Panama to Patagonia

by Charles M. Pepper

Pineapple Garden

The aguacate looks like a small squash rather than a pear. It has a kernel, or hard stone, as big as the fist. The flanks are laid open, the stone removed, and the fruit is ready to serve in its own dressing. Some prefer it with just a pinch of salt. Others add a touch of pepper. Many like a little vinegar with the salt and pepper, and a few even prefer a regular French dressing with oil, though that is apt to spoil the natural flavor. Epicures like it with sugar and lemon juice. The aguacate is one of the undisguised palatal blessings of the tropics and the semi-tropics. It should be sought after and insisted on at every occasion. The imported fruit loses the poetic savor. The most careful packing and tenderest care cannot preserve its delicate taste. I tried it once in bringing some from Honolulu to San Francisco. They looked well, but something was lacking in the taste. A similar experience between Jamaica and New York was the reward for my efforts. I was convinced after these experiments that the aguacate is one of the real luxuries which it pays to go abroad in order to enjoy. Young persons who travel will be interested in knowing that it is said to germinate the tender sentiment.

The cheremoya is not unlike the pawpaw of the temperate climates. The fibre is harder and not so juicy. But the fruit is very rich, so rich that the palate does not crave much. A mouthful lingers like the dream of the poet. The cheremoya is called the anona in Cuba. Several varieties of it differ from one another only in the delicacy and richness of the flavor. Cracked ice is the complement of the fruit. They should be introduced to each other an hour before serving.

A delusion which the adventuring North American should get rid of is that no decent hotels are found on the West Coast and in the interior. Everywhere are passable ones and in some of the cities exceptionally good ones. In the ordinary coast towns they are not much more than stopping-places, yet almost invariably an excellent breakfast or dinner can be obtained. As to the lodging conveniences the old Spanish tradition still obtains that a place to sleep in is all that is called for, and clean linen and similar comforts should not be demanded by the traveller who is moving on. But even in this respect improvements are being made.

Most of the hotel-keepers are of foreign nationality,—French, Germans, Italians, and Spaniards. It is rare to find anything of a higher grade than an inn kept by a native. The best hotels are those under the control of the Frenchmen, and when a choice is to be made they should be given the preference, for there is not only good eating but cleanliness and some consideration for the conveniences of life. A Frenchman keeps the hotel at La Paz in Bolivia, and it is a good one. Another passably fair house of entertainment in the same place is kept by a Russian. At the mining-town of Oruro a North American of German descent provides excellent accommodations. In the remote town of Tupiza in the fastnesses of the Andes, where of all places one would hardly look for a foreigner, I found a Slav hotel-keeper and a decent kind of a resting-place. The proprietor was from one of the Danubian provinces. In Lima a very well appointed hotel is managed by an Italian. In Santiago the best one is under the control of a Frenchman.

In the interior palatial inns are not to be expected, though a young French mining engineer who came out telegraphed along the Andes trail which he was to follow to have room with bath reserved for him. The telegram is still shown. Such inns as exist are called tambos. Even in the poorest of these, while the lodging is wretched, a good meal usually can be had.

The practice obtains nearly everywhere of charging separately for the lodging, but in some of the larger cities the hotels now are conducted on the American plan. The visitor is apt to be puzzled by the annexes. Naturally he assumes that the annexes to a hotel are part of it, but usually they are separate and under a distinct management. In Valparaiso there are a Hotel Colon and a Hotel Colon Annex, a block or two apart and altogether different. In Santiago are the Hotel Oddo and the Annex to the Oddo, and so on. This causes confusion, and the traveller should make inquiry in advance so as to know where he is going. While the sanitary conveniences in most of the hotels are poor, improvements are being made, and there is something of an approach to the demands of civilization.

A simple rule as to baggage holds good. Take as little as practicable and pack it as conveniently as possible. That means a good deal of loose luggage; but since trunks are charged by weight and very few of the railroads make any allowance for free baggage, it is desirable to have one’s belongings arranged so that they can be piled up around him. One soon becomes accustomed to this and to providing himself with an armful of rugs and blankets.

Railroad fares are about one-third less than in the United States. The accommodations are not luxurious, but they are fair. Night trips are unknown. Chile is the only country on the West Coast which provides a through night train with a sleeper. This is on the line between Santiago and Talca.

An addition to the regular expense of travel is that for embarkation and disembarkation. It is not covered in the steamship ticket, and since, with few exceptions, in the different ports the vessels do not go to wharves of their own or put their passengers ashore in lighters, each makes his choice of the small boats and pays the bill. These charges are not high, yet in the course of a long voyage they mount up, and it always is desirable to make the bargain with the boatman in advance.