Up the Orinoco and down the Magdalena

by J. A. Zahm

We were in Bogotá in the early part of June, during which time it rained every day. Coming directly from the tierra caliente, we suffered considerably, especially at night, from the low temperature and the dampness that prevailed. We were, however, informed by the natives that the season was unusually severe, and that such bad weather as we encountered was quite unusual: Velasco y Vergara —a Colombian—tells that it rains the greater part of the year, and that the sky is almost always covered by clouds.[3] For this reason, the houses suffer from humidity, and rheumatism and kindred complaints are very prevalent. Otherwise the climate is considered salubrious.

Bogotá—called by the aborigines Bacatá—is a city in a state of transition. It has lost, almost entirely, the mediæval, monastic, mozarabic aspect that characterized it while it was the tranquil court of the viceroys. But, great as has been the change that it has undergone during the last few decades, it preserves much of the quaintness of colonial times. Indeed, it is not difficult, in certain parts of the city, to fancy oneself carried back to a typical Spanish town of the time of Charles V or Philip II. As a whole, however, the Bogotá of to-day does not differ materially in appearance from a city of the same size in Spain or Mexico. All Latin-American cities are similar in their leading features, and when you have seen one you have seen all.

The city is adorned by a number of broad and beautiful streets and several plazas and parks. Aside from a few government buildings, the edifices that attract most attention are the monasteries and churches. The cathedral is a noble building and compares favorably with any similar structure in South America. The interior had just been artistically painted and gilded, at the time of our visit, and it reminded us somewhat of the exquisite finish of St. John Lateran, in Rome. An object of interest to the traveler, within these sacred precincts, is the tomb of the illustrious conquistador, Gonzalo Jimenez de Quesada.

The residences of the people are usually two stories high, with a balcony on the second story facing the street. All of the older houses, as well as many of the modern ones, are of the well-known Moorish style of architecture, with a single large entrance—porton—and a patio—courtyard—or two, on which the rooms open. This style of building is well adapted to tropical climates. It is comfortable and secures the maximum of privacy. It is in reality, as well as in fiction, the owner’s castle.

We were surprised to see the number of foreign flowers grown in these patios. One would naturally expect to find representatives of the rich and beautiful Colombian flora, but the ladies of Bogotá seem to prefer the exotic blooms of the temperate zone. We found roses, camellias, pinks and geraniums in abundance, but rarely any of those floral beauties that had so frequently excited our admiration on the way from the llanos to the capital. Our hotel, however, was a notable exception to this rule. Here we were delighted with a veritable exhibition of orchids of many species and of the most wonderful forms and colors. Among them were some truly splendid specimens of oncidiums, cattleyas and odontoglossums. It was then we thought of some of our orchid-loving friends of New York, who would have fairly reveled in such marvels of Flora’s kingdom.

As nearly all the streets are paved with cobblestones, driving is anything but a pleasure. As a matter of fact, the only passable drive in the city is the one that leads to the charming little suburb of Chapinero. This is one of the show places of Bogotá, and its houses are in marked contrast with those found in the older part of the city. Most of them are entirely different in style from the enclosed Moorish structures of which mention has been made. Here one is introduced to cozy Swiss chalets in the midst of delightful flower gardens and picturesque French chateaux, that carry one back to the Seine and the Loire.

Aside from the churches and monasteries, many of which have been converted into government offices, there were two buildings that possessed a special interest for us. One of these was the old Colegio del Rosario—now known as the School of Philosophy and Letters—founded in 1553, nearly a hundred years before the University of Harvard. This institution has long been fondly spoken of by the people of Bogotá as the country’s special glory—la gloria de la patria. The other building was the astronomical observatory—the first intertropical structure of the kind—erected in 1803. After the observatory of Quito, it is said to be the highest in the world.

Some of the streets and houses have been recently lighted by electricity, but as yet horses or mules are used as the motive power for the few street cars that traverse the principal thoroughfares. It were easy to count the number of private carriages in the city. The only ones we saw were those of the archbishop and the president of the republic. Indeed, so rough are the streets that most people prefer walking to using cabs, except in cases of necessity.

The first two objects to arrest our attention, as we approached Bogotá from the south, were the chapels of Guadalupe and Monserrate, the former nearly twenty-two hundred feet above the city, and the latter about two hundred feet lower. Perched high upon the flanks of two picturesque mountain peaks, they are conspicuous objects from all parts of the Savanna. Both of these sanctuaries are reached by a foot path, but, as yet, no attempt has been made to connect them with the city by a carriage road. Owing to the altitude above sea level of these places, a pilgrimage to them is quite a task—especially to the newcomer, who is unaccustomed to the rare atmosphere of the locality. But the magnificent view afforded one from either of these elevated shrines well repays all the effort required to reach them. It is, in some respects, the most beautiful to be found in the whole of Colombia. And then, there are besides certain historical features connected with the panorama spread out before one that make it doubly interesting.

Standing in front of the church of Guadalupe, we have before us the beautiful Savanna of Bogotá[4]—a fertile plain, nine hundred square kilometers in area. Humboldt, whose opinion has been adopted by many subsequent writers, regarded this level stretch of land as the bottom of a lake that formerly existed here, but recent investigators have called this view in question. Strangely enough, the Chibcha Indians, at the time of the conquest, had a tradition that the Savanna was at one time occupied by a lake, but that Bochica, child of the sun, drained its waters by giving them an exit through the celebrated falls of Tequendama.[5] The general appearance of the plain, as well as certain geological features, seemed to confirm this tradition, and it was not until quite recently that any one ventured to express a doubt about the tradition, or the long-accepted opinion of the great German savant.