Total change in the appearance of nature—Cochi-janchi—Barley
and potatoes—Chuño—Koad to Coni by Bandiola—Sacába—Approach to
Cochabamba—Tambos—Apartments—The city and people—Luxuriously
furnished houses—Fruits, flowers, and grain crops—Douche
baths—Alaméda, or public garden—Sweets and ices—Tertulias and
rocking-chairs—Commercial firms and their trade—Cascarilla,
or cinchona bark—Hospitality of foreign residents
and others—Moonlight ride—Climate—Want of sanitary
arrangements—Mineral wealth of the district.
From the top of the cuesta of Malaga onwards into Bolivia the face of
nature is so changed, that one seems to have suddenly arrived in another
land. To the north of this hill, the mountains are covered with trees,
and the plains bear their luxuriant wealth of tropical vegetation, but on
the south the aspect is very different. On this side, the rocky mountain
ranges of the Andes seem to produce nothing but crops of stones, which
lie so thickly upon all the level plains that cultivation can only be
carried on after the most laborious work. This rocky and stony nature of
the soil gives the country a very dreary look, which is only relieved
by trees and foliage, wherever a river has afforded opportunities of
irrigation.
On the uplands and slopes of the hills barley and potatoes are grown,
while on the uncultivated lands a rough and long grass grows in tufts,
and affords fair grazing for sheep and oxen.
About 5 p.m. we arrived at Cochi-janchi, at 10,950 feet above sea-level.
This village has a particularly melancholy look, as there is not a
vestige of a tree to be seen; the houses, which are very small in size,
being built with walls and roofs of mud, or adobe, placed in enclosures
made by walls of the same material. There is a small church built with
mud, like the houses, and there are altogether about fifty or sixty farms
scattered over the hill-side. The people must be very industrious, as the
hills are much cultivated, some up to their summits, of probably 12,500
or 13,000 feet elevation. The district supplies Cochabamba with potatoes,
and there appears to be a large trade done in them, both fresh and
preserved. In the latter state they are called “chuño,” which is really
nothing more than a frozen potato, and a most horrid substitute for the
real article. The process of preserving seems to be that the potatoes are
cut into slices and then into cubes, about the size of ordinary dice;
these are exposed to the almost nightly frosts until they present a dry,
corky appearance, in which state they will keep for any length of time,
and form the staple article of food with the Quichuan Indians; indeed,
throughout the interior of the republic, the chuño is met with at every
table. I cannot say that I discovered its excellencies, for it seemed
to me to taste just as it looks, like cork; but it is nevertheless a
favourite component part of the chupe, which forms the first course both
at breakfast and dinner. And certainly it appears to me to be the easiest
method by which potatoes can be preserved; no tins or air-tight cases
being required—a dry floor or sack serving all purposes for storage.
The mules are now fed with barley, given to them in the straw and
unthreshed. This fodder seems to suit both mules and horses admirably,
but requires to be varied now and then with grass food when the animal is
not on a journey. It costs, near Cochabamba, about two pesos, or 6_s._
2_d._, the quintal of 100 lbs. weight, about sufficient for four animals’
nightly rations.
From Cochi-janchi there is another track that leads to Coni, by passing
through a district called Bandiola, to the east of Espiritu Santo; but
that track also has to pass the ridge of Malaga, and I was credibly
informed that the cuestas in that direction are far more severe than
those over which I travelled; and as my Yuracaré Indians refused to
return to their homes by the Bandiola road, I think it may be agreed that
it is not a practicable one. The Malaga cuesta, although rising to a
great height, was not very steep, the ascent and descent being so gradual
that I did not once have to dismount from my mule in going over it.
Next day, August 16th, the thermometer stood at 45° at six o’clock, which
was quite cold enough to be pleasant, but not so sharp as the previous
night at Inca Corral. I tried to get my arriero started early, but as he
had many visits to make in the pueblo, and much chicha to drink at each
house, it was past ten o’clock before we got on the road again. We soon
began another ascent, which was very laborious, as the mules show signs
of tiring more and more every day. The top of this hill was 600 feet
lower than the cuesta of Malaga.
After passing several small and insignificant villages, we came to the
town of Sacába, a very considerable place. The day was market day, and
the “plazas,” or squares, were full of the country people, who wear
ponchos and shawls of the brightest colours, so that the scene was
most picturesque. These markets are held in the open air, and almost
everything that can be named is to be bought. Bread, meat, general
provisions and stores, drugs, dyes, woollens, calicoes, and other stuffs
of all kinds, pots, pans, and household implements, the stalls being all
mixed up together, so that the market has a look as though the tradesmen
of the town had emptied the contents of their shops out into the plaza.
There are, however, no public horse or cattle fairs in Bolivia, the
trade in animals being carried on quietly between the owners of the
flocks of sheep and droves of oxen that one sees on the hills, and the
butchers. The beasts are always killed, and their carcases dressed and
cut up at public abattoirs outside the town, the meat being sold in the
plazas or market-places, there being no butchers’ shops in any of the
streets. The houses of Sacába are decently built in regular streets, but
as the town is situated in a stony plain, the dust was very trying when
a strong north wind was blowing. Our ride up to and through the town
was done during a perfect dust-storm—so thick that it was necessary to
tie our handkerchiefs over our faces, or we should, I think, have been
suffocated. As for the people in the open plaza, they must have suffered
severely, and their goods of a perishable nature must have been almost
spoiled by the clouds of dust that passed over the town.
Leaving Sacába, our shortest route lay across a ridge of mountains that
stretch out into the plain, and behind which the city of Cochabamba is
situated; but, as the mules were very tired and footsore, we kept to the
plain, and went round the end of the ridge. The approach to Cochabamba
was up a stream, now dry, with what appeared to be country residences
on either side, many having considerable pretensions to comfort, and
all having good, well-stocked gardens. These country houses are called
“quintas,” and the owners mostly have town residences as well. A bridge
for the road had been built over the river, but one of the piers had
fallen, from the simple fact that the foundations were not on rock,
but on sand and small stones. We entered the city about half-past six
in the evening, crossing the principal plaza just as it was getting
dark, putting up at the “tambo,” where, with difficulty, I succeeded in
getting a small and dark room, which was quite destitute of any bedding
or furniture. There was nothing to be had to eat or drink in the tambo,
and I could only get a plate of greasily cooked beef-steak, which my boy
managed to buy somewhere outside; but, notwithstanding the poverty of the
accommodation, having had supper, I managed to pass a very good night, as
I had my camp-bed, and was therefore independent of hotel fittings, being
always able to sleep well, provided that I could get under a water-tight
roof.
The tambo is an old Spanish institution that is fast giving way to the
hotel, or “posada,” and probably Bolivia is the only South American
republic where the tambo can be seen in its old-fashioned style. The
tambo of Bolivia is not so well managed as the travelling bungalow of
India, where the wayfarer not only finds a room, but also finds the
necessary articles of furniture, such as a cot and washing apparatus,
while there is always an attendant who can prepare a repast if the
traveller has no servant of his own. In Cochabamba the tambo, as a
building, outwardly is all well enough, but the rooms are small, dark,
and badly ventilated, and in place of furniture a brick or mud shelf, of
a width sufficient for sleeping on, is built up in one corner, or right
across the end of the room. Sometimes this sleeping-bank takes the form
of a daïs, raised only about a foot above the ordinary floor of the room,
and the arrangement is in Bolivia not confined to tambos, but found also
in many middle-class houses in use instead of bedsteads. Most travellers
carry a mattress and pillows with their baggage; and in Bolivia a very
useful mattress is made, specially for travelling, not too thick, and
with one side covered with leather, so that when rolled up there is no
danger of the stuff side getting wet, and when in use the leather side,
being below, helps to keep the damp from the sleeper. Bolivians seem
to be able to sleep soundly on this table or shelf arrangement; but
European travellers should be careful to have their own cots with them,
as, if they try the tables, they will soon find that sleep is out of the
question, the mud or bricks being tenanted by armies of active insects,
to whom the arrival of a stranger in the land affords an opportunity for
varying their nightly rations of Bolivian vitality that they are not
at all slack in availing themselves of. Materials for washing seem to
be quite superfluities in Bolivian tambos, and it becomes, therefore,
necessary to carry a metal basin on one’s travels. However, the daily
charge for a room is not at all extravagant, being a couple of reales,
or about ninepence; but probably the proprietors of the tambos think
that as the tribes of insects, that may be said to be joint owners
of the hostelry, are sure to take a good contribution for themselves
out of the unlucky traveller, it would be but justice to let off his
pocket as lightly as possible. Fortunately for me, I was not destined
to remain long in the tambo of Cochabamba, for on the following day I
presented my letters of introduction, and soon had several kind offers
of hospitality from various friends. Probably the reason why tambos
are so badly furnished and attended to, is that it is the custom for
travellers in Bolivia to quarter themselves on friends, and therefore
there is not sufficient custom for good hotels. Had I arrived earlier in
the day, I should have gone straight to the friends to whom I had been
recommended; but, after all, I found that I had so many offers that, as
I could not divide my time fairly amongst all the hospitable people who
were willing to house me, I decided the difficulty by taking apartments,
and secured a first floor in one of the best streets leading out of the
principal square. My drawing-room was very large and lofty, and, being
furnished in the usual South American style, with chairs, sofas, and a
very small pedestal table, had quite a diplomatic look about it. The
rent was also in diplomatic style, being sixty pesos faibles, or about
£10 per month—quite enough, considering that no attendance or cooking
was required, as I invariably took my meals with one or other of my
acquaintances, and my boy prepared my morning coffee and attended to the
rooms. More moderate apartments may be had in the city, but one cannot
reckon upon getting a couple of decent rooms for less than thirty or
forty pesos per month—say £5 to £8.
[Illustration: VIEW OF COCHABAMBA. (_From a photograph._)]
Cochabamba, probably the most important town of the republic of Bolivia,
is situated in a plain 8450 feet above sea-level, overlooked by the
rugged snow-clad heights of Tunari and Larati, whose giant tops rise
fully 10,000 feet above the city. The town is well built, with regular
streets, which all lead to the usual central plaza, in which are the
government and municipal offices, and a cathedral that occupies nearly
the whole of one side of the square. The public offices have a handsome
colonnade extending over the foot pavement and running round two sides of
the plaza, forming a promenade with good shelter either from sun or rain.
There are in the city about 50,000 people, and amongst the upper classes
are found many descendants of old Spanish families, but the bulk of the
population are Indians of Quichuan or Aymará extraction. The language
of society and commerce is Castilian, and the Indians of the town, who
amongst themselves use their own tongue, whether Quichuan or Aymará,
nearly all speak or understand Spanish; in the outlying villages and
farms very few have been sufficiently educated to know any but their own
language, and it therefore becomes necessary to have an interpreter for
the journey from one town to another. These Indians present many features
of interest, but their character and peculiarities are seen to greater
advantage in their little homesteads on the mountains, and we shall have
frequent opportunities of meeting with them outside the cities.
After many weeks of rough travelling, one of the greatest pleasures of
arriving at Cochabamba is to meet with a well, nay, highly educated
society, the fairer portion of which especially attract observation;
for, apart from the natural charms with which “el bello sexo” of Spanish
descent are largely endowed, the ladies of Cochabamba are generally
accomplished musicians, while many are also good linguists, French and
Italian being more in favour than English or German. But the “bello
sexo” of Sucre, or Chuquisaca, as it is otherwise called, are generally
considered to be more graceful and elegant than those of Cochabamba;
so I must not part with all my praises for “las bellas Cochabambinas,”
but reserve some for the fair Sucrenses, or Chuquisaqueñas. Many of the
best houses are luxuriously furnished, and as all the furniture and
appointments are either of American or European manufacture, the cost of
an establishment must be very excessive, as everything has to be brought
on mules or donkeys over the Andes from the ports of the Pacific coast.
I saw several drawing-rooms in the city that had as much plate-glass
and as many ornaments as are to be seen in a tastefully furnished house
in London, and most houses of any pretensions have good pianos, which,
costing perhaps £60 or £80 in Europe, are worth about £200 by the time
they get to Cochabamba. At this rate, one can easily see that it must
take a small fortune to furnish a house decently in the interior of the
republic of Bolivia.
The chief wealth of the department appears to be in agriculture, for
Cochabamba may certainly claim to be the agricultural capital of Bolivia,
La Paz, Potosí, and Oruro being the chief mineral centres, whilst the
true capital of the republic, Sucre, is the political and educational
centre. Cochabamba is the storehouse for the crops of wheat, maize,
barley, and potatoes that are grown on the plains on which the city
is built. There are many large gardens in the outskirts of the town,
which produce fruits of all kinds, such as grapes, oranges, apples,
pears, peaches, apricots, and strawberries. Roses, carnations, camelias,
and most European flowers are also grown, so that a visitor may easily
fancy himself in the south of France, or even in a well-stocked garden
at home, only that the latter idea must be of one of the finest summer
days of England for the comparison to hold good at all, for it is almost
impossible otherwise to compare the blue sky and fine clear atmosphere of
Cochabamba with our own murky and cloudy skies. Nearly all the quintas,
or country houses, are furnished with bathing arrangements, and have good
gardens attached to them; but the one that took my fancy most was named
“Maiorina,” a most valuable possession, or “finca,” as they are called.
This finca not only has the largest and best stock of fruit and flowers,
but it also has a really splendid douche bath. The house is built on
a steep hill-side, and a small mountain stream of clear cold water is
led by an aqueduct into the bath-house, which is dug out to a depth of
perhaps twelve feet, and well lined with marble. The fall of water is
about twenty feet, and as the stream enters the bath-house with a volume
of about six inches deep by twelve inches in width, the blow received by
the bather at the bottom is so severe that great caution is required to
avoid exposing one’s head to the full force of the water. The stream has
its rise in the snow that almost continually lies on the top of Tunari,
and the water is therefore intensely cold—so much so, that to descend
into the well of the bath nearly takes one’s breath away. The first
effect of the cold upon me was to give an intense pain at the back of
the head below the ears. I was therefore very cautious at first to keep
clear of the big douche, and, holding my hands over my head, and bending
forward somewhat in a diving attitude, receive the spray only, diverted
from the main stream by the hands. I was told that several incautious
bathers had been knocked down by the fall, and as the attendant does
not remain in the bath-room, such an occurrence may easily end fatally.
Notwithstanding the intense coldness of the water, and the fact that the
bath is about three miles from the city, it is well frequented, and I
saw many young ladies go with great regularity, although I should have
thought the cold would have deterred them from bathing. The bath is the
property of the owner of the Finca Maiorina, but he kindly allows the
public to use it on payment of a reale each, or about 4½_d._, a payment
which can only suffice to keep an attendant. The cost of construction
and the repairs must be altogether at the expense of the proprietor, to
whom all visitors to Cochabamba should be very grateful, for the bath is
certainly a splendid luxury.
Cochabamba, like the generality of South American towns, has its
“alaméda,” or place of public resort. To call these alamédas parks,
would be misleading, for they are generally too small to be dignified
with such a title, being more like some of the small parks or gardens
that have of late years been made in the suburbs of London, on spots
that were previously howling wastes, tenanted only by brickbats, dead
cats, and street arabs. Certainly London has somewhat improved latterly
in the matter of public enclosures, but still we could take a lesson
in this respect from South America, where, when a town is commenced,
almost the first thing projected is a plaza, or public square, and then
an alaméda, or public garden; so that the town, as it grows, is sure
of having some open breathing-places left unbuilt upon. Such a course
might be adopted with great advantage in each of the rapidly built up
suburban districts of London, where street is built close upon street,
and terrace upon terrace, so that to get a breath of fresh air one is
obliged to travel long distances to one of our noble parks, or right
into the country. The alaméda of Cochabamba is just outside the town,
and easily accessible on an evening or early morning stroll; it consists
of four avenues made by poplar trees. But one cannot speak highly of
the care bestowed on its preservation, for the walks are covered with a
thick dust, which rises in clouds upon the slightest provocation. The
entrance is through a gate or façade of considerable size, built of rough
stonework, covered with plaster, on which, painted in bright and glaring
colours, are representations, by a native artist, of some of the battles
fought during the War of Independence, that ended in the break up of the
empire of Spain in South America into the republics of the present day.
Art in Bolivia does not appear to have risen to any great height, and
therefore the frescoes and paintings by native artists that are to be
seen in public places are not of a very high order of merit, and remind
one forcibly of the cheap and highly coloured scenes sold at home for
children’s portable theatres. The rules of perspective also appear to be
about as much known in Bolivia as they apparently are in China or Japan;
so that the paintings have a mediæval or Byzantine look about them, which
might perhaps be highly appreciated in certain high art circles of the
present day.
The city is fairly furnished with shops, which do not, however, make
any great show in the windows, the goods being laid out in large stores
or warehouses. A few fondas and billiard-rooms have inferior _table
d’hôtes_, where the ordinary meals of the country can be procured,
but the cuisine is of very third-rate character, and such places are
therefore to be avoided if possible. Chocolate, sweets, and confectionery
are plentiful and good, but the splendid ices that are to be had all
through the year are the greatest luxury of Cochabamba. These are both
cheap and good, and are made, it is said, from the snow always lying in
the crevices of the heights of Tunari, from whence it is brought down
by Indians for the ice-makers, who turn it into cream, vanilla, lemon,
or strawberry ices, which meet with a ready sale during the heat of the
mid-day and afternoon hours.
At the “tertulias,” or evening parties, which are quite an institution
in Cochabamba, ices play an important part, along with tea, coffee,
cigarettes, and small-talk. These tertulias are, to my mind, about the
most dreary performances that a human being can be forced to assist
at. It is the custom after dinner for the ladies of the house to take
up their positions in rocking-chairs, a number of which are placed in
a circle, generally near the open windows, except on the few occasions
when the weather is unfavourable. Gentlemen friends are then expected
to drop in promiscuously and, occupying the vacant chairs, provide the
ladies with a feast of small-talk and scandal, which seems to be as
much admired in the west of the world as it is in the east. Frequently
these meetings take a political turn—and, indeed, one may almost say
that they always do—for it is very rare to find more than one of the
various parties of the day represented at a tertulia, as party spirit
runs so high in the gloriously free republics, that it is not at all
safe to differ in opinion with your neighbour at what would appear to be
a friendly reunion. A stranger, of course, is not supposed to take any
side in politics, but it is difficult to avoid being thought to be of
the same party as one’s host; and it is therefore sometimes necessary
to shift your opinions with every visit that you make during the course
of the evening, as you are not expected to stay at any one house more
than half an hour at the most, unless you are on very intimate terms
with the family. To see a circle of say ten or a dozen people rocking
away, some vigorously and others lackadaisically, while endeavouring
to keep up a conversation, has a very funny look; but the motion of
the chairs is so pleasant, that one soon falls in with the custom, and
rocks as hard as any of the natives, though not able to join always in
the chatting. The same kind of dreary visiting is practised on Sunday
afternoons, from about two until four or five, during which hours polite
and proper young men are to be seen hastening from house to house, got up
in most elaborate style, and evidently making a most serious business
of a social duty that, if taken more leisurely, would be a pleasure. A
peculiarity I noticed particularly at these tertulias was, that each of
the ladies present was addressed by the title of “señorita.” Whatever
her age or position in life, married or single, rich or poor, all are
señoritas in Bolivia. It used to sound excessively funny to hear an old
lady, perhaps a grandmamma, called “señorita,” whilst the same term
was used for her granddaughters; but, as in Rome one must do as Romans
do, so, in Bolivia, a traveller who wishes to be thought polite and
cultivated must be careful to address all Bolivianas by the style and
title of “señorita.”
There are many commercial firms of considerable standing, the principal
being three German houses, who make very large importations of European
manufactures. All these goods have to be brought on mules’ backs from
the ports of the Pacific coast over the Andes, and are therefore greatly
enhanced in value by the time they get to be exposed for sale in the
merchant’s store, the freight from the port of Arica to the interior of
the republic varying from £40 to £80 per ton of twenty quintals of 100
Spanish pounds each, according to the season or the class of goods. A ton
would be about eight mule-loads, and taking beer or wine as an example,
we find that the cost of the freight of a case of any liquor from the
Pacific coast would be £1 5_s._, and at times £2 10_s._, while the first
cost at home of a case of beer would not perhaps be more than 10_s._ or
12_s._
In consequence of this excessively high cost of freighting, the
exports of Bolivia are limited almost entirely to the richest portions
of the minerals with which the interior of the country abounds, and to
“cascarilla,” or the bark of the cinchona tree. Bolivia enjoys an almost
total monopoly of this latter valuable product, which received the name
of Peruvian bark, because Bolivia itself was called Alto Peru before the
War of Independence; but, at the present time, I think it may safely
be asserted that all the Peruvian bark that is exported from Peru is
collected in the forests of the province of Caupolican in Bolivia.[3]
Indeed, so localized is the cinchona tree, being only found over,
comparatively speaking, a small tract of country, that it may be feared
that in a few years it will become almost extinct, as the tree dies after
the bark has been stripped from it. The government of Bolivia—that is to
say, whenever there is any central power worth calling a government—is
always satisfied with collecting the export duties on the “cascarilla,”
and takes no steps whatever to ensure the replanting of the forests, but
seems to be satisfied with prohibiting the export of plants or seeds, and
thinks thus to keep the valuable trade to the country, ignoring totally
the fact that the day is fast approaching when all the cinchona trees
will have been killed, and a trade that might, with very little care,
have been a continuous source of revenue, will be entirely lost. But this
short-sighted policy is pursued in Bolivia in every branch of revenue.
Even the sums received from farming the tolls on the roads, such as they
are, have to be sent to the provincial or central treasuries, and not a
cent is spent in repairs until the road gets into a totally impassable
condition, when a few spasmodic efforts are made, and the smallest amount
possible is laid out, in order that the cash shall only be diverted from
the public treasury for as short a time as may be.
Notwithstanding the difficulties under which trade is carried on in
Bolivia, the merchants appear to do a flourishing business, and some
of the best firms keep up princely establishments, and generally have
branches in all the chief towns of the republic. The foreigners resident
in Bolivia are somewhat exclusive in their social life, and although on
friendly terms with the townspeople, it is only on certain occasions
that one sees a mixed company of Bolivians and Europeans. But I noticed
that this exclusiveness only referred to dinner-parties—a class of
entertainment for which the European residents evidently do not think
the Bolivians sufficiently well educated. There is, it must be allowed,
good reason for thinking so, as the manners and customs of a Bolivian
dinner-table differ in many essential points from a European one. For
instance, salt-cellars are not often provided with salt-spoons; one’s
own knife being thought to be all that is wanted for carving the joint,
serving vegetables, and helping one’s self to salt, pepper, or mustard.
Similarly, table or gravy spoons are almost unknown, as every one helps
himself to soup or gravy with his own spoon. These little peculiarities,
doubtless, account for the almost general absence of European guests
at Bolivian tables, and _vice versâ_. At balls or soirées it is, of
course, absolutely necessary that ladies should be, if not in a majority,
at least well represented; and as there are not sufficient European
ladies in any town even for a quadrille, it is upon these occasions that
one gets a chance of seeing the ladies of the country to the greatest
advantage. The German merchants do not seem to admire the “bello sexo”
of Bolivia sufficiently to be often caught in the matrimonial net, and
any bold adventurer who falls captive to the charms of a fair Boliviana,
and accepts her for better or worse, is by his fellow-countrymen rather
thought to have made a mistake. Frequently the balls and parties are
got up in an impromptu manner, and then they are really delightful. I
remember one of these, at which, after dancing till nearly midnight, a
moonlight ride was proposed, and immediately put into execution. There
was no lack of horses, and, through the kindness of one of my German
friends, I was excellently well mounted; and away we started, about half
a dozen ladies and a dozen cavaliers. Through the quiet town we rode at
a good pace, and out across the plain to a lagoon, then entirely dry,
where we ran races by the bright moonlight, and let off some rockets and
crackers that one of the Germans had brought with him. We passed our
pocket-flasks round, the ladies also not disdaining a small nip to keep
them from catching cold with the night air, and then back to town, having
thoroughly enjoyed the ride.
The foreign residents in Cochabamba always receive travellers with the
greatest kindness and hospitality, and for my part I shall always retain
the liveliest memories of the good time I spent with them. By one of the
principal German firms I was received quite as a friend, although I was
not provided with letters of introduction to the house. The establishment
I refer to was throughout kept up on a most magnificent scale, and the
arrangements of the various rooms, such as dining, billiard, and smoking
and reading rooms, were as complete and as well ordered as many a club
at home. An American firm of contractors for public works, and owners
of the coaches that run from Cochabamba to Arani through the valley of
Cliza, have a fine house and workshops just on the outskirts of the
city, and are, far and away, the most hospitable men it has ever been
my lot to meet with; indeed, I do not call to mind ever having seen
such an open house kept up anywhere else. So truly hospitable are these
worthy Americans, that they expect every English-speaking traveller who
passes through Cochabamba to go direct to their house, and just take up
his quarters there, as though he were an old friend of years’ standing.
I was an entire stranger to them, and did not know of this excellent
custom of theirs, and so I fear that I involuntarily offended them by
going to the tambo instead of to their establishment; however, I did my
best afterwards to make up for lost time, by eating as many breakfasts
and dinners with them as possible, for they certainly kept the best cook
in Cochabamba. Every day these good fellows have meals prepared for at
least half a dozen more people than they have staying with them at the
moment, so that they are always prepared to receive casual droppers-in,
and on Sundays I have seen a score or so of self-invited guests sit down
to a first-rate breakfast, excellent in character and quality, both in
eatables and drinkables, and the meal has gone on just as though it had
been specially prepared for the occasion. Long life to these hospitable
Yankees, say I, and may their shadow never be less! and I am sure
that every one who knows them personally will echo my wish for their
prosperity and success.
While praising the hospitality of the foreigners resident in Cochabamba,
I must not forget that shown me by many of the native families of the
town, lest it should be thought that the Bolivians are behind their
European friends in this respect. By all the Bolivians with whom I came
in contact, I was received with the greatest cordiality, and by one
family, to the head of which I had been specially recommended by Don
Ignacio Bello of Trinidad, I was received quite as one of the family
circle, which I take to be about the greatest compliment that can be paid
to a stranger. My host, in this case, was a travelled and highly educated
man, while his charming señora was of one of the best families of La Paz,
and they had evidently improved greatly upon the general manners and
customs of the country, for their table was always well appointed, and
bountifully supplied with good things.
Cochabamba has a small theatre, but there is no regular company, and
travelling ones seldom visit the town, as it is out of the principal
routes of travel. During my stay, there was an amateur performance by
young men, who took both male and female parts; but their acting was
childish and nonsensical in the extreme, and the townsfolk seemed to be
of the same opinion, for the amateurs played to empty benches.
The climate of Cochabamba may, in my opinion, be classed amongst the
finest of the world, as it enjoys an almost perpetual summer, whilst the
nights are pleasantly cool, and therefore invigorating to constitutions
depressed by the humid heat of the Madeira and Amazon valleys. There
seems to be but little difference all the year round. Certain months have
more rain than others, the wettest months being November to January,
but even then the rain only falls in the shape of good heavy showers,
lasting, perhaps, an hour or so, when the sun breaks out again. A
thoroughly wet day, with rain falling from morn till night, is a great
rarity in Cochabamba, although at higher and lower altitudes, in the
same parallel of latitude, such days are of frequent occurrence, while
the central plains of Bolivia seem to have just a desirable amount of
rainfall and no more.
Few towns could be mentioned that are more advantageously situated, from
a hygienic point of view; indeed, I should say that a “City of Health”
might be established at Cochabamba with very good results. Fever and ague
are quite unknown, and if sanitary matters were attended to, it might
soon be said that the place was quite free from diseases of any kind;
but unfortunately, at present, such sicknesses as small-pox and scarlet
fever are got rid of with difficulty, owing to the filthy habits of at
least four-fifths of the natives of the place, who seem to be quite
without any notions of public cleanliness. There are no sewers or drains
of any kind whatever, and consequently the state of the whole city, with
the exception of a few of the principal squares and main thoroughfares,
which are swept every day by a gang of prisoners from the town jail, can
be easier imagined than described. Vaccination also is much neglected,
and consequently, when an outbreak of this dreadful scourge occurs, it
rapidly takes vast dimensions, and great numbers suffer and die, for the
Indian blood seems to cause the disease to take its most virulent form.
A town like this offers a most favourable opportunity for showing clearly
the advantages afforded by a dry earth system of sewage to cities
destitute of a plentiful supply of water. A president who would introduce
this beneficent system into Bolivia would, in my opinion, confer a far
greater favour on his country than any of its rulers have hitherto
succeeded in doing. It will, perhaps, scarcely be credited, that even
in the best establishments there are no closets or other receptacles
for house refuse; indeed, in my experience throughout the country, such
a convenience never came to my notice, excepting in the houses of the
foreign residents. There is a back yard to most houses, which I can only
describe as a dreadful cloaca maxima, and this horrid place is frequented
by all the members of the family, without distinction of age or sex. The
house refuse is thrown in this yard, and although pigs, dogs, mules,
and any other animals that may be on the establishment are turned loose
therein, the hot sun seems left to do the work of a disinfectant, except
that an occasional sweeping takes place, when the rubbish that remains is
set fire to, and burned to ashes.
When one sees such a dreadful want of the commonest knowledge of sanitary
matters amongst a society otherwise sufficiently cultivated, one is
almost tempted to think that there must be something fundamentally wrong
in the educational system of the country; and certainly it must be set
down as a great blot upon the teachings of the Roman Catholic clergy of
South America, that they have not taught their flocks the elementary
principle that “cleanliness is next to godliness.” The people are,
however, so apathetic, and so thoroughly wedded to their customs, that
probably a revolution might be threatened to any president who should
endeavour to make a law of common decency obligatory in the republic.
Perhaps, however, it has been thought that sewers are beyond the
financial resources of the towns; and there may be another good reason,
namely, that an abundant supply of water is not to be depended upon all
the year round. But dry earth is always at hand, and therefore it seems
at once apparent that Moule’s system would confer great blessings upon
all the communities, if it were thoroughly carried out.
Very little has been done in mining in the immediate neighbourhood of
Cochabamba, as from its great distance from the coast the carriage of
any but the richest silver ores would be too expensive to leave any
profit for the miner. There is, however, without doubt, immense wealth in
minerals in all the hills encircling the plain in which the city stands,
and, in proof of this, I was shown many specimens of manganese, silver,
and lead ores that had been taken from the outcrop of the lodes in the
district. These minerals must remain unexplored until the railway and
navigation of the Madeira valley shall have opened up Eastern Bolivia,
and caused good roads to be made from the head-waters of the Madeira and
Amazon to the interior of the republic.
The people of Cochabamba, of all classes and shades of public opinion,
are resolved to do all that lies in their power to assist this enterprise
to completion, for they see in it their only hope of emancipating
themselves from the heavy costs and charges levied upon all their
European necessities by the merchants of La Paz and the Peruvian ports
on the Pacific coast, as also their only hope of securing an outlet
for those abundant agricultural products that are now lost for want of
customers.
FOOTNOTES
[3] The average yearly shipments of Peruvian bark from Arica amount to
9611 cwts., of 100 lbs. each, having a cash value at the port of about
£118,300. (See Appendix, p. 400.)