Montevideo--_continued_
The surroundings of the capital--Pleasant resorts--The Prado--A
well-endowed park--Colón--Aspects of the suburbs--Some charming
quintas--A wealth of flowers and vegetation--European and
tropical blossoms side by side--Orchards and their fruits--The
cottages of the peasants--An itinerant
merchant--School-children--Methods of education in Uruguay--The
choice of a career--Equestrian pupils--The tramway route--Aspect
of the village of Colón--Imposing eucalyptus avenues--A country
of blue gum--Some characteristics of the place--Flowers and
trees--Country houses--The Tea Garden Restaurant--Meals amidst
pleasant surrounding--An enterprising establishment--Lunch and
its reward--Poçitos and Ramirez--Bathing-places of the
Atlantic--Blue waters compared with yellow--Sand and rock--Villa
del Cerro--The steam ferry across the bay--A town of mixed
buildings--Dwelling-places and their materials--The ubiquitous
football--Aspects of the Cerro--Turf and rock--A picturesque
fort--Panorama from the summit of the hill--The guardian of the
river mouth--The last and the first of the mountains.
The Uruguayan's appreciation of pleasant Nature is made abundantly
clear in the surroundings of the capital. The city, as a matter of
fact, is set about with quite an exceptional number of pleasant
resorts both inland and upon the shore. Of the former the Prado park
and the pleasure suburb of Colón are the best known. The Prado is
reached within half an hour from the centre of the city by means of
tramway-car. Situated on the outskirts of the town, the park is very
large and genuinely beautiful. Groves of trees shading grassy slopes,
beds of flowers glowing by the sides of ponds and small lakes, walks,
drives, and sheltered seats--the place possesses all these commendable
attributes, and many beyond.
The Montevidean is very proud of the Prado, and he has sufficient
reason for his pride. He has taken a portion of the rolling country,
and has made of the mounds and hills the fairest garden imaginable.
The place would be remarkable if for nothing more than the great
variety and number of its trees, both Northern and subtropical. But
here this fine collection forms merely the background for the less
lofty palms, bamboos, and all the host of the quainter growths, to say
nothing of the flowering shrubs and the land and water blossoms. One
may roam for miles in and out of the Prado vegetation, only to find
that it continues to present fresh aspects and beauties all the while.
The expedition to Colón is a slightly more serious one, since, the
spot being situated some eight miles from the centre of the town, the
journey by tramcar occupies an hour or so. As much that is typical of
the outskirts of Montevideo is revealed by the excursion, it may be as
well to describe it with some detail.
[Illustration: THE BEACH AT PARQUE URBANO.]
[Illustration: THE SAN JOSE ROAD BRIDGE.
To face p. 162.]
It is only when once fairly launched upon a journey of the kind that
the true extent of Montevideo and the length of its plane-shaded
avenues proper become evident. Nevertheless, as the car mounts and
dips with the undulation of the land, the unbroken streets of houses
come to an end at length, giving way to the first _quintas_--the
villas set within their own grounds. The aspect of these alone would
suffice to convince the passing stranger of the real wealth of the
capital. Of all styles of architecture, from that of the bungalow to
the more intricate structure of many pinnacles and eaves, many of them
are extremely imposing in size and luxurious to a degree. A moral to
the new-comer in Montevideo should certainly be: Own a quinta in
the suburbs; or, if you cannot, get to know the owner of a quinta in
the suburbs, and stay with him!
But if you would see these surroundings of Montevideo at their very
best, it is necessary to journey there in October--the October of the
Southern hemisphere, when the sap of the plants is rising to
counterbalance its fall in the North. The quintas then are positive
haunts of delight--nothing less. Their frontiers are frequently marked
by blossoming may, honeysuckle, and rose-hedges, while bougainvillæa,
wistaria, and countless other creepers blaze from the walls of the
houses themselves.
As for the gardens, they have overflowed into an ordered riot of
flower. The most favoured nooks of Madeira, the _Midi_ of France, and
Portugal would find it hard to hold their own in the matter of
blossoms with this far Southern land. Undoubtedly, one of the most
fascinating features here is the mingling of the hardy and homely
plants with the exotic. Thus great banks of sweet-scented stock will
spread themselves beneath the broad-leaved palms, while the bamboo
spears will prick up lightly by the ivy-covered trunk of a Northern
tree--a tree whose parasite is to be marked and cherished, for ivy is,
in general, as rare in South America as holly, to say nothing of
plum-pudding, though it is abundant here. Spreading bushes of lilac
mingle their scent with the magnolia, orange, myrtle, and mimosa,
until the crowded air seems almost to throb beneath the simultaneous
weight of the odours. Then down upon the ground, again, are
periwinkles, pansies, and marigolds, rubbing petals with arum-lilies,
carnations, hedges of pink geranium, clumps of tree-marguerites, and
wide borders of cineraria. From time to time the suggestions of the
North are strangely compelling. Thus, when the heavy flower-cones of
the horse-chestnut stand out boldly next to the snow-white circles of
the elder-tree, with a grove of oaks as a background, it is with
something akin to a shock that the succeeding clumps of paraiso and
eucalyptus-trees, and the fleshy leaves of the aloe and prickly-pear
bring the traveller back to reality and the land of warm sunshine.
But it is time to make an end to this long list of mere growths and
blossoms. The others must be left to the imagination, from the green
fig-bulbs to the peach-blossom and guelder-roses. Let it suffice to
say that a number of these gardens are many acres in extent, and that
you may distribute all these flowers--and the far larger number that
remain unchronicled--in any order that you will.
As the open country appears in the wider gaps left between the remoter
quintas, and the space between the halting-places of the tram is
correspondingly lengthened, the speed of a car becomes accelerated to
a marked degree. The cottages that now appear at intervals at the side
of the road are trim and spotlessly white. They are, almost without
exception, shaded by the native ombú-tree, and are surrounded with
trelliswork of vines and with fig-trees, while near by are fields of
broad beans and the extensive vineyards of commerce.
Along the road a rider is proceeding leisurely, a large wooden pannier
jutting out from either side of his saddle. This bulky gear, that
lends such a swollen appearance to the advancing combination of man
and horse, denotes a travelling merchant of humble status. What he
carries within the pair of boxes there is no outward evidence to tell.
Their contents may be anything from vegetables or chickens to
scissors, knives, or sweetstuffs. Since, however, he has now drawn
rein by the side of one of the white cottages, his wares almost
certainly do not comprise the first two, for the market for such lies
within Montevideo proper. By the time, however, that the lids of the
panniers have been raised and the bargaining has commenced the car has
sped far onwards, and has dropped him from sight. Thus the business of
the travelling merchant--like that of the majority of passers-by--remains
but half understood.
But here, at all events, comes a group of riders of another kind,
whose purpose is clear. Half a dozen small boys and bareheaded girls,
mounted upon disproportionately tall ponies, are jogging along on
their way to school. Uruguay prides itself, with no little reason,
upon the efficiency of its system of education, and the humblest hut
now sends forth its human mites to absorb the three R's and to be
instilled with patriotically optimistic versions of their country's
past. These rudiments mastered, they need not necessarily halt in
their scholastic career, since, according to the laws of the land, a
professorship is open eventually to the most lowly student who
persists for sufficient time. And Uruguay is undoubtedly a nest of
opportunities. An embryo statesman or learned doctor may be
represented by each of the urchins who are now plodding onwards with
serious intent through the dust!
In the meanwhile the car has won its way fairly out into the open
country, always green, smiling, and thickly shot with the pink of
peach-blossoms. The rails have now drawn well away from the centre of
the road, and are separated from the actual highway by a grassy space.
Stirred by the importance of possessing a track all to itself, the car
is undoubtedly aspiring to the rank of a railway train, and goes
rushing at a really formidable pace upon its verdure-embedded lines.
Swaying over the shoulders of the land, past plantations, lanes, and
hedges, it plunges onwards in grim earnest to the terminus of the line
at Colón itself.
The actual village of Colón gives little indication of the nature of
the district. The railway-station, shops, and houses are all
pleasantly situated, it is true, and the restaurants and
pleasure-gardens are unusually numerous. The attractions of the place,
however, lie well outside the central nucleus of buildings. From this
some remarkably imposing eucalyptus avenues lead outwards into the
favourite haunts of the Montevidean when on pleasure bent.
Undoubtedly the most salient feature of Colón is the eucalyptus.
Indeed, the place primarily consists of mile upon mile of these
stately avenues, fringed by blue gums of an immense size. Bordering
these magnificent highways, that cross each other at right angles, are
country houses here and there that are reproductions of those in the
suburbs of Montevideo. In between the avenues, again, are clumps and
small forests of eucalyptus, whose tops soar high up in tremendously
lofty waves, that enclose vineyards, peach-orchards, and olive-tree
plantations.
Here and there are lanes walled in by mounting hedges of honeysuckle
and rose, while many of the private grounds are guarded by the
impassable lines of aloe. Add to this basis all the other trees,
shrubs, and flowers that have already been passed on the outward
journey, and you have the main attributes of Colón.
[Illustration: EUCALYPTUS AVENUE: COLÓN.
To face p. 166.]
Since the topic of the inner man appeals at least as much to the
Uruguayan as to any other mortal, there are some very pleasant
restaurants set in the midst of this land of eucalyptus. Perhaps the
best and prettiest of these is one known by the very English name of
the Tea Garden Restaurant. One of the chief peculiarities of the place
is that tea is actually partaken of there from time to time, as the
modern Oriental is beginning to accord this cosmopolitan beverage a
recognised place by the side of coffee and his own native Yerba Maté.
At the Tea Garden Restaurant it is possible to lunch by the side of a
lake, with ripening grape-bunches above to throw their reflections in
the soup, and with the falling petals of orange-blossom floating
daintily past the steaming cutlets, while the music of the ducks
blends admirably with the clatter of the table weapons. With really
good cooking and attentive service added to these side attractions,
what more could one want!
But the proprietors of the restaurant are nothing if not enterprising.
They give the wayfarer something even beyond an excellent meal. At the
end of the repast each guest is presented with a ticket that entitles
him to a free cab-ride to the tramway terminus. The idea is admirable.
Nothing is wanting but the cabs! At all events, when I had concluded
lunch there the surface of the fine avenue was innocent of any
vehicle, and continued so until the walk to the car was accomplished.
But the courtesy of the offer had been effectual, and a certain sense
of obligation remained.
The bathing-places of Poçitos and Ramirez are akin in many respects to
these inland resorts. By the side of the sea here are fewer blossoms
and rather smaller eucalyptus groves, but a greater number of open-air
restaurants and one or two quite imposing hotels. Indeed, Ramirez, the
nearer of the two, is endowed with a really fine casino, that faces
the shoreward end of the pier, and that has by its side the spacious
and well-timbered public park.
Poçitos occupies the next bay, and is notable for its lengthy
esplanade and for the very pleasant houses that give upon the
semicircular sweep. This bay, moreover, is the first that has, so to
speak, turned its back upon the river and has faced the open ocean.
As a token, the waters are tinged with a definite blue, and the air
holds a genuine sting of salt that rapidly dies away when passing
up-stream away from here. To the Buenos Airen, who enthusiastically
patronises the place, Poçitos is delightful, if for no other reason
than the sense of contrast to his own surroundings that it affords
him. Not that he has any reason to grumble at the river frontier of
the rich alluvial soil, from out of which his fortunes have been
built. But here, in place of the soft, stoneless mud, is bright sand,
and genuine rocks, piled liberally all over the shore, that shelter
crabs, and pools that hold fish of the varieties that refuse to
breathe in any other but guaranteed salt water. So it is that the
summer season sees the long rows of tents and bathing machines crowded
and overflowing with the Uruguayans and the host of visitors from
across the river.
Both Ramirez and Poçitos are within the range of the ubiquitous
tramcar. But this very efficient service, not content with its
excursion of half a dozen miles and more on the ocean side of
Montevideo, runs in the opposite direction completely round the port
bay, and performs the yet more important journey to Villa del Cerro,
the small town that lies at the foot of the hill that is so closely
associated with Montevideo and its affairs. A far shorter route to
this latter place, however, is by the busy little steam ferry that
puffs straight across the bay, and that starts faithfully at every
hour, as promised by the timetable, although, if that hour coincides
with the one specified, the event may be accepted as a fortunate
accident.
Its most patriotic inhabitant could not claim loveliness for Villa del
Cerro. The existence of the spot is mainly due to the presence of some
neighbouring _saladeros_, or meat-curing factories, and thus the
small town presents the aspects of the more humble industrial centres.
There are two or three regular streets, it is true, that contain a few
houses with some faint pretensions to importance. Upon the balconies
of these the local señoritas are wont to gather of an evening. They
are obviously a little starved in such matters as romance, and a
little fearful lest their eye language should lose its eloquence
through too long a disuse. Thus the advent of any passing stranger
whatever suffices to cause a certain flutter and excitement in the
balconies above.
Outside these main streets the pattern of the town has been left much
to the discretion of its most lowly inhabitants. Buildings composed of
unexpected material sprout up from the earth in unexpected places.
Earth, boards, tin, and fragments of stone are amongst the commonest
of these, although there are a certain number, stiffened by bricks,
whose comparatively commonplace exterior looks smug and respectable by
the side of the rest.
Mounting upwards, the architecture of the outskirts comes as something
of a relief, since its simplicity is crude and absolute to the point
of excluding any jarring possibilities.
The ranchos here are composed of nothing beyond loose fragments of
rock piled one on top of the other, with an odd hole here and there
that serves for window or door, frequently for both.
At one point in the midst of these primitive stone dwellings a small
group of scantily clothed boys are playing football, the implement of
their game being an old sheepskin rolled into the nearest imitation to
a globe to which its folds will consent and held together roughly with
string--one more instance of the spreading triumph of football, that
wonderful game that seems to conquer its surroundings and to implant
itself firmly throughout the world entire.
The turf slopes of the Cerro itself are all about one now. From the
distance they had appeared of an unbroken green, but when actually
approached the broken patches of bare rock upon their surface become
evident. The last of the stone shanties are not only contrived upon
one of these, but constructed from the very site upon which they
repose. The result is a difficulty to distinguish between the natural
rock and the habitable flakes.
The short turf of the wind-swept Cerro is innocent of blossoms save
for the ubiquitous verbena, a few stunted tobacco flowers, and some
other lowly blooms. Upon the very summit, where the rock breaks out
boldly and piles itself in jagged heaps, is a picturesque fort, from
the midst of whose walls of solid masonry rises the dome of the light
that guides the ships into the harbour below.
The panorama that opens itself out from this point is not a little
remarkable. On the one side lies the bay of Montevideo, thickly dotted
with its steamers and sailing vessels, with the towers and streets of
the capital spreading far inland upon the opposite shore. Beyond this,
again, are the undulations of the hills, the coastline, and the ocean
that shines brilliantly, although it is only dimly blue. On the other
hand stretches the River Plate, whose waters are deepening their
yellow as they extend towards the landless horizon, beneath which lies
Buenos Aires and Argentina.
The Cerro guards the entrance to the great river. It is the first true
hill upon its banks--and the last, for over a thousand miles. For the
next of its kind signals the approach to Asuncion--beyond Argentina
and far beyond the Banda Oriental--in far-away Paraguay. And much
water flows between the tropical heat of Asuncion and the cool
freshness of this Cerro. Therefore the place is worthy of mark as the
southernmost of the two widely separated sentinel hills that guard
such different climes.