on the east so that after one passes through the narrow straits of Tiquina, one loses sight of the great expanse of Titicaca and is in reality in a small lake at its southern end. It took us several hours to cross this, however, and it was noon before we entered the little artificial harbor of Guaqui. The only lake traffic that pays is freight and the boats run frequently, but irregularly, starting as soon as their loading of cargo is completed. One reads in the guide-books that they have a regular schedule. The natives say that you can never tell when the steamers will sail. As a matter of fact, it is usually possible to find out a day or two ahead from the railroad officials the hour and date of sailing.
Soon after our arrival the daily train started. The first stop was at the famous town of Tiahuanaco.We could see enough of the wonderful ruins from the train to arouse the greatest curiosity, which a few boys increased by trying to sell us trinkets which had possibly been dug up in the vicinity.
Beyond Tiahuanaco the country, part of the great tableland of Bolivia, is covered with loose stone and an occasional low shrub. Not a single tree breaks the monotony. Trees are rarely seen anywhere on this plateau. A three hours’ run over the level plains brought us to Alto de La Paz.
My impressions of the approach to La Paz were so much like those of our old friend Edmund Temple who came here from Potosí in 1828, that I shall quote in full his quaint and vivid description. “After travelling twelve, thirteen, and, as I imagined, every mile of the distance from Ventilla to La Paz, my astonishment was excited by not perceiving on so level a plain any object indicating the existence of a town. Sundry groups of Indians, droves of mules, llamas, and asses, some unladen, some with burdens, were indeed to be seen passing and repassing, as in the bustle of business, but no buildings or habitation whatever; no turret, dome, or steeple of church or convent appeared in view, although the tolling of their bells occasionally struck faintly on the ear. Huge, barren, weather-beaten rocks, and snow-covered mountains, apparently close at hand, rose directly before me, and presented an impassable barrier.
“I could not perceive where I was to find a town; and, as I rode onwards in strange perplexity, endeavoring to solve the enigma, I arrived suddenly at the verge of an abrupt and prodigious precipice, at the
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bottom of which I beheld, in diminutive perspective, the large and populous city of La Paz.... Through this fairy town may be faintly seen, winding with occasional interruptions, a silver thread marked with specks of frothy white, which, upon approaching, proves to be a mountain-torrent, leaping from rock to rock, and sweeping through the valley. In casting a glance farther round, you perceive squares and patches of every shade of green and yellow, which, to a European, is perhaps the most striking part of the interesting scene. Corn, and fruit, and vegetables, and crops of every kind, may be seen in all their stages, from the act of sowing to that of gathering them in; here, a field of barley luxuriantly green; there, another in full maturity, which the Indians are busily reaping; next to it, a crop just appearing above the ground. Farther on, another arrived at half its growth; beyond it, a man guiding a pair of oxen yoked to a shapeless stick, the point of which scratches the earth sufficiently for the reception of the seed which another man is scattering in the furrows; trees bearing fruit and at the same time putting forth buds and blossoms complete the scene of luxuriance.... Yet it requires only to raise the eyes from the lap of this fruitful Eden to behold the widest contrast in the realms of Nature. Naked and arid rocks rise in mural precipices around; high above these, mountains beaten by furious tempests, frown in all the bleakness of sterility; higher still, the tops of others, reposing in the region of eternal snow, glisten uninfluenced in the presence of a tropical sun.
“I stopped for some minutes on the verge of the precipice to look upon a scene so wonderfully strange; indeed, my horse, of his own accord, made the first pause, and with outstretched neck, ears advanced, and frequent snorting, showed that he was not unaware of the abyss beneath, and seemed to inquire how it was to be descended, for the road, in a sudden turn, winding round the face of the precipice, is at first completely concealed from view; and, although it appeared as if I could have ‘thrown a biscuit’ into the town from the heights where I first discovered it, a short league is the calculated distance, and full three quarters of an hour were occupied in descending, before I entered the suburbs. Here, again, I was surprised to find that the town, which, from the height I had just left, appeared to be on a flat, was in reality built upon hills, and that some of the streets were extremely steep, which circumstance alone must convey a tolerable idea of the depth of the valley in which the city of La Paz is situated.”
The only change since the days of Temple, whose graphic pencil has so ably described the scene, is that a well-built electric railroad winds down the face of the western cliff into the town. At the time of his visit he was obliged to go fromtambototamboin search of a lodging but found them all so full that there was no place for him. It gave him the opportunity of putting to test those often proffered services and complimentary generosities of the South American. Addressing the first decent-looking person he passed, he made inquiry who was theowner of a large and respectable mansion near by. On learning that it belonged to a worthy and excellent man, he determined to present himself and ask for lodgings. At first he was rather brusquely received by the lady of the house, who “stood for some time like a pillar of salt to my politely-studied address”; but he explained his predicament and was soon given a kind and affable reception.
Fortunately, we were not obliged to experiment upon the proverbial Bolivian hospitality, but were met at the station by kind friends, representatives of W. R. Grace & Co., who did everything in their power to add to the debt of gratitude which I had owed their house ever since I started on my journey. Comfortable quarters were found for us in the Sucursal, a huge, modern, three-story building intended for a convent, but now used as the annex of the leading hotel. It was not long before we were exploring the streets and enjoying the sights of the most picturesque Indian city in Spanish-America.
There are, to be sure, the usual earmarks of a Latin-American capital: well-stocked warehouses owned by English, German, and American firms; native politicians, unmistakable, in frock coats and silk hats, who spend their time chatting around the benches of the principal plaza near the Government House; a telephone company with four hundred subscribers; fine residences on a shady alameda, owned and occupied by people of European descent; etc., etc. Nevertheless the general impression that one gets of La Paz is that it is an Indian city, quite distinct from any city seen anywhere else. Its Indians are not like the Quichuas of Cuzco and Potosí, or the Chibchas of Bogotá. They are Aymarás.
It is said that La Paz, with a population of sixty thousand people, has thirty thousand Aymarás who neither speak nor understand a word of Spanish. Judging by my experiences in the streets and in the market-place, the proportion of people who do not understand Spanish is considerably larger. I found very few, even of those who were most anxious to sell their goods, who could so much as count in Spanish.
The result of having such a large part of the population untouched by Spanish language or custom is to make the streets much more picturesque. The brilliant colors completely threw into the shade my impression of Potosí. Never have I seen such gay ponchos and such kaleidoscopic effects as in the La Paz market-place and the streets and squares near it.
The reason is not far to seek. In no other city of the Andes are the aborigines so powerful as here. La Paz owes its political supremacy, and its present possession of the President and Congress, to the fighting qualities of the Aymarás. They are a barbarous folk whose cupidity, low cunning, and savage cruelty is quite unlike their mild cousins the Quichuas. Pampered and befriended by the Government, made to feel their power and importance, they stalk unabashed through the streets of the city and take pleasure in carrying their savage tastes to an extreme. The natural result is to give the city an
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atmosphere of barbaric glitter which is lacking elsewhere. In cities like Bogotá, Cuzco, and Potosí, although the Indians far outnumber the whites, the latter are so absolutely dominant, and the Indians so peaceable and humble, that there is an opportunity for ridicule to mitigate against the more picturesque features of Indian costume. But in La Paz few of the Spanish-speaking boys would dare to jeer at a stalwart Aymará carrier, no matter what garb he chose to wear.
In fact, the Aymará attitude is a striking example of the truth of Mr. Bryce’s dictum that “serfs, when they have attained a measure of independence, resent the inferiority, be it legal or social, to which they find themselves condemned. Discontent appears and social friction is intensified, not only because occasions for it grow more frequent, but because the temper of each race is more angry and suspicious.” We had noticed their insolent demeanor when we first met them in the village of Ocurí on the road from Sucre to Challapata. Poor Mr. Bandelier had many unpleasant experiences with them.
The streets of La Paz, picturesque at all times, are particularly so on Sunday, especially on Children’s Sunday. In 1909, that event came on January 24th, when we had been in La Paz nearly a week.
The fair held on that day was unusually interesting. From early morning until the middle of the afternoon, the plazas and streets were thronged with thousands of gaudily dressed Aymarás, bent on enjoying themselves, and purchasing toys andother trinkets of the hundreds of peddlers who displayed their wares in every inch of available space on the three principal plazas and the streets connecting them. While the characteristic feature of this fair is the number of toys that are offered for sale, and the miniature models of everything the Indians use and wear, the chance to sell all kinds of articles that appeal to Aymará taste is not lost sight of. Spread out on ponchos on the edge of the sidewalk and in the middle of the streets was pottery, large and small, useful and ornamental; tinware, woodenware, and crockery; dresses for women, girls, and dolls; ponchos of every grade and description, from the expensive vicuña, worth forty dollars, to the cheapest kind of llama, worth only two or three; musical instruments: little guitars with bodies made of the hard shell armor of the Bolivian armadillo,[2]Aymará flutes and flageolets of bamboo, drums and horns made in Germany; and dolls made in France; in fact, everything that one can think of that would appeal to the Indian and at the same time be within the possibilities of his pocket-book.
The proper thing to do, and the one that seemed to appeal most to the half-tipsy Aymará porter that had saved up a fewpesosfrom the rewards of his labor, was to purchase a fat little doll eight or ten inches high, made in the form of a humpbacked clown, buy gaudy clothes for it, and then load itdown with tiny models of brandy bottles, coca wallets, andchichajugs, in short everything it might be supposed to desire. The result was not unlike a heavily laden Santa Claus, although the face of the manikin, instead of being like our genial old saint, was that of a hideous, debauched vagabond.
The most interesting things that were offered for sale were little plaster models of Aymará types; a carrier or porter with a red knitted cap and a bit of rope in his hand, on the run to get his load; a woman seated on the ground before a miniature loom on which she had begun to make a bright-colored poncho; acholawith her white straw hat, yellow fringed shawl, jewelled neck, close-fitting bodice, gaudy petticoats, and high-heeled French boots. Besides there were rudely made little rag and wooden dolls, clad in characteristic native costumes; clay models of llamas, cows, birds, and mythical animals; little balsas fifteen inches long but resembling in every particular the craft of Lake Titicaca; small packages of coca leaves done up in burlap exactly like the bundles that the burros bring across the Andes from the warm valleys to the eastward; little copper kettles from Coracora; tiny clay models of cooking utensils, water-jugs, and little rawhide sandals scarcely more than an inch in length, faithful imitations of the clumsy Aymará footwear.
One of the smaller plazas was given over almost entirely to games of chance. The favorite variety consisted of a form of dice. Instead of being marked with the usual aces and deuces, the dice were covered with grotesque figures. Each outfit had a different set, but nearly always one face bore the representation of a drunken man, another that of a devil with forked tail and horns, and a third the effigy of the sun. The others frequently carried pictures of wild animals such as lions, tigers, or jaguars. As three dice were cast at a time, it was possible to win three for one, provided all came up the same way, and you had staked your money on the lucky figure. The gambling booths were well thronged. Most of the betting was done withreals, a nickel coin worth about four cents. On the pavement in the middle of this plaza a number of games of lotto were going on, a game which I used to play in my childhood when anything connected with gambling was strictly forbidden. The La Paz game was played as usual with discs and cards. Instead of numbers as in our game, each disc had a gaudily painted picture on it, and each card several pictures and lines. The discs were drawn from a greasy calico bag by an Indian boy, who called out the name of the figure in a droning voice, and the corresponding grotesque picture on the cards was then covered. The player who first covered all the pictures on his card won the pool, less the bank’s percentage. I should have liked to join the game, but as it was conducted entirely in Aymará, I found it a little too difficult to learn the names of the different men and animals that figured on the cards.
Another game of chance that attracted a dense crowd consisted in selling ten numbers at arealapiece. If your number was drawn, you won fiverealsand the bank got the other five. The only novel feature of the game was the way in which the drawing was made. At the top of a little pole, five feet high, were ten wooden arms radiating from it like the spokes of a wheel. From the end of each hung a little clay figure of an animal, lions, llamas, dogs, and cows. These had numbers pasted to them. By means of a spring, a wooden monkey was made to climb the pole, carrying a stick in his hand with a hook on the end of it. In the meantime, the wheel of numbered animals was rapidly revolved until the monkey manikin made a jab with his hook and pulled off one of the clay animals. This decided the winning number. To see how it worked, I bought two numbers for tworeals. The other numbers were soon sold in the crowd; the monkey clambered painfully up his stick, and owing to some defect of the mechanism, pulled off two clay figures instead of one. It happened that both of them bore the numbers which I held in my hand, but as I was a foreigner, and as the monkey had not played the game squarely, the figures were re-arranged, the spring again set, and my luck changed, much to the delight of the Aymarás.
The home of Bolivia’s millionaires, and the centre of Bolivian capital, is in Sucre, nevertheless there are nine banks of issue in La Paz, including several small ones that have no agencies in southern Bolivia and whose bills have only local circulation. While we were here, the banks put into operation a new rule to the effect that bills torn in two, after the favorite custom in Bolivia for making change, wouldbe no longer accepted at the bank at their face value. It seemed natural and proper enough to us, but greatly disturbed the small tradesmen, and seemed likely to cause considerable inconvenience owing to the scarcity of subsidiary coinage.
During my entire visit I was treated most courteously by the government officials and I regret to feel any necessity of offering serious criticism of anything in La Paz. Nevertheless I cannot pass by the barbarous state of affairs which we found in the city prison, an institution which is entirely inadequate for a city of this size and a disgrace to any modern capital. The prisoners are herded together without regard as to whether they are detained on suspicion of misdemeanor or convicted of murder.
Not all of the prisoners are treated so humanely. For our satisfaction, the jailer unlocked the door of one cell, six feet high, three feet wide, and eighteeninchesdeep. As the door opened, the occupant of the cell tumbled out onto the floor. He was a police officer in full uniform who for some delinquency had been imprisoned for twenty-four hours in this torture chamber where he could neither stand up nor lie down. I shall offer no further criticism because I am conscious of the fact that travellers in nearly every country are prone to find fault with the methods of punishment employed there. Coming from a different atmosphere, things seem dreadful to the stranger that attract no attention from local observers, and which are really not as hard on native prisoners as they would be on foreigners. Furthermore,the distinguished Bolivian statesman who had politely but regretfully yielded to our request to see the prison, told us he was very sorry we had seen it and that it “would be improved before long.”
The traveller in search of new itineraries or out-of-the-way routes will have plenty of suggestions made to him by the hospitable English and American colony in La Paz, and if he is at all uncertain in his mind as to just what he wants to do, he is likely to become bewildered by the number of attractive trips which he can make from La Paz as a base. La Paz contains the principal offices of a number of mining and exploration companies. The general manager of one of those that is engaged in gold-mining in the valley of the Beni, very nearly persuaded me to abandon my proposed trip overland from La Paz to Lima, and go across the mountains to the Beni, thence to the Amazon, and so home. Had it not required more time than I had at my disposal, and been a somewhat uncertain venture at this time of the year, I should have accepted his invitation. For the benefit of any who would like to plan a journey across South America by one of the new trade-routes which few travellers have yet seen, I give the itinerary as it was given me. It makes no allowances for missing connections:—
La Paz to Sorata by coach or mule-back, 2 days.
Sorata to Guanay, a hard trip on mule-back, 7 days.
Guanay to Rurrenabaque, on the river Beni, by raft, 4 days.
(In the rainy season, that is from January to April, there are very few rafts to be had. The route then would be from Sorata direct to Rurrenabaque, an interesting but rather difficult trip that would take fourteen days on mule-back.)
Rurrenabaque to river Alto at the junction of the Beni and the Madre de Dios by steam launch, 4 days; or by boat, 18 days.
From river Alto to Port San Antonio by boat, 6 days.
From Port San Antonio to Manaos on the Amazon, by steamer, 5 days.
Total: La Paz to Manaos, not counting time lost in making connection, 28 to 45 days.
Image unavailable: BALSAS NEAR GUAQUI ON LAKE TITICACABALSAS NEAR GUAQUI ON LAKE TITICACA
Image unavailable: AN OLD CHURCH NEAR THE BOLIVIA RAILWAYAN OLD CHURCH NEAR THE BOLIVIA RAILWAY
Inorder to attend the Scientific Congress, I had been obliged to interrupt my journey from Buenos Aires to Lima and had left my saddles and impedimenta at Oruro. It was now necessary to return thither and pick up the overland trail.
Leaving La Paz early one morning by the electric train for the Alto, we took the Guaqui train as far as Viacha, the northern terminus of the Bolivia Railway.
This railway was built to order for the Bolivian Government by an American syndicate, and we found it equipped with American-made locomotives and cars, and operated by American railroad men. Most of them had had some experience in Mexico and were familiar with the difficulties of handling Indian laborers, and also with the use (and abuse) of the Spanish language. None of them seemed to be particularly enthusiastic over the prospects of the country, and all were looking forward with pleasure to the time of their vacation when, according to the terms of their contract, they would be sent back to the States.
The construction of this road over the plateau offered no great engineering difficulties such as are met with by the roads that cross the Cordillera.The heaviest grade is not over ten per cent, and there are no tunnels. To offset this advantage, however, rock ballast is difficult to procure, and the earth that has been dug up on each side of the track to form the roadbed seems to lack cohesion. The gauge is one metre. The ties are of California redwood and Oregon pine. Owing to the high cost of rails and ties and the distance which they had to be brought, the railroad has been an expensive one to build. There is only a difference of eight hundred and sixteen feet between the highest and lowest portion of the line, yet the hundred and twenty-five miles have cost two million dollars and a quarter, or eighteen thousand dollars per mile.
The Bolivia Railway is remarkable for the promptness with which it was constructed after the signing of the contract. The National City Bank of New York and Speyer & Co. agreed, on the 22nd of May, 1906, to build the line from Viachi to Oruro. Work was commenced seven months later, and the line was opened for traffic in less than two years. Everything considered, the prompt completion of the work is a great credit to the American engineers who had the line in charge.
There is another side to the story, however. Owing to the fact that the opening of the road had to be rushed in order to please President Montes of Bolivia, trains began to run before the road was really finished, and it has been necessary to continue the service in order to avoid criticism. The South American is not as patient as the North American and is ever ready to enter vehement and furious protestsagainst anything short of perfection in railway management. Not content with actual progress, and not having had any practical experience in the difficulties of railroad construction and maintenance, he imagines that all accidents and all shortcomings on the railway are due to gross carelessness on the part of the chief officials. Every time a train is late, he blames the management and accuses it of bad faith, although he knows many of his friends and neighbors would miss any train that started on time. The necessity of catering to the desires of the politicians has made it extremely difficult to get the roadbed into good shape. At the time of my visit six hundred Indian laborers, conscripts, were still employed in getting the track properly ballasted. Their wages average a trifle over fifty cents a day.
I had heard that accidents occurred “every trip,” but thought it only one of those extravagant criticisms that are so common, until I asked the conductor. He admitted that some of the wheels generally left the rails at least once a day. For an hour or so nothing happened, and in my interest in the landscape, dotted here and there with mud-colored villages and ancient tombs, I was beginning to forget the delightful sense of approaching danger, when suddenly, with a rattle and a bang, we came to a sharp stop. One of the forward cars had left the rails and plowed its way across the ties for some distance. The train crew, well experienced in such matters, soon had the refractory car back on the rails again and, nothing the worse for our accident, we proceeded merrily southward for anotherhalf hour until brought up with a sudden jerk by a repetition of the rattle and bang. This time it proved to be the tender whose wheels had found a weak spot in the roadbed. Upon further examination, it looked as though we were going to be delayed for at least four or five hours. The tender had lost its balance and was lying over partly on one side, kept from a complete upset by the weight of the engine and the strength of the couplings. In ten or fifteen minutes, however, the crew, well trained by daily practice, had the port wheels back on the track, but the starboard wheels continued to remain in the air five or six inches above the rails. As the water tank had recently been filled, the centre of gravity was too high to allow the tender to assume its normal position, and the added weight of several men failed to bring it down. The engineer suggested that a bend in the track less than a quarter of a mile away would “do the business,” and so he was allowed to pull down to the curve. It looked like an extraordinarily clever acrobatic performance to see this refractory tender going merrily along on a single rail. True to the engineer’s expectations, as soon as the wheels felt the changed angle of the track, down came the tender with a lurch that almost capsized it on the other side. In less than twenty minutes we were again on our way, thankful that we had experienced wreckers instead of the ordinary train crew of the eastern United States, whom I have seen take several hours to perform what these men did in a few minutes.
Notwithstanding our two accidents we arrived atOruro about five o’clock in the evening, after a journey of nine hours, on time!
We found the Government House surrounded by throngs of people. Presently a company of infantry marched through the streets from their barracks and took up a position in the courtyard. The occasion was the death of the major who, six weeks before, had read the proclamation in the streets and now had just died after an illness of twenty-four hours.
The scene at the railroad station the next morning at eight o’clock, when I left Oruro to return to La Paz, was characteristic. The local regiment was drawn up in front of the train after having escorted the remains of their major from the Prefecture. Several hundred citizens thronged the platform and tried to crowd into the cars. Friends of the deceased major and his family, men and women, were weeping loudly, and some of the women uttered piercing shrieks and wild cries. Altogether, it was rather trying.
The plain over which we passed for a good part of the journey was very flat, treeless, and covered only with small, scrubby growth. At one station we were met by thirty or forty Indians who had brought bundles of fagots, dry brush from the neighboring mountains. These they piled onto a flat car and carried down the line to one of the new settlements which have sprung up near the tracks, and which depend on the trains for both fuel and fresh water. The latter is carried in tank cars, like oil.
At the principal stations, a dozen or moreAymará women, seated in a long line on the ground, offered for salechicha, cakes, buns, and little pears, brought from the fruitful valleys far to the eastward.
The only part of the road that offered any attractive scenery was that near the river Viscachani, an affluent of the Desaguadero. Near Ayoayo, there are a number of ancient tombs east of the track. Some of them have been opened by the railroad people and artificially flattened skulls found. The railroad men told us that when they were building the line they saw many vicuñas and biscachas, but these have now almost entirely disappeared.
We stopped for lunch at a little station whose new adobe buildings and corrugated iron roofs told of railroad enterprise. The restaurant was kept by a pleasant American, who did his best to please all of his patrons, but chiefly the railroad “boys” on whom he depends for most of his income. On my way down to Oruro, I had had the good fortune to sit at the same table with part of the train crew, but this time the two seats nearest me were occupied by Bolivian army officers who were as rude and ill-mannered as possible. If I had introduced myself as adelegadothey would have been the pink of politeness. Any one connected with the Government would be sure to receive their kind attention. But, so far as they could see, I was simply an American traveller. Accordingly they proceeded to act as though they owned the restaurant and everything in it, presuming that I would be glad enough to get whatever they chose to leave. There is, however, acertain relief in avoiding the excessive attentions which such men as these bestow on any one with a government “pull,” and it was instructive to see how they behave toward foreigners who were apparently travelling without official recognition. It enabled me the better to appreciate the different attitude that is taken toward South Americans by distinguished foreign visitors who are in the hands of attentive friends during their entire stay, and by casual travellers who have failed to fortify themselves with official letters of introduction. I do not mean to imply that one who merely wishes to visit the chief centres of interest will fail to be comfortable unless he supplies himself with important looking documents tied with red tape and sealed with a great seal, but I do know from personal experience that such a preparation can give one, in at least eleven Latin-American republics, a very different impression of the country and of the courtesy of its inhabitants.
There does not seem to be much likelihood of any large amount of traffic being developed along this desolate plateau. The railroad must depend for its freight on foreign merchandise coming to La Paz via Oruro and the port of Antofagasta. As it has a longer haul than that of its competitor, the Peruvian Southern from Mollendo to Puno, it will have some difficulty in getting much of this. Furthermore, there is the new Chilean government railroad now under construction, a direct line to La Paz from the port of Arica. When that is finished, it is difficult to say how the line from Oruro to La Pazcan secure enough freight to pay expenses. There will always be a certain amount of passenger traffic, but at present one train, three times a week, is amply sufficient.
A branch of the Bolivia Railway is now in course of construction from Oruro to Cochabamba, which will bring to La Paz the food and coca cultivated in the warm valleys northeast of Sucre where frost is unknown and there is an abundance of rain. There is an imperative demand for coca all over the plateau where it cannot possibly grow. Furthermore it does not keep well, loses its flavor after four or five months, and fresh supplies have to be brought continually from the eastern valleys. This makes it an important article of commerce to be reckoned as one of the surest sources of revenue for the Bolivia Railway.
Shortly before reaching Viacha we passed a truncated hill, the Pan de Sucre, that has been a favorite camping-ground in revolutionary wars. It is easily defended and its summit is spacious enough to furnish refuge for quite a number of troops. On the hills west of it, romantically perched on an almost inaccessible peak, is a little church where services are held once a year. To the eastward we could begin to see the magnificent snow-range of the Bolivian Andes. Words fail to describe adequately the grandeur of the Cordillera Real with its two hundred and fifty miles of snow-capped mountains, scarcely one of which lies at a lesser elevation than twenty thousand feet. It must be seen to be appreciated. Still, one can get a very vividimpression of it in the pages of Sir Martin Conway’s fascinating “Climbing and Exploration in the Bolivian Andes.”
The next day after my return from Oruro, through the courtesy of Mr. Rankin Johnson, I enjoyed the privilege of visiting the village and ruins of Tiahuanaco on the plains several miles south of Lake Titicaca.
Leaving La Paz at eight o’clock in the morning, we had six hours in and around the village and returned in time for dinner the same evening. It was necessary to take our lunch with us, for there is no inn and the little village shops afford scarcely anything that is fit to eat. The Tiahuanaco station is within a mile of the most interesting ruins. The railroad track passes within a few feet of three of the monolithic images and one of the monolithic doorways.
At the station we secured the services of a picturesquely dressed old Aymará who the station master assured us was a competent guide. He took us across the dusty plain towards a large mound which had once been surrounded by terraces and stone walls. It is popularly known as the “fortress.” Originally a truncated pyramid about six hundred feet long, four hundred feet wide, and fifty feet high, treasure-seekers have dug great holes in its sides and excavated part of its summit in an effort to find the “buried riches of the Incas.” Besides the fortress there seems to be evidence of a great “temple” and also of a “palace.” The “temple,” roughly outlined by rude stone blocks, occupies an area ofnearly four acres. For the most part the blocks are from six to ten feet in height and three feet in thickness. Within there is still evidence of a terrace, and from this on the eastern side there leads a remarkable stairway. Scattered about over the mound and all over the plain are many rectangular stones whose purpose has been entirely lost, thanks to the activity of treasure-seekers who have ruthlessly moved them from their original position and left them lying in indescribable confusion. There seems to be evidence that many of the blocks were held in place by strong metal pins, for there are round holes drilled into the stones and insertions made to receive “T” clamps.
The principal ruins are in a broad level part of the plain where the soil is firm and dry. They consist of rows of erect, roughly-shaped monoliths, sections of foundations, portions of giant stairways, monolithic doorways, some bearing carvings in low relief, monolithic statues, and innumerable small cut stones strewn about on all sides.
Great stone platforms, weighing many tons, aroused our keenest curiosity. One looks around the plain in vain for a near-by quarry from which they could have come. The most natural supposition is that they must have been quarried on the spot from ledges outcropping here, for it would seem scarcely possible that blocks twenty feet long, ten feet wide, and four feet thick could have been transported any distance by the primitive methods at the disposal of those prehistoric people.
The ruins were much more complete in 1875 at