Up the Amazon and Madeira rivers, through Bolivia and Peru

by Edward D. Mathews

Nutshucc is considered a very charming place by the Chuquisaquenos, who think it the height of luxury to be the owner of a quinta in the narrow ravine of the Cachimayo; but although it is pretty by contrast to the dreary plain in which Sucre stands, I did not think it at all equal to some of the environs of Cochabamba. The hills on either side of the Cachimayo ravine are of a shaly rock, which crumbles down in regular slopes with a uniformly dull and heavy look, that quite take away any idea of the picturesqueness which the valley might have, were the rocks of a more solid character. My experience of the place was not altogether pleasant, for on my first visit there I was taken with a severe attack of ague-fever, probably the last lingerings of the usual ill effects of a stay amongst the rapids of the Madeira River, and which the damp climate of Nutshucc brought out. This illness came upon me whilst visiting the Calvo family, and I was greatly indebted to the extreme kindness with which I was cared for during the three days upon which I was too weak to attempt the return journey to Sucre; but, kindness and hospitality are, I must say, the rule in Bolivia, for in all my travels through the country I only remember one house, already mentioned, where I was treated with anything but the greatest courtesy and friendship. This good account of Bolivians, refers, however, only to those of Spanish descent, for the Indians, both Quichuans and Aymarás, as a rule, especially in the small villages and at the post-houses, are brutish and rude in the extreme, and even the offer of ready money payment will not, in some places, procure for a traveller fodder for his animals, or a few simple necessaries for himself.

However, to continue the journey, our animals, which had remained the night at Señor Pacheco’s, were the following morning, the floods having abated, ridden across the ford; and at early dawn, having been fortified with a cup of coffee, we started on our way, intending to make Quebrada Honda our resting-place at night, as this forms the first stage between Sucre and Potosí. Leaving Nutshucc, which I make to be about 8000 feet above sea-level, the road lays up a very narrow quebrada, or ravine, at the head of which a steep ascent, or cuesta, called El Cruzero, has to be ascended to a height of nearly 9000 feet above sea-level, from whence the track rapidly falls again, until, after passing a small village called Calara, the river Pilcomayo is reached. The altitude has then fallen to about 7000 feet, and the river, which flows through a valley about a mile in width, in flood-time is impassable; but we were able to ford it easily, carefully avoiding some very treacherous-looking quicksands that were dotted about the river bed. A short distance above where we crossed, the valley narrows considerably, and there is high ground on either side of the stream. The track would conduct one to the ruins of a bridge which has been built over the Pilcomayo, but the road bed of the structure was in such a rotten condition, that the arrieros do well to trust themselves to the chances of the ford rather than risk falling through from the bridge into the river. On either side of the ravine are patches of cultivated land, watered by “azequias,” or irrigation channels, led from the necessary distance up the stream.

Leaving the Pilcomayo, the road again ascends a cuesta, at top of which are the stations of Terrado and Pampa-tambo, at an elevation of 9850 feet above sea-level. These are not good places to stop at, being small farms and not regular “postas,” so we kept on our road, which crosses cuesta after cuesta, until we arrived at a deep and wide ravine, called Quebrada Honda, where we intended to stay the night, at a post-house in the bottom, having travelled about twelve leagues during the day. The general elevation of the country has somewhat increased, the summits of the hills on either side of the ravine being about 12,000, whilst the post-house in the bottom is about 11,200 feet above sea-level. At this place we had great difficulty in getting the public room opened for us, and were refused forage for our animals and food for ourselves, under the plea that the owner of the house was from home; but by a slight display of firmness, and a few hints as to the great importance to the government of the business upon which we were travelling, we got the Indians in charge to produce the keys, and open the room appropriated to the use of travellers. For barley in the straw, which is the fodder generally given to mules in this part of the country, we had to pay four pesos per quintal, or about 13s. for a bundle supposed to weigh 100 lbs. Our servant boys managed to get themselves some chupe, made from dried mutton and chuño, whilst Alfredo and I supped off some cold provisions which the kindness of our friends in Sucre had provided for us. The temperature at night was low enough to make the use of blankets desirable, and as the post-house was new and clean, we passed a good night, and rose betimes, intending to get to Potosí before nightfall if possible.

Starting soon after six o’clock on the following morning, we made good and rapid progress. Ascending the cuesta on the Potosí side, there is nothing noteworthy on the road until, at about a league and a half from Quebrada Honda, some small lakes are seen in a plain surrounded by high hills. These drainage pools of water are a common feature amongst the Andean ranges, and are many of them situated at very high altitudes, those we passed to-day being at about 11,750 feet above sea-level. They are very shallow, and cattle were walking across them at pleasure, whilst several couple of ducks and some teal were on the margin of the water, together with numberless “gabiotas,” or tern, which rose up screaming at being disturbed from their work of searching for worms in the wet sandy mud over which the track passes. About mid-day we arrived at Bartolo, a small and miserable village, at which the traveller should arrange to stay as short a time as possible, for the dust and dirt of the place are intolerable. We refreshed ourselves with our cold provisions, and a bottle of ale from our travelling larder, whilst our “mozos,” (servant-boys) indulged in copious draughts of chicha mascada, which horrible beverage is the only drink purchasable at Bartolo. Riding hard all the afternoon, we arrived at Potosí about half-past six, just as night was closing in, having done fourteen leagues and a half in the day’s journey. We were so fatigued that I did not care that evening to present a letter of introduction that my German friends in Sucre had given me to their correspondent in Potosí, so we made straight for the best tambo in the town, called the “Tambo Artéche.” This tambo is a very large building, forming a square, with yards for the animals at the rear. The square has galleries on every side, and reminded one of some of the old-fashioned inns of home. We got a very good room off one of the galleries, and after partaking of some poached eggs and chupe, procured from a “fonda” near by, were very glad to see our cots put up, and to have the prospect of a good night’s rest. This tambo was one of the best that I recollect in my travels through Bolivia, but the only accommodation afforded consisted of an empty room for ourselves, and the use of a yard, or “corral,” for our animals. For the former we were charged six reales, say 2s. 3d. per day, and this sum was the sole demand made upon us for the use of the hotel, as we only had to pay for the barley that our animals consumed, and nothing at all for their safe custody, so that if the entertainment offered a traveller at a Bolivian tambo be small, the charges are moderate in proportion. Barley was the same price as at Quebrada Honda.

The next day was Christmas Day (1874), and we rose up to so cold, clear, and bright an atmosphere, that I might well have fancied that we were in Old England, especially as snow had fallen during the night, and lay thick on the courtyard. Soon after rising I experienced an unpleasant sensation in the throat, which caused a feeling of faintness, and was said to be the effect of the sickness called “soroche,” that attacks all new comers to Potosí. It is not, however, a specialty of the place, but the effect of the high altitude, and is not felt so severely by travellers passing from the interior of Bolivia to the Pacific, as, in consequence of the more gradual nature of the ascent, probably their lungs have time to adapt themselves to the rarified condition of the atmosphere. Persons arriving from the Pacific are much more exposed to the bad influences of this sickness, and several fatal cases are recorded of almost sudden death amongst new comers direct from westward. The first symptoms are giddiness and vomiting, and sufferers are advised to lie down at once, or at all events cease any kind of exertion. The scent of ammonia and garlic are said to be good remedies; whilst the use of spirits is advocated by some, but by others considered to be sure to bring fatal consequences with it. My own personal experience was that a moderate quantity of spirits, taken at the first feeling of faintness, arrested its progress; but the balance of opinion is so entirely against the use of alcohol by sufferers from soroche, that I would be loath to place my single evidence in the scale. The Indians aver that their favourite stimulant, coca, is a complete preservative, and some recommend the addition of a mouthful of snow or ice to the “chew.”

EL CERRO DE POTOSÍ.

The soroche did not, however, prevent our feeling the want of a good breakfast, so we left our tambo and proceeded to the Fonda Coca, a very decent and clean little restaurant near by, where we had a very nice mutton chupe, with eggs poached in it; some so-called beef-steaks, which were hard and greasy; a very good bottle of Cinti wine, and some coffee. The charge for this breakfast for two was eleven reales and a half, or about 4s. 10d., a sum which was certainly not unreasonable. We then strolled out to see the city, which is built at an elevation of about 13,500 feet above sea-level, at the foot of the magnificent Cerro de Potosí, an immense white-capped cone, whose summit is probably more than 2000 feet above the city, the most interesting in Bolivia, having at one time a population of probably over 200,000, but now only being able to boast of about a tenth of that number. The famous Cerro, which might well be termed the “Silver Hill of Potosí,” has in times of recent date yielded immense stores of treasure, and was doubtless the principal source of Spain’s former great wealth. Whilst the mines were workable without machinery the profits derived from them must have been enormous, but even the seemingly fabulous riches of this hill of silver will not tempt speculators to attempt the impossible, and try to drag powerful pumping engines over the Andes from the Pacific to Potosí. Consequently the output of mineral has so decreased that the population has emigrated or died off, and the greater part of the city is in ruins, which standing desolate and forlorn on the barren hill-side, only serve as a monument of the departed activity of the place. The city has also suffered more from revolutions than any other in the republic, having been a continual bone of contention between opposing factions, many of the houses bearing marks of the severity of the struggles of which they have been the silent but suffering witnesses. Some few interesting remains of former prosperity may still be seen, the twisted columns of the façade of the church of the “Matriz” are marvels of architectural effect, and the reservoirs for the storage of the water supplying the power for the stamping-mills constructed during the time of the Spaniards, show that though the Spanish government was a despotic one, it designed and carried out works that its republican successors seem quite unable to match, for I do not recollect to have seen anywhere in Bolivia a single public institution that has been erected since the War of Independence, saving some paltry-looking “cuartels,” or barracks, of which there are two or three to every town; whilst churches, convents, colleges, and other buildings, dating back before the war, are seen in every city of importance.

The streets of Potosí are very narrow, the houses very old-fashioned, much smoke-begrimed, and blackened with the accumulated dust and dirt of years; for although water is laid on from the reservoirs for the supply of the town, its use seems to be avoided as much as possible. This fear of water may be the result of the constant coldness of the climate and the piercing winds which are seldom absent from the bleak heights of the Andes. The Indians all have a dreadfully unwashed look about them, and their places of public resort, such as the “recoba,” or market-place, are perfect pig-sties. The principal object of interest in Potosí is the mint, where is to be seen the only steam-engine at work in Bolivia. The machinery was made by a Philadelphian firm of engineers, and, being under the superintendence of Americans, is kept in very fair working order, the coins struck being very good impressions, though, as the feeding is done by hand, many of them come out in incomplete shape. This machine was set up by General Melgarejo, who is said to have pressed on its erection as rapidly as possible, in order, probably, that he might lose no time in flooding the country with his abominable base coinage. He certainly would not have taken so much pains and trouble with any other enterprise; for it is said that the beams for the stamps were dragged by oxen all the way from the forests of Tucuman, and considering the numerous hills and ravines that have to be crossed between Tucuman and Potosí, one may say that Melgarejo is to be credited with a considerable achievement, even though the object he may have had in view was a rascally one. The coinage that has been struck recently, consisting of Bolivianos, or dollars, of 4s. 2d. value, half Bolivianos, reales, and medio reales, is of first-rate quality, and is so much sought after by the Indian population that it has been found extremely difficult to keep pace with the demand, the Indians of Bolivia having the propensity, in common with all other uncivilized peoples, of burying their earnings, and they are cunning enough not to bury the bad Melgarejos, but only the good new money. The Quichuan Indians apparently do not care much for ornaments, such as bangles or armlets; the women wear a kind of spoon-headed pin, made of silver or baser metal, according to the wealth of the wearer. These pins, or skewers as they might more properly be termed, seem to do the double duty of pinning up a shawl or head-gear, and of being used as spoons in the consumption of chupe and chicha. The women are also fond of amassing as many different coins as possible, and attaching them to a knitted bag, which they use as a kind of market purse. These “murchilas,” as they are termed, are often covered with silver moneys of all sizes and nationalities, and some very rare old Spanish coins may thus be met with by amateurs who will pay the owner a good price in current money.