THROUGH THE ARGENTINE HIGHLANDS
At Tucuman we left the broad gauge of the British-built Buenos Aires and
Rosario R. R. for the metre gauge of the North Central Railway, an
Argentine Government line, that runs to Jujuy and has recently been
continued northward to La Quiaca, on the Bolivian frontier. The distance
from Buenos Aires to La Quiaca is 1150 miles. Of this we had done 700
miles in the first twenty-four hours. The last 450 miles required
another twenty-four hours, divided into two daylight periods, as
sleeping-cars are not run on the North Central R. R. In this stretch the
elevation rises from thirteen hundred feet to twelve thousand feet, and
the journey lies entirely in the Argentine Highlands.
Our train was mixed passenger and freight. The locomotive was a
“Baldwin” and the cars were made in Wilmington, Del. We had, besides, an
excellent dining-car that seated sixteen people and provided a table
d’hôte meal served in the usual Spanish style. The third-class
passengers, however, patronized the enterprising women who sold flat
loaves of bread, hard-boiled eggs, and native drinks at the stations
where we stopped.
Not long after leaving Tucuman, we passed through a tunnel, the first
one in eight hundred miles. Rather a different experience from my
journey in Venezuela, from Caracas to Valencia, where in the course of
an hour we passed through sixty-five tunnels, one every minute!
With many windings we climbed up into the hills. Grass became scarcer
and cactus and mimosa trees more common. We passed a small flock of
goats. Dust and sand came into the train in clouds. Occasionally we
passed lofty whirlwinds, but none of them troubled us. The humidity
to-day was very much less, being under forty per cent. The streams
seemed to be very low. We saw a few locusts.
At many of the stations were carts drawn by mules harnessed three
abreast, with a loose rope-tackle that is characteristic of this hilly
region. The houses of some of the more well-to-do were built of
corrugated iron and wood, but most were made of mud. As it was the dry
season, the cots were usually out of doors.
The evidences of prosperity at Ruis de los Llanos consisted of new
stucco buildings of attractive construction with arcades in front and
courtyards in the interior, a modern application of old Spanish
architectural ideas. Other buildings were nearing completion, to
accommodate the bakers and grocers who supply the _quebracho_ cutters.
There are great forests of _quebracho_ on the plains of the Gran Chaco
to the east and northeast. The wood is extremely hard and very
serviceable for railway-ties. Owing to the difficulty that is
experienced in cutting it, it has earned for itself the sobriquet of
“axe-breaker.” It is the chief article of export from this region. The
bark is shipped to tanneries as far away as California.
At Matan, another important station, there was a new hotel, the
“Cosmopolita,” a clean-looking Spanish inn, near the railway station.
Near by lay huge logs of _quebracho_ awaiting shipment. The hills were
well wooded, and we saw a number of agave plants and mimosa trees.
Firewood is shipped from here to the treeless Pampas. Here we noticed,
for the first time, riding-boots of a curious fashion, so very
corrugated that we dubbed them “concertinas.” They are much in vogue
also in southern Bolivia.
At Rio Piedras, where a dozen of our third-class passengers alighted
with many baskets and bundles, we heard the familiar hum of a sawmill.
Near the track were more _quebracho_ logs. A burly passenger who had
joined us at Tucuman, ready dressed and prepared for a long horseback
ride, left us here. With a large broad-brimmed hat, loose white jumper,
large baggy white cotton trousers, and “concertinas,” he came very near
being picturesque. Throwing over his shoulder a pair of cotton
saddle-bags well stocked with interesting little bundles, he walked
slowly away from the train with that curious shuffling gait common to
those who spend most of their lives in the saddle.
Not far away we saw some newly arrived American farm machinery, a part
of the largest item of Argentine imports from the United States.
During the course of the afternoon, we wound out of the hills far enough
to be able to see far over the plains to the east. Here there was more
vegetation and some corn growing. On the left were jagged hills and
mountains. The temperature in the car about four o’clock was eighty-five
degrees. Our altitude was about twenty-five hundred feet.
As we went north through hot, dusty valleys, climbing up into the
foot-hills of the Andes, the faces of the loiterers at the stations lost
the cosmopolitan aspect that they have in and about Buenos Aires. We saw
more of the typical Gaucho who is descended from the aboriginal Indians
of the Pampas and bold Spanish cattle-drivers. Tall in stature, with a
robust frame and a swarthy complexion, he possesses great powers of
endurance and is a difficult person to handle. His tendencies are much
like those of the fast disappearing American “cow puncher,” but he has
the disadvantage of having inherited a contempt for manual labor and an
excessive vanity which finds expression in silver spurs and brilliantly
colored ponchos. His territory is rapidly being invaded by hard-working
Italians, more desirable because more dependable.
Near Juramento the country grows more arid and desolate. A few scrubby
mimosa trees, sheltering the white tents of railway engineers, offered
but little welcome to intending settlers.
Just at dark we reached Guemes, where we were obliged to change cars.
The through train from Tucuman goes west to Salta, the most important
city of the vicinity. We arrived at Jujuy shortly after nine o’clock. A
score of ancient vehicles were waiting to take us a mile up into the
town to one of the three hotels. We went to the Bristol and found it
quite comfortable according to Spanish-American ideas. That means that
the toilet facilities were absent, that the room had a tile floor, and
that there were beds and chairs.
In the morning we got up early enough to look at the town for a few
minutes before leaving on the semi-weekly train for La Quiaca.
Jujuy was built by Spanish settlers a generation before the Pilgrims
landed at Plymouth, and still preserves the white-walled, red-tiled-roof
aspect of the old Spanish-American towns. Lying in a pleasant,
well-watered plain, a trifle over four thousand feet above the sea, it
is attractively surrounded by high hills. Beyond them, we caught
glimpses of lofty barren mountains, the summits of the Andes. The
near-by valleys were green, and there is some rainfall even in the dry
time of the year. Although Jujuy produces a large amount of sub-tropical
fruit, it really owes its importance to its strategical position on the
old trade route to Bolivia. It is the last important town on the road
because it is the last place that enjoys a salubrious situation. For
centuries it has been the natural resting-place for overland travellers.
In fact, these northwestern highlands of Argentina, Jujuy, and Tucuman,
were first settled by emigrants from the mountains of Upper Peru now
called Bolivia, of which they form the southern extension. Their
political and commercial relations were with Potosí and Lima rather than
Buenos Aires. The great prosperity of the mining regions of the lofty
plateau created a demand for provisions that could not be met by the
possibilities of agriculture in the semi-arid irrigated valleys of
southern Bolivia. Beef and other provisions could most easily be brought
from the fertile valleys near Tucuman and Jujuy. The necessity for some
better animal than the llama, to carry not only freight but also
passengers, caused a demand for the horses and mules which, raised on
the Argentine Pampas, were brought here to be put into shape for
mountain travel, and were an important item in the early fairs.
When the railroad came, Jujuy was for many years the northern terminus.
This only added to the importance of the town, and increased the
reputation of its annual fair. But with the building of the continuation
to La Quiaca, its importance is bound to decrease. However, it will
always be a favorite resort for Bolivians seeking a refuge from the
rigors of their Thibetan climate. We met many families in southern
Bolivia who had at one time or another passed the winter season here.
Before leaving the Bristol we succeeded in getting eggs and coffee only
with considerable difficulty as the train was due to leave at seven
o’clock, and the average Spanish-American traveller is quite willing to
start off on a long day’s journey without even a cup of coffee if he can
be sure of something substantial about ten or eleven o’clock.
When we arrived at the station, we found a scene of great confusion. The
line had been running only a few months, and many of the intending
passengers were not accustomed to the ways of railroads. An official,
and his family of three, had spread himself over one half of the car,
with bags, bird-cages, bundles, rolls, and potted plants. He filled so
many seats with his impedimenta that several of the passengers had to
stand up, although that did not worry him in the least. Had we known how
much luggage belonged to him, we should have dumped it on the floor and
had a more comfortable ride, but unfortunately we did not discover how
greatly he had imposed on everybody until the end of the day.
From Jujuy the train climbs slowly through a valley toward a wonderful
vista of great mountains. At 6000 feet the verdure disappeared, the
grass became brown, and on the barren mountains a few sheep and goats
were trying to pick up a living.
The railway had a hard time overcoming the difficulties of the first
part of the way. The grade is so steep that for some distance a cog road
was found to be necessary. In the first one hundred and fourteen miles,
the line climbs up 8000 feet to an altitude of over 12,000 feet above
sea-level.
Notwithstanding the newness of the road and the steepness of the grade,
we carried with us an excellent little restaurant car that gave us two
very good meals before we reached La Quiaca.
The cog railway begins at Leon at an altitude of 5300 feet and continues
to Volcan, rising 1500 feet in a distance of eight miles. At Volcan
there is supposed to be a mud volcano, but, as was pointed out some
years ago by Mr. O’Driscoll in the “Geographical Journal,” there is no
volcano at all. It is simply a mud avalanche, that comes down after
unusually heavy rains from the rapidly disintegrating hillside.
Although not a volcano, it is nevertheless a difficult problem for the
engineers. It has already completely submerged a mile or two of track
more than once.
This is on the line of the proposed Pan-American railway from New York
to Buenos Aires. With a sufficiently vivid imagination, one can picture
a New Yorker of the year 1950 being detained here by a mud-slide which
will have put the tracks over which he proposes to travel two or three
feet under ground. It is to be hoped that he will not be obliged to stay
at the local inn where Edmund Temple stopped on his journey from Buenos
Aires to Potosí. Temple was aroused in the middle of the night by a
noise under his bed as if of a struggle between two animals. To his
astonishment (and to that of the reader of his charming volumes) he
“discovered, by the light of the moon, a cat eating the head of a viper
which she had just subdued: a common occurrence I was informed, and
without any ill consequences to the cat, however venomous the snake!”
Some effort had been made to plant a few trees in the sandy, rocky soil
around the station of Volcan, which is not far from the mud-slide. They
seemed, however, to be having a hard time of it, although, at a ranch
near by, quite a grove of eucalyptus trees had been successfully raised
by means of irrigation. The mountains round about are very barren and
gave evidence of being rapidly wasted away by erosion, their summits
assuming many fantastic forms.
Twenty miles beyond Volcan is Maimará, where there was further evidence
of irrigation in the valley, the trees and green fruits being in marked
contrast to the barren hillsides.
As the road ascends, the country becomes more and more arid. Cactus is
common. Sometimes it is used as a hedge; at other times, by being
planted on the top of a mud-fence, it answers the same purpose as a
barbed wire.
Great barren mountains on each side continue for mile after mile, making
the scenery unspeakably dreary. Judging by the northward inclination of
the cactus and the trees, the prevailing wind is from the south.
Some of the valley is irrigated, but there is little sign of life
anywhere. Nothing grows without irrigation. In the days before the
railway it was absolutely necessary to have alfalfa and other animal
fodder grown near the post-houses that supplied travellers and
freight-carriers with shelter at night. This business has, of course,
fallen off very much in the past few months, yet just before reaching
Humahuaca we stopped at Uquia, where enough hay is still raised to make
it worth while to bale it and ship it north to the barren plateau
beyond.
Late in the afternoon, we saw a group of llamas, but they are not at all
common in this region.
At Tres Cruces, 1052 miles from Buenos Aires, we reached our highest
elevation, something over 12,000 feet. It was a dreary spot with
scarcely anything in sight except barren mountains, the two wire fences
that everlastingly line the railroad tracks, and the mud-walled railroad
station. The little “hotel” looked like an abandoned adobe dwelling in
Arizona, and the region bore a striking resemblance to the unirrigated
part of our new southwest. Erosion has cut the hillsides into
interesting sections of shallow gulches and semi-cylindrical slopes. The
only green things to be seen are occasional clumps of bushes like
sage-brush.
From here to La Quiaca, sixty miles, we maintained about the same
altitude, although La Quiaca itself is 500 feet lower than Tres Cruces.
We had, in fact, surmounted the great plateau of the Andes. South of us
lay the desert of Atacama; to the north the arid valleys of southern
Bolivia and the Bolivian tableland. East of us, beyond many intervening
ranges and the steep slopes of the eastern Andes, lay the Gran Chaco of
Bolivia and the valley of the lower Pilcomayo with its wild Indian
tribes and its tropical forests. To the west lay the still higher Andes
of the great Cordillera, some of whose peaks rise at this point to an
altitude of twenty thousand feet. Notwithstanding these interesting
surroundings, the extreme bareness of this desolate region reacts on
one’s enthusiasm.
We reached La Quiaca just before nine o’clock. The railroad offices were
still incomplete, as the line had only been opened to traffic for a
month or two. The old town of La Quiaca, a small mud-walled affair two
miles away from the railroad station, is destined soon to be deserted
for the thriving young settlement that is springing up near the terminus
of the railway. There are two “hotels.” Ours, the 25 de Mayo, had only
just been opened. In fact, its exterior walls had not yet received
their proper coat of whitewash and stucco.
All day long we had been travelling through an extremely sparsely
populated region, so dry, high, and inhospitable as to dispel any idea
that this railroad can rely upon it for much traffic. In fact, the line
was built by the Argentine Government, not so much to open up this part
of the Republic as to tap the mining region of southern Bolivia, with
the idea of developing Argentina’s foreign commerce by securing in
Bolivia a good market for her food-stuffs and bringing back in return
ore to be shipped to Europe from the ports of the Paraná.
An agreement was entered into between Argentina and Bolivia whereby
Bolivia was to extend her system of national railways southeast from
Oruro to Potosí and thence due south to Tupiza, fifty miles north of the
Argentine boundary. The Argentinos on their part agreed to continue
their railway north from Jujuy to Tupiza. By the time they reached La
Quiaca, however, the English Company that owns the rich
Oruro-Antofagasta line became alarmed lest such an arrangement as was
proposed would interfere with their profits. By some means or other, the
Bolivian government was persuaded to change its plans and decide to
build the national railways so as to connect with the Antofagasta line
rather than with the Argentine lines. This breach of faith on the part
of the Bolivianos was naturally resented not only in Argentina but also
by the southern Bolivianos themselves who would be much more benefited
by having good connections with Buenos Aires than with the Chilean
seaboard.
As a result of this difficulty, the Argentinos, at the time of my visit,
had not carried their railway beyond the frontier. This makes La Quiaca
the outfitting point for mule-trains that now start here with
merchandise destined for the cities of southern Bolivia.
A stage-line has been opened, running once a week to Tupiza, where it
connects with stages for Uyuni on the Antofagasta line and Potosí. This
stage-line was owned and operated by that same energetic Scotchman, Don
Santiago Hutcheon, who used to run stages between La Paz and Oruro
before the completion of the Bolivia Railway. By great good fortune, we
found him in La Quiaca where he had arrived that day on one of his own
stages.
[Illustration:
Sketch Map of SOUTHERN PERU
to illustrate the route of
HIRAM BINGHAM
from
CUZCO to HUANCAYO
]