SUCRE, THE RIO PILCOMAYO, AND THE UPLAND DESERT TO THE ARGENTINE
FRONTIER
The inhabitants of Sucre insist that their city is still the capital
of the country, and that the removal of the government to La Paz is
temporary only, owing to the greater accessibility of the latter place.
They are confident that with the completion of the railroad from Potosi
the old régime will return, and with it the gayety and activities that
such an event occasions. This, however, does not seem probable.
The city is built on a plateau over nine thousand feet up, on the
site of an ancient Indian village known as Choquesaka. Its climate
is that of perpetual spring. The streets are very wide, paved with
cobblestones, and are kept exceedingly clean. The buildings are, for
the greater part, low, although edifices of pretentious dimensions and
imposing appearance are not lacking, and numbers of most attractive
summer homes dot the surrounding country. The Medical Institute is
well-known throughout the neighboring republics, and annually supplies
them with thousands of tubes of vaccine. The markets are abundantly
supplied with provisions of all kinds, at reasonable prices, including
many fruits and vegetables of a temperate climate--brought from the
eastern lowlands.
The inhabitants of the upper class are well educated, refined, and
charming. There is a total population of about twenty-five thousand,
but by far the greater part of it consists of Quechuas and Cholos.
As a whole, Sucre is one of the most delightful spots in all Bolivia
and, when the vast country to the east with its unlimited resources
is made accessible, the city will unquestionably enjoy the growth and
prosperity to which it is so well entitled.
However, South American cities, with few exceptions, possess little
attraction for me. I touch upon them almost reluctantly, and am
impatient to return to the wild, free life of the boundless jungle,
desert, or plain.
Within a few days after reaching Sucre, our necessary business affairs
had been looked after and we had decided upon the upper Rio Pilcomayo
as our next field of operations. Pack-mules were not to be had; the few
_patrones_ who owned herds of these very necessary beasts were all en
route to or from Cochabamba. A weekly motor-bus service is maintained
between Sucre and Potosi, and the powerful cars passed within a
stone’s throw of the spot we decided to visit; but the list of waiting
passengers was long, and even though a little monetary persuasion might
have been helpful in securing an early passage for ourselves, the
transportation of our luggage by that means was out of the question.
We therefore secured the services of a _coche_. Six mules hitched to a
lumbering vehicle that had seats inside for ourselves, with the luggage
festooned about the exterior, took us thundering over the rocky, uneven
road at a fast pace. The driver sat in front and diligently plied a
long, thin whip that cracked with reports like those of a pistol, but
inflicted little punishment on the mules, while a Quechua boy ran
alongside and encouraged onward the panting animals with ear-splitting
whistling and volleys of stones. I was never able to understand how
these urchins could keep up the fast gait maintained by the mules,
and at the same time have sufficient wind left with which to do the
whistling.
Within an hour after leaving Sucre we had reached a point where the
road ran along the rim of an attractive valley filled with trees,
shrubbery, flowers, and pools; a number of queer structures combining
Chinese, Arabian, Greek, and several other styles of architecture, were
scattered about promiscuously and detracted greatly from the natural
beauty of the spot. This place, known as _El Recreo_ is the property
of a Bolivian woman who calls herself a princess, and who for reasons
unknown to me makes her home in far away Paris.
Soon after leaving El Recreo with its lovely vegetation and disfiguring
minarets, stained glass, and other hall-marks of poor taste, the large
town of Yotala was reached. Yotala is well-known throughout Bolivia
for the excellent quality of the peaches and apricots that are grown
and preserved there; and locally it enjoys the reputation of producing
the best bread of the vicinity, although I could never agree with the
latter assertion. The finest bread we had in all Bolivia was prepared
by the hospitable señora living on the banks of the Pilcomayo, and in
one of whose huts we resided the following eight days.
After an hour’s halt at a house called Pulqué, where the mules were
fed and watered, and where we refreshed ourselves with weak coffee at
thirty _centavos_ the cup, we resumed the journey, and 3 o’clock P. M.,
found us on the bank of the great river we had sought--having come a
distance of nine leagues since 7.30 o’clock that morning.
The Pilcomayo at this point varies in width from a few hundred feet
to half a mile, is crossed by a suspension bridge, and flows between
high, barren, rocky hills. There was comparatively little water, but
the current was strong. For me the Pilcomayo possesses an unusual
fascination. While looking at the hurrying, muddy torrent underneath,
I could not help picturing the awe-inspiring stretches of wilderness
through which those same waters must flow before mingling with the
less fearsome Paraguay hundreds of miles farther down: little-known
savages indulging in wild orgies and cannibalistic dances on its
banks, or paddling silently and mysteriously on its glassy bosom to
some jungle rendezvous unknown to white men; jaguars eagerly lapping
up a refreshing draft after a gory meal of deer or peccary; myriads
of _pirañas_ lashing its surface into spray in their mad struggles
to tear the flesh off some struggling, despairing victim; lines of
crocodiles sunning themselves on mud-banks or slowly patrolling the
water’s edge, like drifting logs, with only the ever-vigilant eyes
showing the faintest animation; boundless wastes of pestilential
swamps and lagoons, where mosquitoes and other obnoxious insects in
clouds forestall the advent of man, but where millions of egrets,
storks, cormorants, and other water-loving birds find a safe haven
and lead their wild, joyous lives in blissful ignorance of despoiling
plume-hunters; but, a shout of “_Ya está, señor_,” from the mule-driver
reminded me of the fact that day-dreams must soon end. The man had
unloaded the luggage at a little hut surrounded by shade-trees and
fields of alfalfa. He had been unable to find the owner, but thought
we could arrange to stay there should that personage appear. Most
important of all, he wanted his money--and then he was off with
twenty-seven miles of up-hill road ahead of him, before reaching Sucre
that night.
While taking stock of our outfit and arranging it conveniently in the
little adobe hovel that was to serve as our home, an elderly Bolivian
woman came from one of the alfalfa-fields near by, and I rightly
guessed that she was the owner of the property. To my request that we
be permitted to remain, she promptly replied that she would consider
it an honor to have us do so. I wondered if there are many places in
our own country where courtesy to utter strangers is so universal as
in Spanish America. Frequently, after long and trying journeys afoot
or on mule-back (sometimes of hundreds of miles) our appearance was
disreputable; but with one or two exceptions only during the entire
course of my travels in South America, the kindness and politeness of
the inhabitants was unfailing. When we left the Pilcomayo, the _señora_
accepted not a cent of payment.
The country for many miles about was arid, excepting only the few
irrigated flats near the river where fodder, grain, and vegetables
grew luxuriantly. Cacti and thorny shrubbery dotted the slopes,
but even these plants of the dry lands were not abundant. Numerous
small streams empty into the river during the wet months; but now
(November) their courses were dry and parched.
[Illustration: Rio Cachimayo at Peras Pampa, Sucre.]
[Illustration: Bridge across the Rio Pilcomayo.]
Birds were plentiful, but the species varied little from those typical
of the uplands. However, they were nesting and this circumstance
furnished a new and interesting field for study.
One of our first walks took us to an old mill, fallen into decay
through neglect. There were hundreds of dollars’ worth of machinery
ruined through lack of care and the use of improper lubricants. I have
frequently seen machinery of various kinds, ranging from typewriters
and sewing-machines to Pelton wheels, seriously damaged because lard
or tallow had been used instead of oil, and the wearing surfaces never
cleaned. In one of the dust chutes a pair of chestnut flycatchers
(_Hirundinea_) had built a flimsy nest of twigs and feathers. It
contained two cream-colored eggs speckled with red. The birds remained
in the vicinity all day long and paid no attention to the Indians
working near by, but when a dog chanced to pass they darted at it
furiously, making quick dashes at its head and snapping their bills
with a loud, popping noise. Another pair of birds of the same species
had a nest above the door of a near-by house.
Leaf-cutting finches also called tooth-billed finches (_Phytotoma_),
were very abundant. The inhabitants destroyed them whenever possible,
as the birds cut the blossoms off the fruit-trees and grape-vines.
The bright, saffron-breasted male sat in the top of some thorny bush
and uttered queer, unmusical wails that reminded us of the mewing of
a forlorn alley cat, while his gray-and-black-striped mate incubated
the eggs in a small but compact nest hidden farther down among the
spine-armed branches. We examined numbers of the nests; each one
contained three eggs of a deep-green color, marked with a few black
lines about the large end.
Oven-birds built their dome-shaped mud nests on fence-posts or the
larger branches of the few poplar-trees that had been planted about
the huts for shade, and sang in unison from dawn to dusk as if their
hearts were overflowing with happiness.
Parrakeets had excavated holes in the face of steep banks, and
chattered and quarrelled noisily over their domestic affairs. I suspect
that they also appropriated the cavities prepared by swallows, as there
seemed to be frequent disputes between these neighbors.
Of humming-birds there were a number of species, including the giant
hummer, which was truly monarch of all he surveyed, for when one
appeared the smaller members of the group found it advantageous to
depart to other regions. Doctor Frank M. Chapman, in Chile, saw an
individual of this species pursue and catch in its claws a small
humming-bird and fly away with it; for what purpose he did not know,
unless from “sheer cussedness.” It is a well-known fact that hummers
possess a pugnacious disposition, are almost constantly fighting among
themselves, and frequently pursue and strike at large birds such as
flycatchers and even hawks, apparently for no reason other than the
pleasure it affords them to torment their victims.
One afternoon we had the first indication of the coming rainy season
in the form of a severe rain and thunder-storm. Before long the river
was a seething, muddy torrent that continued to rise rapidly until well
into the night. The next morning the water had subsided to its low
level, leaving numbers of fish of several kinds stranded in depressions
in the _playas_. A flock of caracaras appeared with daylight and,
wading daintily into the shallow pools, extracted and devoured the
stranded and helpless fish at their leisure.
Not long after we were fortunate in meeting an American by the name
of Kolle, who was in the employ of a wealthy Bolivian owning estates
in various parts of the country. To one of these we were subsequently
invited, but before accepting the invitation of the affluent señor
we decided to spend a few days at Pulqué where some variation in the
avifauna from the upland type had been noticed. We had also seen
numbers of Quechuas apparently living in much the same manner as their
predecessors during the height of the Inca’s glory.
As frequently occurs in semiarid country, and as I have stated before,
birds were very abundant; but there was little else to indicate the
close proximity of other forms of life unless one took into account
the herds of goats clambering about on the steep ledges and seeming
to delight in bombarding with showers of small stones every one who
passed below; or the caravans of burros and llamas passing on the main
highway. A visit to the nebulous peaks of the adjacent mountains,
however, revealed a different story. Patches of green dotted the
isolated little depressions to which the name “valleys” can hardly be
given, and thin pillars of smoke ascended from them straight into a
cloudless sky. After long and patient looking a small, stone hut set
among rocks would invariably be discovered, and sometimes we could even
distinguish minute, moving forms which we knew were Indians. There,
tucked away among the towering peaks they love so well, they were
living a life of peace and plenty, apparently safe from the gaze of
vulgar interlopers, and knowing or caring little about the outer world.
It was as if one tore a page from the history of bygone centuries,
or found himself suddenly transferred into the midst of a contented,
pastoral community as must have existed in places unnumbered throughout
the vast Incan Empire before its despoliation by the gold-crazed
invaders. In this connection it might be well to go back briefly into
the history of the events that brought about the present state of
affairs.
The boundaries of the Incan Empire had been gradually extended until
within five hundred years after the arrival of Mamo Capac and Mama
Occlo, supposed Children of the Sun, it covered nearly one-third of the
South American continent. Near the middle of the sixteenth century,
when Pizarro and his insatiable band invaded the sacred precincts of
Atahualpa’s dominion, the star of the Inca seemed to have reached
the apex of its ascendancy. Under the beneficent rule of their
venerated sovereign the several tribes lived contentedly, if not always
peaceably; agriculture thrived, arts and crafts were encouraged and,
responsive to the efforts of many thousands of laborers, numerous mines
poured a constant stream of precious metals into the kingdom, adding to
its wealth and splendor.
We are all familiar with accounts of the advanced state of
civilization, governmental organization, and fabulous riches of the
ancient nation. Temples, palaces and forts--stately edifices of hewn
stone--dotted the mountainsides and crowned the eminences; beautifully
constructed highways connected many of the remote districts with the
capital; countless herds of llamas fed on the slopes, and streams of
water flowing through a system of aqueducts poured into the heretofore
arid wastes and transferred them into fruitful fields capable of
supporting a numerous population. The present-day republics of Ecuador,
Peru, Bolivia, as well as a part of Colombia and Chile, were included
within the limits of the vast kingdom.
Suddenly a dark cloud appeared on the horizon, and omens of evil import
presaged the downfall of all this greatness and splendor. The fatal
apparition quickly assumed the form of bearded strangers, some of
whom were mounted on terrible beasts which filled the ranks of Indian
warriors with panic, and who seemed to have succeeded in harnessing
the thunder and lightning for the furtherance of their wicked designs.
Suffice it to say, that before the avarice of the Spaniards had
been abated, eight million subjects of the Inca perished and the
organization of the nation was destroyed. With the single exception of
the Aztecs of Mexico, who were practically exterminated by the same
people, there has never been another example of such rapid and complete
devastation in the history of the world.
The Quechua of to-day is a cowed, almost pathetic, individual; he has
been kicked about by the descendants of the _conquistadores_ until he
has learned to become reconciled to his lot; but while it seems as
if this recognition might, in many instances at least, give way to
despair, such is not the case.
The partiality of the Quechuas for the high _puna_ is well known--some
of the ancient dwellings having been discovered at an elevation of more
than seventeen thousand feet.
Those living near Pulqué seldom come down into the lower country;
doubtless they are happier in their almost inaccessible fastness than
if they lived nearer to their Bolivian neighbors. In appearance and
dress these Indians differ greatly from the other members of the tribe
living in the more populous sections of the country. Instead of the
more or less conventional attire adopted by the latter, they still
adhere to a form of dress at least a part of which may date back to
the time of Atahualpa. The women wear a quantity of clothing--short,
full skirts of dark blue, and shawls of varied colors. The men are
garbed in loose, white knee-breeches, a gray or blue shirt, and belts
which are neatly embroidered in gay colors and are very wide at the
back so that they form a kind of sash; also, they wear the inevitable
_poncho_. Strange as it may seem, the small children always wear very
long clothing, and the little girls waddling along in their full,
almost trailing skirts, resemble dwarfed aged women. All the apparel is
made of woollen cloth of home manufacture. The men permit their hair
to grow long and braid it in a queue which hangs down the back. Both
sexes use peculiar little hats made of some kind of skin prepared by a
process which renders it very hard; this head-gear reminded me of steel
helmets. With the exception of huge spoon-shaped pins of copper, which
the women used to fasten their shawls, we saw no metal ornaments or
jewelry of any kind.
The home life of these Quechuas is tranquil and uneventful. Usually the
little stone huts contain two or three rooms; potatoes, avas, and other
produce are stored in one of them, and the rest are used for cooking
and sleeping-quarters. In very cold weather a fire is kept burning
day and night, and all the occupants of a house burrow deep into a
pile of sheepskins and blankets close to the smouldering embers. We
persuaded one of the women to bring goat’s milk to camp each morning,
but in this we had the greatest difficulty. Only by payment for a
week’s supply in advance could she be induced to perform this service.
With past experiences with their fellow countrymen these Indians have
learned to regard all strangers with apprehension. On several occasions
we had ample opportunity to observe how the average _paisano_ treats
the Quechua. Should night overtake him on the trail, he stops at
the nearest hut and demands food for himself and his horses. In the
event that the owner has nothing to offer, he draws revolver or rifle
and shoots any fowls that may be running about or, lacking these, a
sheep or goat, and seizes whatever else he can find. Should he see an
attractive blanket, it also is taken. In the morning a few _centavos_
are thrown on the ground and he continues on his journey.
As a general rule, we found that if these Indians were treated in a
frank, honest manner they were quite amiable. The little woman we had
engaged to bring us milk trudged down from the mountain-top daily in
faithful compliance with her obligations. She brought cheese also, and
occasionally a few eggs. As it gradually dawned upon her that we really
could be trusted, she became talkative and seemed to take an interest
in our occupation. She spoke Quechua only in common with practically
that entire tribe, which makes no attempt to learn Spanish; or, if they
are able to understand it, will make no effort to speak the language.
[Illustration: Quechua Indians wearing the costume used during the
reign of the Incas, five hundred years ago.]
Upon seeing a woodpecker we had collected, she gave a sigh of
satisfaction; for, according to the Indian’s belief, they are birds
of ill omen. If a pair of them make a nest near one of the huts, they
are said to be excavating a tomb for a member of the family who will
soon die. Oven-birds are looked upon with favor and are encouraged to
remain in the vicinity of the dwellings. Should a pair of the cheery
singers place their large, domed nest of mud near by, good fortune will
follow in their wake. Any one guilty of robbing a bird’s nest will
become violently ill; but as birds flock to the planted areas in such
great bands that an appreciable amount of damage is done to the fruit
and ripening grain, their increase in numbers is discouraged by filling
many nests with small stones. After the seeds have been planted, a
network of strings is stretched across the fields, and sometimes a
dead hawk suspended from a post in the centre serves as a scarecrow to
frighten away the marauding visitors. When the crops ripen, a small boy
called the “_piscomanchachi_” is stationed in each sector. He is armed
with a sling and keeps up an incessant fusillade of stones; fortunately
his aim is poor, but he succeeds in killing a few birds each day.
These Quechuas lead a sedentary life. There are no more long, arduous
journeys to far-away Lake Titicaca and Cuzco to participate in solemn
festivals and gorgeous pageants. Their fields supply potatoes as of
yore, and they still convert the tubers into their beloved _chuño_
by simply allowing them to freeze and dry. From the wheat they have
learned to cultivate, a splendid quality of bread is made. Their flocks
provide flesh and milk, and the wool so essential to the preservation
of human life and well-being in the high altitudes. _Tola_ bushes and
a peaty growth known as _yareta_ furnish an adequate supply of fuel;
but should these be lacking, dung is used. The demands of civilization,
however, will alter this mode of existence until little remains to
remind us of the contented nation which at one time willingly bowed to
the rule of the Children of the Sun.
Birds were not quite so numerous as at the Pilcomayo, but we found
several forms new to us. Among them was a large, white-fronted
parrakeet (_Myiopsitta luchsi_) that we saw in no other place. It
banded in flocks of ten to fifty and seemed to prefer the fruit-trees
near the house. A species of humming-bird built nests in doorways and
suspended under the thatched roofs of houses, often in the midst of
a colony of swallows (_Atticora_). Tinamou were not uncommon in the
dry ravines and provided a welcome change from the goat-flesh which is
the staple meat of the people and the only kind we could purchase; the
latter animals were killed when very young (about the size of a cat),
and we could never become enthusiastic over this, locally considered,
great delicacy.
In a region such as the country around Pulqué, there are few available
nesting-sites, and nests are very conspicuous objects when placed in
a cactus or thorny bush; however, the sharp thorns and spines with
which they are surrounded protect them, alike from predatory animals
and humans. The disused mud nests of oven-birds are collected as
needed and made into a poultice that is supposed to cure stomachache.
Judging by the quantity they gathered, this ailment must be of frequent
occurrence. A bird of the wood-hewer family (_Upucerthia_) excavated
burrows in banks and deposited two white eggs in a small, feather-lined
nest placed in a roomy chamber at the end of the tunnel.
The _señora_ at whose _rancho_ we stopped complained that tiger-cats
were killing her chickens; so one afternoon I set a steel trap at the
base of a near-by stone wall, baiting it with a dead bird. I had not
gone a dozen paces from the spot when the trap sprung with a loud
twang, securely imprisoning the much-sought culprit. The cat’s greed
had overcome its discretion, at which we rejoiced, for it made a
desirable addition to our collection. On another occasion one of these
beautiful animals bounded out from under the roots of a huge tree and
seized a bird as I was stooping to pick it up--and made a clean getaway
to its hiding-place with the spoils.
Our hosts on the Cachimayo were awaiting us, in order that we might
be present at the ushering in of the “month of baths,” as December is
called in this part of Bolivia. Whether or not they thought we were in
need of the daily ablutions, I am unable to say; but this I do know,
that we shocked the good people on numerous occasions by having a swim
at every possible opportunity, even if the month was not in keeping
with local traditions.
Peras Pampa is an immense estate on both sides of the Cachimayo, and
but an hour’s trip by motor from Sucre. We spent a delightful ten days
amid pleasant surroundings, living in a comfortable bungalow, and
passing the evenings at the _casa grande_ where the elite of Sucre’s
society gathered for music, games, and dancing.
The grounds were a succession of orchards, fields, and vineyards.
Scores of Indians lived and worked on the place, cultivating the
ground, building stone fences, and taking care of the stock. At night
they met and played very well on reed flutes of various sizes, each
musician taking a separate part, so that the combined effort was
somewhat like that produced by a well-organized band. Their favorite
piece was “Red-Wing”--apparently learned from a phonograph record.
The evening parties were always enjoyable affairs. They began with a
sumptuous dinner--including several kinds of wine; then a series of
eight or ten well-chosen courses, followed by liqueurs and smoking. The
women did not smoke.
After that there were charades, story-telling, music, singing, dancing,
and perhaps a walk _en masse_ in the moonlit grounds, through arbors
of honeysuckle and other flowering vines and over paths bordered with
hedges of roses. There were always more refreshments just before the
party broke up at midnight. All the Bolivians we met at Peras Pampa
were charming, and we heartily regretted that our time for combined
work and play was not unlimited.
The majority of the people who formed the gay evening crowd lived in
separate cottages on the estate--the guests of the owner. Each day
they repaired faithfully to the river for a dip, although the water
was usually very muddy, and there was about an even chance whether one
would emerge without yesterday’s coat of grime or with an additional
one. December is chosen for this purpose because it is the warmest and
most pleasant month of the year.
The time allotted us for work in Bolivia had nearly expired. We had
thoroughly enjoyed our lengthy sojourn in the republic, and look
forward to revisiting it in the future. Our schedule called for rather
extensive work in the Argentine, so, after a great deal of difficulty,
we succeeded in collecting a caravan of riding and pack mules for
the ride of over three hundred miles to La Quiaca, on the Argentine
frontier. Ordinarily the trip from Sucre to La Quiaca should not be
undertaken on mule-back. One should go to Potosi in one day’s time,
utilizing the semiweekly motor-car service. A railroad connects the
latter place with a small station a few miles this side of Tupiza, and
from this point one may reach La Quiaca in two days by carriage. During
the rainy season, however, both automobile and carriage service are
suspended; and the difficulty of twice securing mules on which to cover
the two stretches of road between railway terminals and the delays and
other inconveniences are so great that we decided to travel the entire
distance with a pack-train. This also gave us an opportunity to see the
country.
The expedition left Sucre December 22. The caravan was appallingly
large, for we were taking our entire outfit, and it required no less
than six Quechuas to look after the mules and burros. All supplies,
also, had to be taken with us, as very little is to be had from the
Indians, who are virtually the sole inhabitants of the cheerless
highlands. There are a number of large villages, it is true, but the
person who relies on the natives for maintenance is as likely as not to
have to live on coca and _chicha_, or suffer for his improvidence.
By noon we had reached the Cachimayo at a point where, ordinarily,
it is fordable; but a heavy rain had caused the river to rise and we
were confronted by a series of roaring cataracts covered with foam and
débris washed down from the mountains. The mules were unloaded and
driven into a corral. Soon other caravans arrived, until there were
several hundreds of men and animals gathered on the river-bank. We
spent the afternoon strolling through the adjacent apricot-orchards and
vineyards. The former trees were laden with fruit, all ripening; it
was small in size, but of delicious flavor. By seven o’clock the water
had subsided many feet, and one of the _arrieros_ having previously
ridden across the river to test its depth, the caravan started across.
The stream was three hundred feet wide and the current very strong,
so that crossing it seemed an endless operation; the mules struggled
onward gamely, but to the rider it seemed as if they stood stock-still
while a maze of rushing water seethed and raged all around him in
frantic efforts to sweep away everything in its path. Our own animals
got across safely, although some of the packs were drenched; but a
long train of burros laden with huge boxes of the popular _Sucrenses_
cigarettes fared badly, and a number of the poor creatures were upset
and whirled away down-stream. We continued onward in the darkness two
leagues to Poste Escalera, a lone hut on a hillside, and spent a trying
night at this flea-infested post. Next day we reached the Pilcomayo at
a point where the river is divided into many narrow channels, although
there is one main stream spanned by a swaying wooden bridge.
A detailed narration of each day’s ride would mean the recounting of
practically the same things. There were, however, a few things of
unusual interest, and these will be mentioned later.
The country is dry, rolling, and unproductive. In some places there
is a sparse growth of cacti and thorny shrubbery, but vast areas are
rocky and barren of all vegetation. We crossed ridge after ridge,
the elevation of the trail varying between eight thousand and twelve
thousand feet. Travel in this type of country is most trying. Water is
so scarce that long distances must be covered in order to find suitable
camping-sites; in one instance we were compelled to ride thirty-six
miles in the course of a day, between streams. The temperature varies
100° each twenty-four hours. At two in the afternoon the thermometer
registered 132° F.; at night ice formed on the water in our pails.
Christmas day was spent at Puno, with every member of the party ill
from the effects of the climatical changes. The inhabitants went
about their occupations as usual, quite ignoring this all-important
opportunity for a _fiesta_.
All the dwellings of the Indians were made of adobe. In the walls of
some of them rows of disused earthenware pots had been used as building
material. When the huts crumbled, a fine collection of pottery was
covered up in the mound. This is probably an ancient custom and may
account for much of the material found in old ruins to-day.
Two days later, the last of the long, weary miles across the cheerless
upland had been left behind, and at noon we galloped briskly into
Villazón, on the Bolivian side of the border.
Villazón contains about a score of scattered, low, adobe buildings. We
arrived on a Sunday, when the customhouse was closed, but the officials
in charge very courteously permitted us to proceed on our way. A brook
three or four feet wide separates the two republics and, stepping
across this, we found ourselves in La Quiaca and--in Argentina.