In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

The steady, rhythmic skuff of bare or sandal-shod feet, mingled with the louder tramp of mules and discordant cries of the arrieros, now reached our ears at frequent intervals, to be followed shortly by the appearance of pack-trains heavily laden with coffee and hides as they swung around a bend in the narrow mountain trail, and we knew that the end of our journey, at least for the present, was near.

Downward we rode, always downward, with the valley still several hundreds of feet below, and the mountains towering thousands of feet in the rear.

Here and there a bit of humanity flashed into view near one of the lonely haciendas snugly nestling in some seemingly inaccessible niche in the mountainside. To our right, a solitary monastery perched upon a barren peak, with its separate narrow trail leading from the dizzy height and winding its tortuous course along the jutting precipice until lost in the filmy haze.

Ahead, a black mass that dissolved itself into one immense flock of vultures appeared on the landscape. This was their season of harvest and the quarrelsome scavengers were reluctant to leave their repast—an unfortunate burro that had been abandoned on the trail.

With a feeling of repugnance, we spurred our horses on to greater effort, and at last our anticipations were realized as, rounding an abrupt point, we beheld Cali directly at our feet. A half-hour later we had clattered through a green arch formed by four magnificent ceibas that stood like sentinels guarding the approach to the city, crossed the bridge spanning the Rio Cali, wended our way up the stone-paved streets, and drawn rein in the patio of the Hotel Central.

Cali is a typical Colombian city. At first the uniformly low, whitewashed buildings with barred windows, thick adobe walls, and pretty patios, or inner courts, thrust themselves forcibly upon the attention, on account of the sharp contrast to the style of architecture to which the American is accustomed; but later one accepts them as a matter of course quite in harmony with the monotonous and easy-going life of most Latin-American cities.

There is nothing particularly modern about Cali; but the city is interesting, perhaps for that very reason. I saw not a single chimney, nor was there a pane of glass anywhere except in the huge cathedral facing the verdure-laden plaza. Churches are numerous, of massive construction, and built in Spanish style. The bells, of which there are many, are suspended in open niches in the towers, covered with verdigris, and keep up an almost continuous clanging.

The streets are narrow and crooked. A stream of water flows through the centre of some of them; this serves both purposes—as a kind of sewage system and also to supply water for various needs, although there is a system of piping in some of the houses, and fountains on a few street corners supply drinking-water to those who care to fetch it. I have seen, on several occasions, children attempting to bathe in the little stream; a short distance below, ducks were swimming in the water; then a person stepping from one of the doorways threw a pailful of garbage into it; finally, some one stepped out and unconcernedly dipped up a pitcherful of the water and took it indoors.

It is quite unusual to see any of the women of the upper class on the streets during the daytime, except on special occasions, or while they are on their way to and from church. They remain secluded in their homes, safe from the gaze of vulgar eyes. Embroidering and music are the chief diversions, and a large number of them are really very accomplished in both lines. It was remarkable to notice how many pianos there were, when we consider that each instrument had to be brought over the Andes slung on poles and carried by mules.

Practically all work is performed by people of the lower class. They toil day and night and, in most instances, for very little remuneration. One may see them engaged in various occupations at all hours of the day; but during the early hours of the morning, long files wend their way down the streets with the public market-place as the point of focus. The huge brick structure is a busy place. It reminds one of an ants’ nest with its incoming and departing swarms. Inside the building are rows and heaps of fruit, vegetables, meat, bread, and many other articles. A motley crowd of women fills the place to overflowing; each carries a basket, or wooden tray, on her head into which the purchases are placed, when, after an indefinite amount of bargaining and haggling, they have been consummated. Invariably each receptacle contains a curious collection; a number of green and ripe plantains; a slice of pumpkin; a pepper, garlic, and a tomato; a chunk of meat, and a papaya. Perhaps there may also be a bunch of yerba buena and some achiote seeds with which to give a spicy flavor and yellow color to the soup; but these condiments are, unfortunately, used in such quantities that a goodly supply is usually kept on hand even when there is no other food in the house.