In the morning of May 17th I left Sandia on my own trusty mule, driving two others with the plants before me, and accompanied by their owner on foot, an Indian named Angelino Paco, a middle-aged respectable-looking man, who had been one of the Alcaldes of Sandia in 1859. Mr. Weir started for Arequipa on the same day, by way of Crucero. Passing through Cuyo-cuyo without stopping, I continued to ascend a mountain-gorge, by the side of the stream, but Paco had never been out of the valley of Sandia before, and was useless as a guide. All along the banks of the stream there were square pools dammed up and filled with heaps of potatoes and ocas, placed there to freeze into chuñus, the principal food of the Indians when in the forests, or on the coffee or coca estates. Higher up the gorge all signs of habitation cease, though there are still abandoned tiers of ancient terraces, and the mountain scenery is quite magnificent. Night coming on without a moon, I halted under a splendid range of frowning black cliffs, and succeeded in pitching the tent in the dark, but there was no fuel, and on opening the leathern bag I found that my little stock of food and lucifer-matches had been stolen in Sandia. I was thus entirely dependent for existence on Paco's parched maize, which proved uncommonly hard fare. The cold was intense during the night, and penetrated through the tent and clothes to the very marrow.
At daybreak Paco and I loaded the mules, and continued to ascend the gorge by the side of the river of Sandia, which becomes a noisy little rill, and finally falls, as a thin silvery cascade, over a black cliff. Reaching the summit of the snowy cordillera of Caravaya, we commenced the journey over lofty grass-covered plains, where the ground was covered with stiff white frost. There were flocks of vicuñas on the plain, and huallatas, large white geese with brown wings and red legs, on the banks of the streams; but as we advanced even these signs of life ceased, and, when night closed in, I looked round on the desolate scene, and thought that to make a direct cut across the cordilleras to Vilque by compass-course was a very disagreeable way of travelling, though, in this case, a necessary one. I had been eleven hours in the saddle, when Paco found an abandoned shepherd's hut, built of loose stones, three feet high, and thatched with ychu grass. The minimum thermometer, during the night, was as low as 20° Fahr. by my side.
At daylight on May 19th Paco complained of having to rise before the sun, although he must have been half-frozen. The mules had escaped, and we were fully three hours in catching them. The ground was covered with a crisp frost, and during the forenoon we were traveling over the same lofty wilderness, consisting of grassy undulating hills, with ridges of cliffs, and huge boulders here and there. The view was bounded on the north and east by the splendid snowy peaks of the Caravayan range, and to the north-west by those of Vilcañota. The only living things, in these wild solitudes, are the graceful vicuñas, which peered at us with their long necks from behind the grassy slopes, the guanacos, the biscaches burrowing amongst the rocks, and the huallatas or large geese on the margins of streams or pools of water.
At about noon we began to descend a rocky dangerous cuesta, where there was much trouble with the mules, which were constantly attempting to lie down and roll with the plants. The steep descent led into the plain of Putina, which was covered with flocks of sheep, with small farms, shaded by clumps of queñua-trees, nestling under the sandstone cliffs which bound the plain. Crossing another range, we reached a swampy plain, with sheep and cattle scattered over it, and stopped at an abandoned shepherd's hut, the exact counterpart of last night's lodging. I had been ten hours in the saddle, and was faint from hunger, but had to go supperless to bed. Paco was nearly breaking down from a bad wound in his foot, but I bandaged it with lint, and he was able to proceed. He had an alco or Peruvian dog with him, which was devotedly attached to its master. These dogs are something like Newfoundlands, only much smaller, generally black or white, and seldom bark.
On the morrow the way, for the first two hours, led over grassy hills covered with flocks of sheep, with shepherd-lads playing on pincullus, or flutes, the sound of which came floating pleasantly on the air, from every direction far and near. We passed several blue mountain-lakes, with islands of rushes, and many ducks. From 10 A.M. until sunset the whole day was occupied in crossing a vast plain covered with sheep and cattle, and just after sunset we reached a small estancia or sheep-farm. It was occupied by a large family of good-tempered Indians, whose eyes glistened when I offered them a cesto of coca which I had with me, in exchange for unlimited supplies of milk and cheese. It was pleasant to see their happiness at the acquisition of this treasure, which was shared by the children and dogs. The place was full of guinea-pigs, which are considered great delicacies. The extreme hunger from which I had suffered since leaving Sandia was here relieved by plenty of milk, cheese, and parched maize. Every night I had wrapped the Russian mats, which enveloped the plants, in warm ponchos, and the tent. The crooked wriggling queñua-branches, which formed the roof of the hut, looked like snakes in the dim light after sunset.
At sunrise on May 21st there was a white frost, and the deep blue sky was without a single cloud. Suddenly an immense flock of flamingos, called parihuanas[346] in Quichua, rose in a long column from the margin of the river of Azangaro, which flows through the plain. These birds, with their crimson wings, and rose-coloured necks and bodies, whirring up in a long spiral column, formed one of the most beautiful sights I ever saw.
Crossing a range of rocky hills, we entered a plain, which extended to the banks of a large lake, with the little town of Arapa built along the shore. Dark mountains rise up immediately in the rear. I believe that I am the first English traveller who has ever visited this lake, and M. de Castelnau, who obtained some information respecting it at Puno, says that it is not to be found in any map.[347] Along the shores there were long rows of flamingos, standing like a gigantic regiment, with a few skirmishers thrown out fishing. There were also huallatas, ibises, ducks, and a stout-built stunted sort of crane. Journeying on, we began to cross a vast plain which extends for many leagues round the north-west corner of lake Titicaca, and is dotted with walled estancias and flocks of sheep. At length we reached the ford over the river of Azangaro, in sight of the little village of Achaya, to the left. The water came above the mules' bellies, and, crossing half a mile of swampy ground, we came to another ford over the river of Pucara. The two rivers, uniting just below Achaya, form the Ramiz, the largest feeder of lake Titicaca. We continued our way for many hours over the plain, until we reached an Indian's hut long after dark, having been twelve hours in the saddle, at the slow tedious pace of a tired mule. The cargo-mules had played every kind of vicious trick throughout the day, running off in different directions at every opportunity, and constantly trying to roll.
Starting at daybreak on the 22nd, we forded the river of Lampa, crossed the road between Lampa and Puno, passed over a rocky cordillera and a wide plain, and reached the little town of Vilque by four in the afternoon. The place presented a very different appearance from the time when we passed through it in March, on our way to Puno. It was now the time of the great yearly fair, when buyers and sellers from every part of South America flock to the little sierra town. This great gathering was first established in the time of the Spaniards, and it is not improbable that the Jesuits, who once possessed the great sheep-farm of Yanarico near Vilque, and who always looked well after the improvement of their property, may have been the great promoters of the fair.
Outside the town there were thousands of mules from Tucuman waiting for Peruvian arrieros to buy them. In the plaza were booths full of every description of Manchester and Birmingham goods; in more retired places were gold-dust and coffee from Caravaya, silver from the mines, bark and chocolate from Bolivia, Germans with glass-ware and woollen knitted work, French modistes, Italians, Quichua and Aymara Indians in their various picturesque costumes—in fact, all nations and tongues. In the plaza, too, there were excellent cafés and dining-rooms, all under canvas; but house-rent was exorbitant, and a lodging was not to be had for love or money. There was much complaint of the injury done to trade by the threatened war with Bolivia, and the edict of President Linares, prohibiting all intercourse with Peru.
I placed the bundles of plants, carefully wrapped round with ponchos, in a barley-field occupied by arrieros, covered over with their warm aparejos; but the thermometer was down to 23° Fahr. in the night.