We left Leñas on the following morning about eight o’clock, being furnished with very good posting mules, that were to carry our baggage to the next posta, Lagunillas, distant seven leagues. The road crossed the “cabeçeiras,” or head-waters, of the Pilcomayo several times, the broadest stream being about half-way between Leñas and Lagunillas, and flowing through a valley that would be very pretty scenery were there any trees or other vegetation than the brown tufted grass, which is all the sign of life to be seen at these great elevations, except the “vicuñas,” which we met for the first time hereabouts. These animals are about the size of a small fallow deer, which, when seen at a distance, they very much resemble. They seem to confine their wanderings to the central plateau of the Andes, for they are not found eastward of Potosí, or westward of the pass of Tacora. Probably they keep to these limits because they form the zone in which fewest villages or towns are found; they cannot be influenced by elevation or climate, for similar circumstances may be found in many other parts of the country. They go in droves of different sizes, sometimes not more than four or five being together, whilst at times droves containing as many scores are met with. Their fur is of a light dun colour on the back of the animal, the breast and neck being almost white. The skins are not much valued at home, although they make beautiful rugs for carriage use, or in place of quilts as bed coverings, for which purposes they are very suitable for elderly people, as, while they are warm and soft, they are exceedingly light. A good rug takes, I was told, about twenty skins; but it is a bad plan to buy the made-up rugs in Bolivia, as the makers there charge a very heavy price for putting the skins together, whilst their work is of such very ordinary character that the skins have to be resewn and relined after arriving in England. For some rugs that I bought in Tacna I paid about £7 each; but the bargain was a very bad one, for although the price was not above that usually asked in Bolivia, I found, on getting them home to London, that at the principal furriers of the West End much better vicuña rugs, well sewn and preserved, could be bought for about one fourth of the price that I paid in Tacna. If the skins were more valuable, so as to make it worth while killing vicuñas for the sake of the furs, some excellent sport might be had in the Andes, for they are nobody’s property, and as free to all comers as are the ducks in the lagoons. They are, however, so tame, that there would not be much glory in stalking them, for many times on the road I could have knocked them over with a bullet from my revolver; and I passed several that had evidently been wounded by passing travellers, and left to drag out their life in pain and misery. Wherever practicable, we shot the poor beasts, and left their carcases for the condors, eagles, and vultures that are continually soaring over the mule tracks of the Andes on the look-out for their horrid banquet. Often, when riding over the Andes, a huge dark shadow comes suddenly over the path, and the traveller, looking upwards, sees the magnificent condor floating in the bright sunlight and rising to his resting-place amongst the snow-clad peaks. These birds are seldom to be seen at rest, but occasionally they may be observed feasting on some poor mule that has fallen exhausted by the way-side. The eagles may then be noticed flying round in circles, watching for their turn, which comes next, whilst the vultures are dotted over the plain, waiting contentedly until the more lordly birds have satisfied themselves, when they will fall to and not leave the carcase until nothing but the skeleton remains.
We arrived at Lagunillas about one o’clock, having done the seven leagues in the five hours, and we found good mules ready for the next stage, which would take us to Tolapalca, about four leagues distant. Lagunillas is a small “aldea,” or village, of perhaps a dozen small houses and a church, built like the houses, of sun-dried adobes, or mud-bricks, and roofed with rushes. The place is named from two lagoons close by, where we saw many ducks and large flocks of tern, or “gabiotas,” some of the ducks being regular “pato royales,” like the black and white ones of the Mamoré River. I tried a shot at them from my revolver, but the range was too great, although they seemed so tame that I was almost sure of them. As the Indians have no guns, the ducks very rarely get disturbed; this probably accounts for their tameness. After resting a couple of hours, during which the saddle mules enjoyed a feed of barley and had a roll in the dust of the corral, we took to the road again, and, leaving the hilly country, got on to an elevated pampa land, over which we made pretty rapid travelling, getting to Tolapalca about half-past five, before night closed in. During the afternoon ride, rain threatened to come down heavily, but confined itself to the neighbouring hills. The post-house of Tolapalca is a very desolate place, and must be at a great elevation, possibly 14,000 feet; here I began to miss my poor lost aneroid. The rooms are deplorably small and abominably dirty; but, at these elevations it is impossible to sleep out-of-doors, as the nights are not only very cold, but the storms of wind, rain, and snow are very frequent, so there is nothing to be done but to put up with the dirt and discomfort of the postas. Travelling on the Andes is very different to a journey in India, where, if the bungalow be not to one’s liking, the absence of dew at night allows one to sleep either in the verandah or out in the open. In most parts of South America, a man who slept out of doors whilst any sort of a roof was within a reasonable distance would be looked upon as little less than a madman. At Tolapalca, we got some fresh but lean mutton, and made a very fair chupe for supper, after which we hoped for a good night’s rest; but alas, my hopes were vain, for, no sooner had I blown out the candle than I was attacked by an army of Bolivian Norfolk-Howards, called here “chinches” or “vinchutas.” As I was hours before, thoroughly wearied out, I at last got a little broken sleep. The night was very cold, so that I was obliged to keep under my blankets along with the bugs, and bear it out as best I could. The strange thing was, that when I struck a light, not a single brute could I discover; yet immediately I put the light out and courted sleep, my horrid persecutors recommenced the torment. How I envied my young Bolivian friend and the two mozos, who all snored away with most dismal regularity, whilst I was tossing about on my cot and venting smothered “blessings” (?) on the invaders of my rest.
The next day was the last of the year 1874, and, rising early, we settled our account at the Tolapalca posta for barley, at five pesos the quintal, and for posting mules on to the next stage at Vilcapujio. I endeavoured to have a deduction made from our bill for the entertainment I had afforded to the vinchutas during the night, but could not get our Indian hosts to see the matter in the same light as I did. Soon after starting, rain, changing into a heavy snow-storm, began to fall, and kept us company all the way to the next posta, a distance of four leagues, which we accomplished in about two hours and a half. Vilcapujio was the site of a battle in the War of Independence, and is a fine open pampa, affording plenty of room for a fight, with hills on either side for good positions. The post-house is very large, and somewhat cleaner than that at Tolapalca. Here we got some very fair mutton and potatoes, so that arriving early we were able to make a better breakfast than was possible on days when we could not reach the end of a stage until the afternoon, when, perhaps, another piece of the road would have to be got over before nightfall. If an English traveller in these parts has been fortunate enough to secure a mozo, that has a little idea of cooking, his plan is to show the mozo at starting what kind of a broth, or chupe, he likes, and then, when materials are available at the different post-houses, he stands some chance of getting a broth that is both eatable and nourishing; but the chupes prepared for travellers by the Indians of the postas are simply abominable. Their colour is an earthy red, and they taste of nothing but fire, grease, and garlic, the first from the great quantity of “aji,” or chillies, put in, the second from the dirty state of the cooking-pots, and the last is inseparable from all Bolivian cookery.
On leaving Vilcapujio about mid-day, I was much amused by seeing three Indian women rush out of the adjoining huts, each one bearing a few burning embers in a broken piece of an earthen pot. These embers they placed in the mule track, and then, kneeling and crossing themselves, they retired to their huts, leaving the burning ashes in the pathway. My mozo’s account of this pantomime was that the women prayed that the mules might travel as rapidly as the smoke of their fires did, but as the smoke does not return to the place from whence it started the explanation does not appear to be a very good one. My idea was that the women might be the wives of the postilions, and as the smoke never returned, so these wives, like many fashionable ones of Europe, prayed that the husbands might vanish as the smoke did; but as there were three wives to two postilions this theory would not work, so I had to leave the problem unsolved.
Large droves of llamas and alpacas were scattered about over the pampa of Vilcapujio, and I observed that these animals mixed but little together, the one or two stray ones in each large drove looking like visitors, out of place. After leaving the pampa the road becomes more uneven, and crosses the river Ancacata several times. Ancacata is about four leagues from Vilcapujio, but the posta way-bills, or “guias,” give the distance as six leagues. We arrived late in the afternoon, having travelled very slowly, on account of the strong wind, which blew so piercingly cold over the pampa that, at times, we were fain to stop the mules and turn our backs to it. The village of Ancacata is pitched in a narrow valley, through which the river of the same name runs, the hills on either side, although barren and stony, having rather an imposing look from being covered with tufts of short dry grass, of a bright yellow colour, giving quite a golden tinge to them in the fading sunset.
The houses are all in a tumble-down and ruinous state, the posta being in the same condition, with scarcely plaster enough on its walls for the travelling snobs of Bolivia, both natives and foreigners, to scrawl their valued names and sentiments. One of these defacers of public property advises passers-by that on a certain day he passed through Ancacata with his “amiable spouse,” as he defines his wife: happy man! or else given to falsehood-telling to keep his better half in a state of amiability. So common is the habit of writing one’s name in public places, that even the mountain roads of the Andes can show many examples of the abominable practice. Notwithstanding the ruinous state of the post-house, we passed a very good night, as we were, I am happy to record, not troubled with unpleasant companions as we had been at Tolapalca. We congratulated ourselves greatly on this, as the next day we had a very long ride before us, having to get over three stages before nightfall, so as to sleep the following night at Poopo.
The next morning was the first in the new year of 1875, and we rose at half-past four, leaving Ancacata at six o’clock sharp. The morning was fine and clear, but very cold, the tops of the hills being all covered with snow. The road runs down the river for about a couple of leagues, and then gets out on the pampa lands of Aullagas, bordering on the lake of Poopo. The country hereabouts is dotted over with cottages and huts of a much superior character to those of the villages lately passed through, and the Indians seem more well-to-do than those living on the hills.
In this part of the country a traveller going west first comes across those very remarkable and interesting relics of antiquity called “chulpas.” They are dotted all over the central plain of Bolivia, and a few are also found on the lower parts of the slopes of the mountains on either side. Whether the chulpa has been a house or a tomb, and who were its builders, are questions that, as far as I know, remain entirely unanswered. As for its builders, the only information to be obtained regarding them from the present inhabitants of Bolivia, whether Indians or Bolivians of Spanish extraction, is that the chulpa was a “casa de los Gentiles,” or literally translated, a “house of the Gentiles,” and that the Gentiles were the inhabitants of the country before the introduction of the Christian religion by the missionaries who followed in the wake of the Spanish conquerors of the Incas. The explanation does not seem to be a feasible one, as the Incas settled in Peru more than in Bolivia, and have left in the former country many monuments in stonework of their skill as handicraftsmen, while the chulpa is a rough erection of “adobes,” or sun-dried mud bricks, and is the only relic of former ages that Bolivia has to boast of. The makers of the chulpa, must, therefore, probably be looked for in a race that existed prior to the Incas.
