Up the Amazon and Madeira rivers, through Bolivia and Peru

by Edward D. Mathews

These Indians acknowledge the Bolivians as their patrons or employers only, and each tribe has its “cacique,” or headman, who seems to have authority over the whole tribe, and who is generally in the pay of the prefect or corregidor, as the case may be. The Bolivians of pure Spanish descent are called “Carayanas,” whilst the mixed races are called “Cholos,” and the pure Indians are termed “Indios.”

The Trinitario Indians are a very good-looking race, but they are becoming so mixed with the carayanas, that complexions of all shades, from almost white to dusky red copper, are found amongst them. They are intelligent, and naturally active and hard working, but are much given to habits of drinking, which render them very uncertain and little to be depended upon. Their principal drink is “chicha,” the national beverage of Bolivia, of which there are two kinds, “chicha cocida” and “chicha mascada,” or boiled and chewed, the latter disgusting mode of preparation being the favourite.

The chicha cocida, or boiled chicha, is a simple preparation of maize corn, ground and boiled in any large vessel. The liquor being strained off and allowed to stand for a day to settle, forms, before fermentation sets in, a very pleasant drink, which is not intoxicating, but is very healthy and nutritious; indeed, I hardly know any drink that can be taken in hot climates with more impunity and with greater satisfaction. It is something like, but to my thinking much pleasanter than, the oatmeal and water drunk so largely by the stokers and others who have to stand the heat of the stoke-holes of ocean steamers.

Chicha mascada is a very different affair, and as this is the national beverage used in Bolivia, from the president down to the cholo, it is, although repugnant to civilized notions, necessary to describe it. The maize corn is first ground ready for a grand chicha brew, to which the owner of the chicha to be made invites as many old women as is thought needful. These hags are seated round empty flat tubs, called “bateas,” and each one filling her mouth with the powdered corn, squirts it out into the batea after having mumbled it well with her often toothless jaws. When a sufficient quantity of this odious mess is collected, water is added in accordance with the idea of the quantity of liquor to be disposed of at the coming festival, or sufficient for a day or two’s sale; the brew is then agitated well with a stick, and, having been boiled for a short time, is left to cool, when it is put by for use. After keeping for two or three days, it ferments, and becomes almost equal in intoxicating effects to good home-brewed ale. The Indians prepare large quantities of this chicha mascada whenever they wish to have a drinking bout, or whenever any festival of the Church or village takes place. On these occasions enormous quantities are drunk, and the bout never terminates until the supply is out, by which time the drinkers are all thoroughly tipsy.

So general is the use of this filthy drink throughout the republic, that all European travellers must be careful, when accepting a drink of chicha, to be sure that they know how it has been prepared. To my mind, the Bolivians will never be a people that merit respect until they do away with the numerous chicha mascada shops that are to be found in every town and village, and on every road, throughout the republic. The very idea of the horrid thing is enough to demoralize any people, and how a custom derived from savages can have taken such firm hold upon a people of Spanish descent, is hard to imagine. I must, however, at the same time say that there are numerous Bolivian families amongst the higher classes in which the chicha mascada is never allowed to be seen or used.

While in Trinidad I was honoured by a “baile,” or ball, at which, as I had the privilege of supplying the drinks, chicha mascada was rigidly tabooed. At this dance all the respectable families of the town attended, and the affair was a very ceremonious one. We had a full wind and string band of Indians, who played some very fair polka and quadrille music, in which the bass accompaniment of the “bajones” was very prominent. This “bajo” is like an enormous Pan-pipe, or like half a dozen organ tubes, made of bamboo. The first of these tubes is about six feet in length, and the last about half that. The player rests the foot of the longest one on the ground, and, holding the instrument in a sloping position, blows through the rough mouthpieces fitted in the top of the tubes, producing a rumbling sort of bass accompaniment, which appeared to me to entirely spoil the effect of the violins and fifes, which discoursed some very fair dance music. Another noisy accompaniment was afforded by the “caja,” or drum, made of a small section of a tree hollowed out, and having a hide stretched tightly over either end, which was vigorously beaten by rough short sticks about nine inches in length.

I now saw for the first time what is probably the real Spanish dance; for although polkas and quadrilles have found their way even to the centre of South America, still the “baile suelto,” or loose dance, as it is called, is the favourite. There is a good deal of grace and good dancing in this affair, in which a couple occupy in their turn all the floor of the room, while the company beat time to the music with a loud clapping of hands. This beating time is to give the dancers encouragement to good and lively dancing, and it is a pleasant sight to see a stately old don pirouette round his fair (dare we say dusky?) partner, with a dexterous flourish of the handkerchief which both performers use throughout the dance. As the custom is that any one of the company seated around who is detected neglecting to join in beating time should be immediately condemned to “take a drink,” I had occasion several times to thank my luck that the national drink was not necessarily an accompaniment of the national dance. As, however, a good strong brandy or white rum (aguadiente) punch was the favourite article of consumption, it was just as well not to be “fined in a drink” too often. I must say that the company, “el bello sexo” included, were very good hands at refreshing themselves with the punch—so much so that it became, long ere the close of the ball, hard to tell whether the “baile borracho” was simulated or real. This baile borracho, or drunken dance, is another Bolivian custom, which consists in reeling through a quadrille as though one were unable to dance straight, the most highly applauded performer being the “he” or “she” who can best simulate intoxication.

It is often said—and perhaps it is a just reproach—that we English people are a hard-drinking set, but I think that the Bolivians beat us hollow; and certainly, in my few travels, east and west, I never came across any people that could at all compare with the Bolivians in downright hard drinking, and I don’t suppose that any other country can boast of such an institution as the baile borracho, which is occasionally danced in the best society of Bolivia.

While taking note of some peculiarities of Bolivian character in the way of eating and drinking, I am reminded of a custom that I think is decidedly, among civilized people, confined to Bolivians (for we can, perhaps, hardly count the Chinese as within the pale of civilization, although they call us barbarians). I allude to the liking that Bolivians have for eating cats, which are much esteemed in Bolivia, where they are fattened up for the table. I have tasted monkey, lizard, and indeed almost every kind of living thing that can be shot in the forests, but it has not yet been my lot to eat cat knowingly; so I can’t say whether the flesh of Bolivian cats is superior to that of specimens of the feline race in other parts of the world, or whether it is equal to Ostend rabbit. But the Bolivian cat looks much like his relations in other countries, so probably the explanation is that the Bolivians are a peculiar people, and that their liking for cats and chicha mascada is one of their peculiarities. During my stay in Trinidad I was most hospitably entertained at the table of Don Ignacio Bello, where, fortunately for me, cats and chicha mascada were not on the menu; but good fresh beef in abundance formed the staple food, varied with mutton now and then, and fish almost every day. As Don Bello had no spare sleeping-quarters to offer me, I was accommodated with a couple of rooms in the house of an amiable aged and virgin member of the “bello sexo” of Trinidad, and during my stay there her favourite cat was missed. The old lady was disconsolate, and a general search was ordered, at which I assisted; and chancing to look into the round brick oven in the back yard, I espied a black cat therein, which refused to be aroused by sundry prods and blows from a thick stick. Discovering that it had departed this life, I delicately informed its sorrowing owner that she might console herself by dining off her pet, which, doubtless feeling its last end approaching, had gone into the oven to bake itself, so that its mistress might be saved the trouble and pain of preparing it for the table. However, the old lady averred that she could not eat a pet that she had possessed, I think she said, for some twenty years or more; but my belief was that she thought it would be too tough, being of such great age. Anyhow, it is certain that in many Bolivian families the cats are petted, and, when fat and in good condition, slain and devoured.

At the time of my visit the town did not display a very animated appearance, for small-pox was very prevalent at the time, and numbers of people, both old and young, appeared to have suffered greatly. This disease almost decimates the Indians at frequently recurring intervals, for the authorities have no idea of isolating the sick, and vaccination is but partially enforced; the Indians, in ignorance of its benefits, being naturally averse to it. At San Antonio, the doctors of the railway staff had, however, very little difficulty in persuading the Indians to submit themselves to the operation, which was so successful, that out of upwards of 100 Indians who were on the station when the small-pox broke out amongst us, only four, I think, died; notwithstanding that very few, if any, of them had been vaccinated in their own country, and that the disease, operating upon Indian blood, seems to be specially virulent.