The Beni creeps along the ridge of mountains as though seeking an outlet to the north. A passage letting the water through into the Amazon basin at the base of the Andes would probably make the Beni a tributary of the Madre-de-Dios, as it is erroneously laid down on some maps. It finds no outlet until it reaches the Madeira, to which it is obliged to pay tribute. Though the waters of the Beni do eventually find their way to the Amazon through the Madeira, yet the Beni, properly speaking, does not flow through the Amazonian basin, but through what we consider is correctly called the Madeira Plata.
The map will show that all the water flowing north, from the edge of La Plata river-basin, passes through this range of hills at one place—the head of the Madeira river. The countries drained by the tributaries of the Madeira comprise an area of 475,200 square miles—nearly as large as the basin of the Nile, and more extensive than either the Danube or the Ganges. The Madeira Plata is a step between the Titicaca and Amazon basins. It is separated from the Titicaca basin by the Andes, and from the Amazon basin by the range of mountains and hills at the foot of which the Beni flows. Its bottom is above the bottom of the Amazon basin, and should be treated of independent of that water-shed. With the exception of a small portion, which lies in the territory of Brazil, it belongs exclusively to Bolivia.
La Paz is a most busy inland city. The blacksmith's hammer is heard. The large mercantile houses are well supplied with goods. The plaza is free from market people, for there is a regular market-house. The dwellings are well built, of stone and adobe. The home and foreign trade appears to be possessed with a life seldom met with in an inland town, without shipping or railroads. The people appear to be active. There is less lounging against the door-posts. The place has a healthy appearance.
There is a theatre, museum, library, book and cigar stores, handsome stone fountains, well-paved streets, hospitable people, and a number of foreigners, a beautiful alameda, where there are lovely women, stunted apple trees, and sweet flowers. The Illimani snow-peak standing before us, is a cooler of the tropical winds which pass over the Madeira Plata. Strawberries, beans, onions, barley, and lucerne are produced in the ravines, but in very small quantities, as the space is very narrow. What attracted our attention among the people were new French bonnets the ladies were learning to wear, and the new French uniform caps the army had just received from Paris; both fitted like a new mountain saddle, rather uneasily.
In mid-day, when there is little or no wind, the inhabitants wear thin clothing; but as soon as the cold wind comes from the Illimani, bringing with it a shower of drizzling rain, the whole population change to thick cloth clothes. The climate is very changeable, and a consumption of thick woollen and cotton cloths are required, as much as thin cotton goods.
There is a police on the lookout for passports in the day, but I doubt if they are as strict in the performance of duty at night. Wines and spirits are the only articles Bolivia pays a transit duty to Peru upon. Bolivia receives most foreign manufactures through the port of Arica, in Peru, and as Peru is interested in the sale of her home-manufactured wine, she charges a transit duty upon all foreign wine introduced into Bolivia through her territory. Yet, while the duty and cost of transportation on the backs of mules from Arica triples its value, there seems to be more of this article used in La Paz than anywhere else, to judge from the noises made in the streets at night by parties of men and women, who roam about dancing and singing to the music of guitars; some of them play very well. Just opposite my window there was a wine store. In the door-way was chained a young tiger, and I noticed that nearly all the people who stopped to play with the tiger entered and paid transit duty to Peru.
The tailors are found seated along the pavements here in great numbers, but there are fewer churches than generally in a city of this size. The man who gets the contract to supply the standing army of Bolivia with clothing, accumulates a large sum of money. This is the business of importance in La Paz next to that of the trade in cinchona bark.
The largest portion of the department of La Paz is situated on the table-lands, which, like the hills and lofty mountains within its border, produce a scanty supply of vegetable growth—ocas, potatoes, maize, barley, beans, and quinua. Horned cattle, horses, and sheep are small and few. The llama is less used on the level roads of the Puna than on the rough roads of the mountains; mules are more valuable. The Indian nearly always walks to town in company with a jackass. Except a little dove dusting itself by the road-side, there are few birds to be found; no snakes nor ants; neither flowers nor trees. But that part of the department situated on the eastern side of the Andes—the province of Yungas—surpasses other spots in South America for natural wealth.
Standing up to his waist in the snows of the Illimani, amidst heavy storms of hail, with thunder and lightning, and a wind that dyes his nose and ears scarlet and blue with cold, the traveller descends to the east, plunging and tumbling among the drift banks. He passes sheets of ice formed by the melting of the snow at its lower edge, and after slipping and sliding down these glistening slabs, he reaches a green sod of grass, while the snow melts from his clothes as he thaws in the tropical sun. Behind him, above rages the winter storm; below a land of flowers in everlasting summer; and far off to the east, the whole earth looks blue and broken like the ocean. The drops of snow-water from his own coat join the trickling stream from the melting ice, and with him they move on down the rugged mountain. This stream, increasing as it advances, is finally lost in the waters of the Beni. He pulls off his overcoat, seats himself under the shade of a bush surrounded by sweet flowers; humming-birds attract his attention, and as he fans himself with his hat, a swarm of bees interferes somewhat with his comfort.
He soon reaches the shade of lofty trees; an old ring-tailed monkey walks slowly along a limb; a cunning little one jumps on her back, twists its tail round her hind legs, lays down its head on her back, sticks its fingernails into her skin, and rides its mother off at a full run, jumping from limb to limb and from tree to tree; while the father follows after, chattering in a loud voice the alarm for a stranger.