Mollendo is one of the dirtiest towns that I have ever visited and I have visited some "hot" ones. It is a bubonic stricken place of about five thousand inhabitants, according to the census reports, although I doubt if its population is in excess of three thousand. A steep incline up a cliff leads from the dock past the custom house to the stinking Hotel Ferrocarril, the only hostelry in the town. This ramshackle old building, painted dark green, is situated on an eminence at the extreme southwest corner of the town, at a street corner. A veranda runs around the street sides of it, onto which the rooms open. Beggars, hobos, cripples, bums, and dogs bask on the sun-warped boards of its floor, and sneak-thieves are ever watching for an opportunity of entering the dirty holes which are the guests' rooms. The dining room and the barroom are the only adjuncts of the institution which are kept clean, and the latter is the most lucrative enterprise to its owners of any business establishment in the town. It has several billiard tables of doubtful cues and cushions and to them at the noon hour repair all the German clerks of the mercantile establishments. There is much liquor sold and much drunkenness to be observed. At one corner of the room sat a well-dressed aged man. He had the palsy so badly that he could not lift a glass to his mouth so he sat there imbibing whiskey and soda through a rubber tube that extended from his mouth to the glass. The Hotel Ferrocarril is owned by a couple of Italians who are fast waxing wealthy. It is hell to stay in Mollendo even for an hour and the travelers are to be pitied who stop here days at a time waiting for their steamers which run on uncertain schedules.
The place owes its importance to the fact that it is the port of the large and prosperous city of Arequipa about seventy-five miles inland, and that it is the outlet and port of entry of the Lake Titicaca basin, and of the historic and interesting old city of Cuzco, the pristine capital of the Inca Empire, three days distant by rail. Formerly Mollendo was the seaport of La Paz, Bolivia's quaint metropolis, but now traffic has been changed from that city, so that Arica and Antofagasta get the bulk of its trade. There has been much talk of transferring the port of Arequipa to Islay, a settlement a few miles north of Mollendo in a sheltered location, but the merchants at Mollendo made a strong kick about it, and bribed the politicians at Lima, so that the scheme never matured. At Mollendo, my Peruvian money ran out because I did not get enough Chilean money changed at Arica, and I had a hard job getting change here. Some Italian bankers to whom I applied knew how badly I wanted Peruvian currency, so accordingly discounted my Chilean money so much that I must have lost twenty-five dollars by the transaction.
As I said before, Mollendo is a hotbed for bubonic plague. Several people die daily of it here, but its mention is suppressed by the health authorities so as not to give a black eye to the town. When a person dies of it, it is kept quiet and the victim is buried at night. Northeast of the town is the potter's field. Here graves eighteen inches deep are dug. The cadaver is trussed up by having its feet drawn back to its haunches by means of a cord tied around the shoulders and is thrown into the impromptu grave. I was told by several people that so poorly is the job done that sometimes the toes protrude above the ground and are nibbled at by buzzards and by starving dogs.
From Mollendo, I went to Callao on the Chilean steamship Limari. It was a good ship but rolled considerably even in a calm sea. It took three days to make Lima's busy port, no stops being made, but from the deck I could see the dim outlines of the towns Lobos, Chala, and Pisco. An acquaintance of mine, Mr. Kurt Waldemar Linn, of New York, a German by birth but a naturalized American citizen, who is connected with the International Film Company, told me in Santiago that he expected to be on this boat and arrive in Lima at the same time I would. I failed to find his name on the passenger list and when I arrived in Lima, he had not yet shown up. The next day he appeared, having disembarked from the Pacific Steam Navigation Company's steamship Mexico. He said he was sorry that he had not made the trip on the Limari, and that never again would he make a trip on any ship of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company if he could help it. He said that the service and food on the Mexico were vile but to crown his discomfiture one morning at breakfast the first officer who sat next to him asked him how he slept the previous night.
"I didn't sleep very well," answered Mr. Linn. "There was too much noise going on."
"Oh, yes, there was a good bit of noise on board. We caught a German spy last night and that caused the racket." At this witty remark the officer looked at Linn and winked. The latter did not relish this sort of pleasantry even though it was meant in fun.
At Callao the custom house officials are careful to ransack all one's belongings looking for things dutiable and those non-dutiable as well; on the latter they levy private duties for their own pockets. There is much red tape and tipping to be done and nowhere else in my travels have I been subjected to so much annoyance at a custom house unless it was at Belgrade, Servia. Hotel couriers meet the steamers and it is advisable for the traveler to give his possessions in charge of one of these men who will relieve him of the trouble connected with the custom house and transferal of baggage to Lima. The courier expects a large tip, but it is more convenient to give it in one lump sum to him than to have to run the gauntlet.
CHAPTER XIV
LIMA
Although the chapters of this book are supposed to treat only of the southern republics of South America, it would nevertheless be a shame not to mention Lima and the Peruvian hinterland, therefore this and the following chapter.
Callao, the port of Lima, where the ships anchor, has a population of forty-five thousand. It is here that one first gets an idea of genuine Peruvian architecture. The two and three storied houses, many of which are adorned by steeples and towers, invariably have enclosed wooden balconies projecting from the second floor over the street, giving the touch of old Stamboul or other oriental cities. It is difficult to conjecture the origin of these balconies. The Moorish style of architecture which the Spaniards copied and brought to their colonies was plain, with bare outside walls and few windows. This Turkish style seen by many tourists for the first time in their lives at Callao is that which predominates in Central Peru and is also prevalent to a certain extent as far south as Tacna.