A feature that is not a little remarked upon by those who have entered Uruguay from the stoneless Pampa of Argentina is the excellence of the roads that surround Montevideo, and of several, indeed, that penetrate for a considerable distance inland. The highway to the town of San José, for instance, that extends for ninety-six kilometres is macadamised throughout its length, and is, moreover, excellently constructed and sustained.
The benefits of convenient deposits of stone are strikingly emphasised here. Now that a start has been made, there is no reason why efficient roads of the kind should not pierce the countryside in all directions. For, notwithstanding the natural fertility of its soil, there is scarcely a corner throughout the whole length and breadth of the Republic that is not seamed to a smaller or larger extent with these layers of useful stone, the eruption of which frequently marks the surface itself of the land.
The road to San José, as a matter of fact, is by no means the only important one of its kind. There are various similar specimens, equally well constructed if of less imposing length. A very admirable road leads from the capital to the small town of Pando in the neighbouring province of Canelones. The journey by motor-car is an easy one, and renders an admirable insight into the nature of the country in this particular district.
Curiously enough, the least smooth portion of this highway is represented by a mile or so of its length on the outskirts of Montevideo itself. This point once passed, however, the undulations in the surface of the road die away, and the broad grey thoroughfare stretches with remarkable smoothness over hill and dale. The car can snort along at the utmost speed its power will permit, since the grey band opens out ahead with a refreshing openness that is totally devoid of secrecy, and only at the lengthiest intervals is its surface darkened by the form of a rider or of a lumbering country cart.
The progress is of the switchback order, with long-drawn-out rises and falls that are effected with alternate exuberance and strainings, while on either hand the fields, verdure, and masses of fruit blossom speed by in very pleasant sequence. For a spring shower has laid the dust, and when the Oriental landscape smiles, its countenance is supremely fascinating. As though to add just the tinge of sombreness that is requisite for the accentuation of the delightful scene, a dark forest of eucalyptus stands out here and there by the way, the massive serried trunks and branches painting the landscape with a heavy splash of gloom.
For the first few leagues the aspect of the country—although the great variety of its attributes preserves it entirely from the taint of mere monotony—remains much the same. After a while, however, the skyline to the right becomes lightened in a rather remarkable fashion. The foreground is a medley of green, brown, and purple—rendered respectively by the hills, trees, orchards, and a patch or two of ploughed soil. At the back of these rich colours a range of very lofty snow-white sand-dunes has risen up. The gleaming barrier marks the frontier-line of the land; upon its farther side, invisible, of course, from inland, are the breakers of the South Atlantic Ocean. Indeed, the effect of this spotless range, when viewed from the shoreward side, is doubly curious, since the verdant landscape that leads right up to them gives no other indication of the propinquity of the sea.
To the north-east elevations of quite another kind have been slowly rising upwards from the horizon as the car speeds along. As the town of Pando itself is more nearly approached, the distant mountains of Minas have swollen into view to assert themselves in a fashion that is not to be overlooked. Great rounded masses piled in dim purple against the horizon, their aspect presents a sharp contrast to that of the dunes close by. The latter are shadowless things, clear-cut and wanting in depth for all their purity; the inland mountains are deep and secretive, with an outline that confounds itself mysteriously with the sky.
The town of Pando itself is remarkable for little in the way of commercial or industrial development beyond forming the centre of a very flourishing agricultural district. The place possesses a quaint red-brick church, the walls of which are adorned with a curious number of balconies. With this exception the buildings are unpretentious; but almost every one is lent its own particular charm by the wealth of gardens and shade-trees with which the spot is endowed. Pando, indeed, is one of those very pleasant minor urban centres with which Uruguay is so plentifully besprinkled, with its delightful surroundings of orchards, vineyards, and cultivated land planted here and there with eucalyptus forests and with groves of other trees. In the near neighbourhood of the town runs a typical Uruguayan stream, its banks thickly lined with verdure, more especially with the weeping willows whose branches droop downwards in a thick green curtain over the water's edge.
