THE ROAD TO CHALLAPATA
We were not sorry when the time came to leave Sucre. It not infrequently
happens that interior provincial cities of considerable local political
importance are not very lenient toward strangers, particularly if the
latter are dressed in breeches that seem at all outlandish to the
provincial mind. I understand that Chinese have found this to be true in
the capitals of our Western States. The thing had happened to me before
in Tunja, the capital of the province of Boyacá, Colombia. And it
happened here in Sucre. Whenever we walked the streets examining the
public buildings or visiting the market-place, we were considerably
annoyed by loafers, both men and boys, who, recognizing us as strangers
and foreigners, regarded us as the proper target for all manner of
witticisms.
An hour after leaving the city, we turned to look back, and found the
view from the west quite attractive. In the foreground, dry gulches,
stony hillsides, and an occasional thatched mud hut. In the distance,
hills sloping down so abruptly that one could not see the bottom of the
gulch that lay between us and the city. Immediately beyond, the white
walls of Sucre overshadowed by a mountain whose twin peaks rise beyond
the eastern suburbs. There was just a suggestion of green, reminding us
that this is the last fertile spot on the outskirts of the great arid
plateau, towards which we now turned.
As the road between Sucre and the railway is one of the most important
thoroughfares in Bolivia, it was to be expected that there would be
_postes_ every four or five leagues. The first one we came to was that
of Punilla, four leagues from Sucre. All we needed was a guide, but the
only _postillon_ we could secure had a very sore foot, scarcely
protected at all from the stony road by the primitive rawhide sandal
that he wore. Yet he came along quite cheerfully.
The _postes_ between Sucre and Challapata are larger than those in
southern Bolivia. They are modelled on the Inca _tambos_ that used to
exist on all the more frequented trails in the highlands of Peru and
Bolivia; a range of low, windowless buildings, either of stone or adobe,
sometimes completely surrounding a courtyard, at other times only on
three sides, containing a few rooms of which one is furnished with a
rough and very shaky table and three or four adobe platforms intended
for bunks; mud floors that have accumulated dirt and filth of every
description ever since the building was constructed; poorly thatched
roofs from which bits of straw and pieces of dirt occasionally dislodge
themselves to fall on the table where we spread our canned repast, or to
alight on our faces just as we were trying to get to sleep.
The trains of pack animals that we met on the road, whether llamas,
burros, or mules, were all engaged in bringing freight from the railway.
This consisted mostly of boxes of soap and canned goods, cases of wine
and beer and condensed milk, and small packages of general merchandise.
The next _poste_, Pisculco, four leagues beyond Punilla over a good road
that wound through semi-arid hills, was an extremely primitive affair.
The master of the _poste_ and all the _postillons_ were “absent,” but we
secured the services of a small boy who bravely girded his belt, slung a
horn over his shoulder, received his pay and started out as our guide
and escort. He soon fell behind, however, and before we knew it,
disappeared among the brown bushes. Both his scanty raiment and his skin
were so nearly the color of the ground that it was a hopeless task to
look for him, and we went on, trusting we should be able to follow such
a well-travelled highway without the necessity of a guide.
Unfortunately, the road forked, and in choosing the more travelled
branch, we followed a short cut in the steps of llama pack trains. As
they camp in the open at night, we missed the road for Moromoro, took
the wrong turn, and after a perilous descent down a mile of treacherous,
slippery rocks, found ourselves at the abandoned _tambo_ of Challoma,
whose only inhabitants were an old woman and her pigs. She was greatly
alarmed at our arrival and told us in shrill tones that we were three
leagues off the road. Nevertheless, as it was rapidly getting dark and
we had had a hard ride of forty miles, we decided to take shelter under
the leaky roof of the ancient _poste_.
Beyond Challoma the trail crossed a cañon and a shallow stream and
finally came out on a series of flat lands where we saw a few burros and
llamas
[Illustration: AN ABANDONED TAMBO]
[Illustration: OUR FIRST VIEW OF THE GREAT TABLE-LAND OF BOLIVIA]
grazing on the dry grass which had been left over from the last rainy
season.
In the middle of one such plain stood the next _poste_, Caracara, built
like a fortress in the desert. There are only three openings in the
great square inclosure: a barred window high up in a gable end near one
corner; a little door leading to a _cantina_ where one could purchase a
few drinks, matches, candles, and cigarettes; and a small arched
entrance through which loaded animals and travellers pass to the
courtyard. Although on one of the most important highways in Bolivia it
did not afford any food for the animals or ourselves.
After leaving Caracara, we passed a few pink roses blooming under the
shelter of some rocks. They looked strangely out of place in this
Thibetan wilderness but they gave signs of the coming spring and the
rainy season. In the afternoon we had several thunder-showers. The
result of the showers of the past few days had been to stimulate also
the growth of an occasional geranium, or modest little fern. In general
there was little to relieve the monotonous brown wilderness.
For league after league we continued our march westward through a
confused mountainous region. In southern Bolivia we had followed a long
valley running in a north and south direction, but here our route lay
across the valleys. Sometimes we followed the coach road for several
leagues and then took a short cut down a steep hillside. At times we did
not see a single hut in the twelve or fourteen miles separating the
_postes_. While not quite so sandy and desolate as the region farther
south, still it impresses one as being extremely inhospitable and
unlikely ever to support a larger population.
In the evening of the second day we reached Ocurí, eighty miles from
Sucre. Just outside the town we crossed a very swampy plain where
cattle, horses, and pigs were feeding in treacherous bogs.
Ocurí is a brown little Indian town of perhaps two thousand inhabitants,
with houses of sunburned brick and thatched roofs, lying high up on the
side of a mountain whose peak shelters it somewhat from the easterly
winds. It is higher than Potosí and has much the same cold, dismal
climate. It likewise owes its existence to the presence of mines of
silver and tin. There are several small smelters just outside the town.
We could get nothing to eat in the _poste_, but a pleasant-faced mestiza
woman who kept a sort of boarding-house near by, gave us a supper of
beefsteak and fried eggs, a welcome change from the canned food which
was our mainstay.
The principal street in the town was lined with small shops where a
considerable variety of domestic and foreign merchandise was offered for
sale. This does not mean that there were any attractive window displays
but that when Mr. Smith felt brave enough to venture to step over the
little Aymará brats and the fierce Bolivian dogs who were playing around
the prostrate forms of drunken _arrieros_, he found hidden away in the
dark recesses of dusty shops, quite a variety of articles. Cigarettes,
onions, eggs, bread, canned salmon, sardines, home-made woollen ponchos,
imported cotton cloth, candles, cheap domestic pottery, straw hats,
shoes, belts, gloves, and condensed milk. It is a very poor place indeed
in Bolivia where one cannot buy a small can of Swiss condensed milk, the
one thing that is generally good.
At Ocurí, we entered the country of the Aymarás for whom this is a kind
of outpost town. Our first evidence of their being here was the fact
that the _postillons_ in the _tambo_ unloaded our mules very carelessly,
allowing the bags to fall with a crash to the ground. They seemed to
think it a great joke to treat us as ignominiously as possible. From
here to Oruro, La Paz, and Lake Titicaca the Aymarás are in full sway.
They seem to be inserted like a wedge between the Quichuas of Peru and
those of southern Bolivia.
The Quichuas are a mild and inoffensive folk, but the Aymarás, heavier
in build, coarser featured, and more vigorous in general appearance, are
brutally insolent in their manner and unruly in their behavior. We were
even regaled with stories of their cannibalism on certain occasions, but
unfortunately had no opportunity of proving the truth of such
statements. Neither Quichuas nor Aymarás are at all thrifty, and we were
everywhere impressed with their great poverty. Their clothing is
generally the merest rags and their food is as meagre as can possibly be
imagined. Coca and _chicha_ (_i. e._, cocaine and alcohol) seem to be
beginning and end of life with them. We rarely ever saw one riding,
although occasionally we met a _postillon_ returning to his _poste_ with
a mule that had been placed in his charge.
A great majority of the population show little or no desire to vote or
to have anything to do with politics. They are uneducated, but have very
fixed ideas with regard to their absolute rights over land which they
have occupied for any length of time. Their ideas of squatter
sovereignty sometimes interfere with the desires of the government to
develop the resources of the country.
It is unfortunate that no efforts are being made to establish a good
system of public schools and enforce attendance. One of the greatest
difficulties in the way of such an undertaking is the fact that the
Indians not only have no interest in securing the education of their
children, but also that they find it to their advantage to speak their
own tongue rather than Spanish. Probably less than fifteen per cent of
the population speak Spanish with fluency. They are lacking in ambition,
seem to have no desire to raise produce, bear ill-will towards
strangers, and prefer not to assist travellers to pass through their
country. Even if a man has plenty of chickens and sheep, he will
generally refuse to sell any although you offer him an excellent price.
With coaxing and coca you may succeed. Sometimes he pretends not to
understand Spanish and replies to all questions in guttural Quichua or
Aymará.
So large a percentage of the population are Indians that nearly all the
whites are actively interested in politics and would like to be
office-holders. It is said that all elections are merely forms through
which the party in power goes, in order to maintain its supremacy.
The majority of the inhabitants are in no sense fitted to be the
citizens of a republic. However much the theoretical lover of liberty
may bemoan the fact that Bolivia is in reality an oligarchy, one cannot
help feeling that that is the only possible outcome of an attempt to
simulate the forms of a republic in a country whose inhabitants are so
deficient both mentally and morally. Mexico has given a splendid example
of what can be accomplished in a region populated largely by Indians and
descendants of Spanish monarchists. The benevolent despotism which
President Diaz has exhibited now for more than a generation has done
wonders. The great San Martin foresaw the advantages of oligarchy or
monarchy and advocated something of the kind for the Spanish provinces
of South America when they secured their independence. Unfortunately,
his far-sighted statesmanship ran counter to the bombastic notions of
“liberty” held by the uneducated creoles who had secured control of the
reins of government and the result was the creation of republics. The
extreme difficulty of communication throughout Bolivia has made the way
of revolutions fairly easy. An entire province can rise against the
government before sufficient troops can be sent to quell the
disturbance.
Whenever we got an early start from a _poste_, we were pretty sure to
come upon a llama camp before long; the drivers engaged in slowly
rounding up their grazing beasts and inducing them to receive their
loads for another day’s work. In the absence of rain, the loads are
merely piled up on the ground so as to form a shelter from the wind
during the night. If showers threaten, ponchos and tarpaulins are
thrown over the heap of merchandise.
Many of the llama drivers carried primitive musical instruments. The
most common form was a bamboo flute or flageolet with six holes. On
these the Indians succeed in playing weird, monotonous airs in which a
fantastic reiteration of simple strains is varied with occasional bursts
of high, screechy notes. Some of the drivers had little guitars of a
very primitive construction on which they thrummed rather monotonously.
Some had their wives and children with them. The women were nearly
always engaged in spinning yarn with a wooden spindle which they handled
with the dexterity of a professional juggler. Two or three men, and a
boy or so, generally accompanied a caravan of sixty or seventy llamas.
Each driver carried a knitted sling made of llama wool and found no lack
of ammunition by the roadside with which to urge forward his flock or to
head off a stray animal. We were always amused when we met a drove. The
leaders would approach gingerly, stretching their long necks and looking
very much like timid, near-sighted dowagers. They scarcely knew whether
to advance or to retreat. A few flying rocks from the slings of the
drivers, followed up by encouraging shouts, generally decided the
leaders to proceed, but some were so palpably “frightened to death” by
everything they saw, we were surprised they had managed to live so long.
Occasionally a herd coming from Sucre laden with chocolate or sugar and
bound eastward, would meet one coming from the railroad with foreign
merchandise. This nearly always resulted in great confusion and much
shouting. The llamas looked so stupid we wondered how they ever
succeeded in extricating themselves and proceeding in the right
direction. At one point where the road almost disappeared among a
wilderness of huge, scattered boulders, we met a large drove that had
lost all sense of direction. Every attempt of the drivers to get their
animals headed the same way met with failure. The beasts seemed to be
infused with some centrifugal force which sent every one of them in a
different direction from his neighbor. Owing to the huge rocks, it was
impossible for the poor creatures to see one another or the drivers.
They may be there yet.
There is something extremely amusing in the soft tread, the awkward
gait, the large innocent eyes, and the inquisitive ears of the llama.
Many had the tips of their ears decorated with bits of colored worsted.
I saw two that were decked out with very elaborate headdresses. They
never seemed to be in a hurry, any more than their Indian drivers, and
their disposition is much more gentle and inoffensive than I had been
led to suppose.
About ten miles from Ocurí I saw several fat lizards each about six
inches long. The altitude at the time was about fourteen thousand feet,
the record height for lizards, so I am told.
Soon afterwards we got a glimpse to the northwards of the sharp peaks
near Colquechaca, one of the highest towns in the world, which owes its
existence, as do so many of the Bolivian towns, to the presence in its
vicinity of rich silver mines.
We reached Macha at noon on the third day, after a hot ride of thirty
miles from Ocurí.
Macha is another dusty-brown, Indian town lying on the slopes of a large
valley. Near by we saw some evidences of cultivation. The fields were
surrounded with walls of dried mud and had large adobe gates reminding
me of the Sogamoso valley in Colombia. That region, however, was so much
greener and more fertile than this that the resemblance ceased with the
gates and fences. It should be remembered that the rainy season here had
only just begun.
As we descended the east side of the valley, we met a six-mule coach on
its way from Challapata to Sucre. The curtains were drawn down on all
sides to protect the passengers from the dust and glare. Their outlook
was rather limited. A quarter of a mile beyond we met a drove of relay
coach mules, in charge of two mounted _postillons_.
There is a moderately good coach-road two hundred and ten miles long
from Sucre to Challapata. The coach runs fortnightly, in pleasant
weather, and takes five days for the journey. Personally, I should
prefer almost anything rather than to be shut up in a Bolivian coach and
yanked over these rough, dusty roads, but I suppose some people would
relish even that better than jogging along forty miles a day on a mule,
as we chose to do.
We left Macha after a light lunch but had not gone a mile before we were
pelted by a violent thunder-shower accompanied by hail, some of the
stones being as large as marbles. To add to our discomfort the mules had
made rapid marches since leaving Sucre and were very tired. The road
out of the valley was steep and slippery. When we reached the summit,
the storm renewed its fury, and we all shivered with the cold, in
contrast to the burning heat of the morning. At this height, whenever
the sun shines, the glare is trying and the heat really uncomfortable.
As soon as the sun passes behind a cloud, however, one experiences all
the rigors of winter.
We arrived at the lonely isolated _poste_ of Aconcawa just at sunset.
The Aymará _postillons_ were as disobliging as possible. Four or five
Bolivian travellers had reached the _poste_ ahead of us and taken
possession of the only available sleeping room. The night was bitterly
cold and wet. The altitude was something over thirteen thousand feet.
After some difficulty, we succeeded in forcing our way into a room where
the _cebada_ or barley straw was stored. South of Potosí the fodder for
the mules is generally _alfa_ or alfalfa but hereabouts it is _cebada_.
The Indians were so afraid of our damaging the straw by sleeping on it
that they swept it up and piled it on one side of the room as high as
possible, raising clouds of fine dust in the meantime. The dust did not
settle for many hours and brought on asthma when we tried to sleep. Soon
after leaving Aconcawa, Fermin’s sharp eyes detected three vicuñas,
feeding, a mile away to the south of us. I could barely make them out
with powerful field-glasses and should never have seen them at all but
for the keen-eyed gaucho. It seemed strange that these should be the
only vicuñas which we saw in a wild state in our entire journey in
southern Bolivia. Travellers fifty years ago speak of meeting them
constantly in the more desolate parts of the mountains. Before the great
demand arose for vicuña rugs, those highly-prized trophies of the casual
visitor, these graceful and beautiful creatures, with their fawn-colored
coats, were one of the most interesting features of travel in the lonely
upland pastures of the Bolivian and Peruvian mountains.
On the little plain near the vicuñas were a few pools of water that
seemed to be a feeding-ground for a few pigeons and some birds that
looked like Titicaca gulls. An occasional earth-colored guineapig was
practically the only other wild animal we could discover.
Soon after seeing the vicuñas we continued to climb by a zigzag road
until we reached the highest point in this journey, the ridge of
Livichuco, fifteen thousand feet above the sea. Neither mules or llamas
seemed to mind this altitude but we found it very chilly and
disagreeable and were glad enough to descend as quickly as possible
without wasting much time in enjoying the extensive view over the
rock-strewn hills about us. It may seem strange that we did not stop to
rhapsodize on the fact that we were now leaving the basin of the Rio de
la Plata, or on the extensive panorama. But the latter was so cold,
desolate, and forbidding, the only effect was to make us urge forward
the mules at as rapid a pace as possible.
The mountains were not snow-capped although, at times, we had had light
storms of hail and snow. This was particularly true of the afternoons,
the
[Illustration: A FRIENDLY LLAMA BABY]
[Illustration: MY MULE ON THE LAST DAY’S RIDE]
mornings being generally fine and clear. As we went west, the valleys
grew broader. We occasionally passed over level plains four or five
miles wide. We had now crossed the watershed and left the basin of the
Rio de la Plata and its affluents for that of Lake Poopo and the
Bolivian tableland.
Descending, we came to valleys that offered sufficient grass to support
a large number of llamas, alpacas, and sheep. This region seems to be a
favorite breeding-place for the llamas and we saw a number of baby
llamas. One of the latter, almost entirely black as to its body and
legs, with black ears, resembling the horns of a carnival devil, and a
white face that looked like a mask, was so interested in my efforts to
take his picture that he walked up to within eight feet of my mule, much
to his mother’s alarm.
A cold wind and a cloudy sky that kept the sun from offering any warmth
made our arrival at the _poste_ of Livichuco anything but pleasant. To
add to our discomforts, Bolivian travellers had again arrived ahead of
us and monopolized everything in sight, as the scanty accommodations of
this wretched _tambo_ were insufficient to meet the demands of both
parties. A few eggs was all the _postillons_ could offer for our
entertainment, and as these turned out to be rotten their willingness to
sell food was not appreciated.
The morning had been cloudy, cold, and disagreeable but the afternoon
was worse. Clouds of dust and peals of thunder ushered in the usual
storm. Our road, however, was not as rocky and precipitous as on the
preceding days. We crossed several broad plains, joined the
Potosí-Challapata trail and passed near Vilcapujio, another of the
battlefields of the War of Independence. In 1813 the soldiers of Buenos
Aires had again invaded Bolivia to assist the patriots of Upper Peru.
They reached Potosí in safety and were on their way north to Oruro when
they were met here at the fork in the road and defeated by the
Spaniards. A few days later came the battle of Ayoma, near Macha. The
result was temporarily fatal to the cause of Bolivian independence.
We had another unpleasant experience on our arrival at Ancacato, on the
evening of the fourth day. Bolivian travellers had, as before, taken
possession of all the available rooms and we had a hard time persuading
the master of the _poste_ to allow us to remain.
At a distance of two or three miles from the _tambo_ is the old Indian
town of Ancacato lying spread out on the level floor of the valley which
was at present brown and desolate although it had signs of being
cultivated in the rainy season. Like other Indian towns, the only
conspicuous feature of Ancacato was the tower of its large church. The
rest of the town consisted of brown huts as much as possible like the
color of the hills.
The next morning we met an unusually large number of llamas on their way
from Challapata to the interior carrying small boxes of European
merchandise. The monotony of this morning’s ride was varied by the
spectacle of a mounted Indian trying, like “Mac,” to drive a pack mule
that was quite unaccustomed to such service and most unwilling to keep
the road. There are no fences or walls to mark off the road from the
surrounding country and an active pack animal can take to the hill as
often as he pleases. Most of them are either too weary, too tame or too
well acquainted with the punishment that follows, to attempt such
amusements, but this one was new at the game and he led his driver a
merry chase over frightful rocky slopes, up and down precipitous
hillsides, and through the dry bed of a stream. “Anywhere and
everywhere” seemed to be his motto.
A short hour’s ride brought us through the pass over the Cordillera de
los Frailes and out onto the great tableland where the horizon on every
side, except behind us, seemed to be as level as the ocean. Far away to
the southwest we could just make out the dark lines and specks that
denoted the whereabouts of Challapata and the railway station.
Challapata is an old Indian town, but there has grown up at some
distance from it, near the railway, a little modern settlement where
white-washed warehouses, hotels, stores, and a telegraph office offer a
marked contrast to the brown mud-huts of the more ancient city. The
population is said to be more than two thousand souls. Of these by far
the larger part are Aymarás who speak little or no Spanish. The streets
of the new town are wide and sandy, hot and glary like some of our
western towns. We thought the hotel was most comfortable and even
luxurious, after our experience of the past few weeks, but I dare say
that the traveller coming the other way would turn up his nose at its
primitive accommodations.