IN THE HEART OF CHILE
During the following weeks we got an opportunity of seeing quite new
features of Chile. Hitherto we had almost exclusively travelled in
parts where civilization had not reached or was quite new--the big
island of Chiloé excepted; but the difference between the poor places
there and the towns we now visited was certainly enormous.
The more important towns are generally situated on the coast or very
near it, and sometimes so close that only a few hours’ journey by
steamer separates them. Most of them do not offer much of interest to
a travelling European; they do not afford any historical memories or
examples of art and architecture, and they are not the right places if
one wishes to see Chilean customs. On board the _Vestfold_ we passed
several towns. Already elsewhere I have mentioned that we visited
Valdivia, with its port, Corral. The last-named little town has a very
picturesque situation, and can boast of some ruins of the Spanish
fortress. Industry is beginning to flourish; a Norwegian whaling
company has a station there, and a French syndicate was just building
large electric furnaces to melt down the Chilean iron ores. Valdivia,
situated at some distance from the coast, on the Calle-calle river,
is a German town. Everywhere you met German faces, German signboards
and placards alongside the Spanish. There is a large German school, a
church and various _Vereine_, large shoe-factories, and, of course,
breweries. It gives an impression of a rapidly increasing community.
After the great fire last year a large part of the town will be rebuilt
on a much grander scale than before. But Valdivia is especially
famous for its streets. Situated in one of the rainiest parts of
Chile, surrounded by luxuriant forests, the town literally drips with
moisture, and the streets have hardly passed the state of the forest
soil. One can only cross at certain places, where wooden causeways are
laid, and we saw the horses wade up to their bellies in the mud, the
wheels of the carts almost disappearing.
In Coronel our expedition divided again. Halle was kindly taken care of
by the Swedish Vice-Consul, Mr. G. Granfelt, and during the following
weeks dedicated himself to a geological survey of the interesting
coal-mines in the province of Arauco; he made his headquarters in
Coronel, Lota, and Lebu, and obtained very valuable results. Certainly
all of us took the chance of visiting the famous park in Lota. This,
as well as a part of the town itself and the coal-mines, are the
property of the family Cousiño. Unfortunately, the park is not as
well kept as it used to be, and is also spoilt by a palace with four
façades in four different styles, and by dozens of spurious statues of
a very suspiciously German origin. From Lota, Quensel and I went to
Concepción, a larger town of pure European stamp, and from there by
electric tramway to its port, Talcahuano, the naval port of Chile,
and the only good harbour north of Chiloé. There we went on board the
_Vestfold_ once more. On August 14 Valparaiso spread out over the
narrow beach, and, climbing high up on the many hills behind, lay
before us, and between the hundreds of steamers and sailing-vessels we
were conducted to an anchorage.
[Illustration: VALDIVIA.]
[Illustration: HARBOUR AT VALPARAISO.]
The principal reason for our visit here was that we intended to make an
excursion to the Juan Fernandez Islands, which we accomplished between
August 20 and 31. We had prepared it long before, and Captain Löwenborg
pleaded our case so well that Admiral Montt put at our disposal the
large and comfortable transport vessel the _Casma_. Before the trip
was undertaken, and also after our return, we found ample time to see
both Valparaiso and Santiago, with their scientific institutes, and
also to make a couple of longer excursions. In 1906, the year of the
great earthquake, Valparaiso was on every one’s tongue. Two years had
elapsed since that tremendous catastrophe, but numerous traces were
still left, especially as the authorities have seized the opportunity
partly to re-plan the town, which somewhat delayed the rebuilding of
waste streets. Everywhere, even in the blocks that had suffered but
little, one could discover filled-up cracks in the walls. In Valparaiso
several Swedes live, but only in Santiago could one speak of a real
Swedish colony. It counts some very prominent members. I need only
mention a couple of the most able officers in the army, Colonel Ekdahl
and Lieutenant-Colonel Schönmeyr, or the director of gymnastics, Mr. J.
Billing, late lieutenant in the Swedish army. The reception given to
us by our countrymen in Santiago will always remain one of the most
agreeable memories of our journey.
Santiago is famous for its situation at the foot of the Andes. I
daresay there is nothing in the world like its racecourse, with snowy
peaks and crests many thousand feet high as decoration. I am afraid,
however, that the fine view does not account for the enormous number of
people there.
Nature in Central Chile is truly different from all we had seen before
of that country. The climate is warm and dry, even on the coast; only
in the valleys of the coast cordillera is there forest, formed by a
number of fine trees, most of which I had not met with before. On the
plateaus and ridges the reddish soil shines through, and with its
peculiar plants, amongst them the large pillar-cactus (_Cereus_), it
gives the impression of a semi-desert. One ought to see, as we did,
these parts in springtime, when beautiful lilies, orchids, &c., adorn
the earth. With the approach of summer they go to sleep.
Between Valparaiso and Santiago one passes one of the sources of wealth
in Chile, the central valley between the two mountain ranges--vast
prairies, thousands of cattle and large vineyards everywhere. Through
the kindness of the Transandino Railway Company we visited the
much-spoken-of tunnel joining Chile and Argentina, and at the same
time a grand mountain district. The railway starts from the small
town Los Andes. Here we have a typical Chilean country town, with low
white, pink, or light blue buildings of one storey, mostly not very
well kept, long brown earthen walls, broken and picturesque--how
well the flowering peach-trees stand out against the dark clay! The
sun scorches, there are clouds of thick brown dust over the streets,
covering the willows and their opening buds, marring the finery of
the horsemen. It is _dia de fiesta_, the birthday of the Holy Virgin;
dark-faced Don Juans, with trappings and enormous spurs of silver,
embroidered leggings and many-coloured, homespun poncho, gallop towards
the garlanded triumphal arches forming a walk up to the church. Evening
steals upon Los Andes, life dozes off, only now and then the faint
notes of a guitar reach us. The sun sinks, the mountains glow in the
last beams, then the outlines fade away, snow-patches and bare rock
melt together into a blue haze and darken to deep night. The moon
rises, drowning the peach-blossom in floods of silver, everything dusty
and ugly disappears in the soft lustre. But a strenuous day is in store
for us, and we are forced regretfully to go to sleep.
The train winds up the valley of Aconcagua, lined with gay groves,
adorned by many flowers; the river sinks deeper and deeper, the air
grows thin, pure, and cool. The rack commences, higher and higher we
rise. In Juncal our special train was stopped. The line was ready for
another nine and a half miles, but as work was going on in two of
the thirteen tunnels on this stretch we had to mount the mules kept
in readiness for us. Besides the guide, Mr. Curtis, whom the company
had sent with us, we got an additional member for our party, the
police-sergeant in Juncal; the road was not considered safe just then,
and the police wanted to be at hand in case anything should happen.
We rose in an eternal zigzag line; in all directions we enjoyed grand
scenery, but Nature was still in the grip of winter. At some distance
we passed Laguna del Inca, one of the most beautiful mountain lakes I
ever saw, and late in the evening we arrived at the entrance of the
tunnel, Caracoles, where we were invited to dinner by the English
engineer; we had a merry time, and from the gramophone horn Melba and
Caruso competed for our favour.
Each of us got on a pair of rubber boots and had a lamp to carry, and
we splashed into the tunnel, where work was going on day and night,
and where we got an idea of how a tunnel is made. The total length,
1·9 miles, was evidently not very considerable, but the loose quality
of the rock made work very difficult. At the time of our visit a thick
wall still separated the two republics; last year, however, the first
train passed under the enormous mass of the Andes. We were glad to get
out into the cold night air once more, and sit down and enjoy some
whisky and a pipe of tobacco.
Life among the labourers and the scum of mankind seeking its way
across the Uspallata pass is rather wild. A few weeks before our
arrival eleven men left Caracoles to cross to the Argentine side.
They never got there. They appeared, however, when the snow melted;
for every spring, when the road across is put in order, the bodies
of those who have disappeared during the winter are found, frozen to
ice, partly robbed of their clothes, sometimes with the pockets turned
inside out--murdered, robbed, and simply left. The soil of that pass
is literally soaked with the blood of the victims of assassins and
highwaymen.
When traffic is open it is no risk for the railway passengers to
cross. More than 30 feet of snow have been recorded near the pass, and
during the winter the railway has not hitherto been used. Traffic had
not begun, the road lay partly under snow and ice, but with a guide
as excellent as ours we did not hesitate to cross. We had a splendid
morning on September 10. The ground was frozen hard, the ice jingled
like broken glass under the hoofs of our mules. With uncommon agility
they passed the most dangerous places, of which there was no lack. The
sergeant made a halt at a small stone house he wanted to inspect, took
his carbine with the air of an official, and entered, but was soon
back, there being no traces of the rascals he was looking for. The thin
air made us feel a slight pressure across the temples, but otherwise
it did not affect us. We reached the pass, _la cumbre_, on a height
of 13,000 feet, thus having a good deal of our globe under our feet.
Some few steps from us is the gigantic statue of Christ, erected as
a monument to the eternal peace between the two republics, but not a
living soul, not a blade of grass, only rock and snow.
With legs stiff, so that the loose sand whirled round them, our mules
slide down the most westerly slopes of Argentina, and we reached Las
Cuevas, the entrance to the tunnel on the Argentine side. From there
we continued our ride and passed the valley where Aconcagua, hitherto
regarded as the highest mountain in America, makes the background.
Huascarán is now said to compete for the honour, but as the proofs are
not sufficient we took off our caps and bowed to his Alpine majesty.
In Baño del Inca, where one has to cross the famous natural bridge, we
tried the sulphur baths; no doubt we were the very first visitors that
year. We turned round and slept in Las Cuevas, and the next morning Mr.
Curtis and I crossed to Chile again, Quensel waiting till the next day.
Our journey from Caracoles to Los Andes was rather original; with fine
disdain for the train, we used a trolley. Down we went, sometimes at
a breakneck speed, but the intense feeling of freedom made us forget
the risk. The line for long stretches runs on narrow shelves, cut in
the steep mountain-sides; derailment would mean instantaneous death.
Further down we were very nearly run over by a train, and just had time
to throw ourselves and the trolley off the rail. Situations rapidly
change in this world: in the morning we experienced a temperature of
several degrees below freezing-point on the high crests of the desolate
Cordillera; at night that same day we were enjoying the tepid air
between the park trees in a big city.
From another excursion to the coast at Zapallar, north of Valparaiso,
I returned just in time to take part in the great national feast, from
September 18 to 20, the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence,
1810. It is a real people’s feast, celebrated with the same enthusiasm
by all classes of society. Aristocracy has its processions, _Te Deum_,
races, and military parades, the people dance _la cueca_ and drink
_chicha_ in the parks all night long. I could not deny that the
air itself was really filled with a feeling of festivity, the whole
country being decorated with banners of all colours, garlands, and
triumphal arches, while on the railway the engines were adorned with
green leaves, flowers, and flags, and everywhere were heard patriotic
speeches and the playing of bands. And for three whole days no one who
is not forced to does any work.
When Halle had finished his work he joined us in Santiago, and,
using the great central railway, running longitudinally through the
Valle Central, we went to Valdivia once more. In Corral we took a
passenger steamer; it was the _Teno_, with a Swede, Mr. Boklund, as
captain--another late _piloto_, who had left the navy after some years’
service. Again we visited Ancud, said good-bye to all our friends
there, took on board our equipment, and crossed the gulf to Puerto
Montt, where we were now going to prepare the expedition overland
through the whole of Patagonia.