CHAPTER III
VALE OF PARADISE
Val-paraiso means the “Vale of Paradise,” and it is the name of both a province and a city. The name is so incongruous on this unattractive shore as to cause a smile, for the location of Valparaiso does not merit any such appellation. It was so named after a little town in Spain, which was the home of Juan de Saavedra, the man who captured the Indian village located at this point in 1536. There is only a narrow strip of land between the bay and the barren hills behind it, which, in places, rise up to a thousand or fifteen hundred feet in height. At one place it is wide enough for only two streets, which are very close together. At other places this ledge creeps back farther, but nowhere does the gap between sea and hills exceed half a mile, and a part of this has been reclaimed from the sea. Through the centre of this level space runs Victoria Street, which follows the coast line the entire length of the city and is several miles in length. It is the main commercial street, and is lined with business houses, public buildings and even private residences.
AN “ASCENSOR” IN VALPARAISO.
It used to be that all of the city was built on this narrow strip of land. Little by little, however, the city has crept up the side of the hills, and the streets rise in terraces one above the other. On the edges of the cliffs in many places the poorer classes have built for themselves dwellings of the rudest kind from all sorts of debris. Some of these are perched upon almost inaccessible rocks, and are propped up with wooden supports. On the extreme upper part of the rock has been built the real residence quarter, and many fine homes are found there. It is reached by steep and winding roads, which tire the pedestrian not used to them; but there are a dozen inclined elevators, or “ascensors,” as they are called in Valparaiso, which carry the passenger to the upper heights for a very small sum. Up the steep roadway the poor horses may be seen drawing their loads, while the drivers beat them and vociferously berate them with their tongues.
From the heights one has a magnificent view of the bay, which is like a half-moon, and is one of the prettiest bays in the world. It has a northern exposure, however, and is subject to terrific storms in the winter season, which lash the seas into a fury and the waves beat upon the sea front with destructive force. It is still to all extents and purposes an open roadstead, although plans have been drawn for a breakwater to provide a sheltered harbour. The drawback has been that the bay is very deep only a short distance from shore, and the problem of building such a protection is a difficult one. The surface of the bay is always dotted with vessels from almost every quarter of the globe. One can at any time see the flags of a half dozen or more different nations floating from the mastheads. Then there are hundreds of small lighters which are used to carry the freight between vessel and shore, as no docks have been constructed at which vessels can unload. In the far distance may be seen, on a clear day, the backbone of the continent, the Andes, with its serrated ridges and snowy summits glistening in the sunlight. The hoary head of Aconcagua, the highest peak of the Cordilleras, can easily be distinguished from the others by reason of its superior height.
Next to San Francisco, Valparaiso is the most important port on the eastern shores of the Pacific. This city of two hundred thousand has as much commerce as the average town of double that size, as it is the port for Santiago and the greater part of Chile. A business-like character is impressed upon the entire city. Here live the men who design and carry out the vast nitrate and mining enterprises of northern Chile, and practically all business, except that of politics, is managed from this city. The docks and warehouses are at all times busy places, and are crowded with boxes and bales from almost every commercial nation. Banditti-like rotos drive carts and wagons filled with merchandise. One of the first sights after being set down on the landing-stage is the two-wheeled dray of Valparaiso. It is drawn by two or three wiry and sweating horses, on the back of one of which rides the driver, who lashes the horses unmercifully. The ridden horse is hitched by a trace just outside the shafts, and he is trained to push at the shaft with his shoulder, or pull at right angles when the occasion arises, and in every way is as clever as any Texas bronco. One of these drays with the driver lashing his team might well figure on the escutcheon of this city.
The “U. S.” mark is less frequently seen in Valparaiso than that of Hamburg or London, for the United States has not become such an exporting country of manufactured products as those commercial nations of the older world; nor is the Yankee in flesh and blood. The predominance of the British is shown by the prevalence of the English language. Nearly every one engaged in business has at least a slight acquaintance with that tongue. One can not go far without crossing the path of some ruddy Briton or voluble Irishman. Many of the best stores bear English names, and one will see the same goods displayed as in New York or London. In fact it is more predominantly English in appearance than any other city of South America. There are cafés where they meet to drink their “half-and-half” or other beverages, and there is a club where the Times, Punch, and other favourites can be read. It is said that the foreign population almost equals the native in numbers. Only a small part of this foreign element is English, as there are many Italians, Germans and French, but the English are the bankers and tradesmen, and have impressed their characteristics more forcibly upon the city than the other nations. There are amusements in plenty, for there are clubs, concerts and an abundance of theatres to provide recreation as a relaxation from the strenuous life. There are tennis grounds, football fields and a golf course at Viña. There are many monuments over the city in the plazas and on the new alameda, erected to the nation’s heroes, and one to William Wheelwright, the American who did so much to aid Chile in developing her transportation facilities. The naval school, which crowns one of the hills, is one of the most attractive places in Valparaiso, and provides one of the finest views of the bay and surrounding hills.
“One of the great advantages of life in Valparaiso,” says Arthur Ruhl in “The Other Americans,” “is the absence of a professional fire department. The glorious privilege of fighting fires is appropriated by the élite, who organize themselves into clubs, with much the same social functions as the Seventh Regiment and Squadron A in New York, wear ponderous helmets and march in procession in great style whenever they get a chance. One comes upon these bomberos practising in the evening, on the Avenida, for instance, in store clothes and absent-mindedly puffing cigarettes, getting a stream on an imaginary blaze. In any emergency they perform much the same duties as our militia.