At daylight in the morning we passed the river Mamoré; it is called here Rio Grande. The Indians waded across knee-deep. The width of the bed of the river was about one hundred and fifty yards, with bottom of stones and gravel. The water is drawn off at this season of the year for irrigating the beautiful gardens of Calacala, opposite the city, and close under the mountains. As the sun rose we met Indians going to market with the vegetables of Calacala. The ride on horseback through roads shaded by willows is delightful at this hour of the morning. My companion's horses were the finest in gait and action I saw in South America. The Indians were reaping lucerne to load their donkeys. The jackasses are large; attention is paid to the breeding of them with an eye to size. They are more required by farmers than mules or horses. Oxen are used for ploughing, and donkeys for marketing.
Flowers are in full bloom; strawberries are nearly ripe. Christmas is not far off; peach, orange, and fig-trees are loaded with fruit. This is the time of the morning to count the weddings, as the parties pass us on horseback.
The Indians cultivate with a hoe; they work the ground very carefully and neatly, manuring and keeping the plants of the strawberries clear of weeds. The patches of onions, cabbages, and maize are very fine. In a peach orchard we see a grape-vine overrunning a tree, and loaded with fruit. There was a time when fifteen thousand bottles of wine per annum were made at one hacienda, near the base of this ridge to the southeast, but its manufactory has been abandoned in favor of chicha.
As we turn back we hear thunder to the east, and a heavy black cloud covers up the bright morning sun. Before us in the road was a loaded jackass, slowly walking before an Indian woman with a heavy weight on her back, while she carried a sucking child in her arms; behind her a poor old blind horse bore two stout, well-built, lazy-looking mestizos, with more Indian than Spanish in their composition. Their long legs hung down so straight that they looked like natural appurtenances of the animal they rode. Around their shoulders they each had wrapped a comfortable poncho.
After spending some time at a hacienda we reached the river again on our return, and were surprised to find the stream swollen so much that the Indians could not cross with their loads. Close by us were a number of Creoles on horseback discussing the chances for horsemen to cross. One man, mounted upon a tall horse, risked it; entering the stream, he waded, turning the horse's head diagonally up stream, and passed safely.
I was delighted when I saw our two lazy companions kicking their heels into the sides of their little blind pony, and urging it where the horse evidently had sense enough to know he should not venture. However, the riders had their way, but steered down stream instead of up. When they got into the deepest, the rushing waters rose on the horse's quarter, and the animal went down stern first, carrying ponchos and company under. When their heads appeared above water, the shouts of laughter from not less than one hundred Indians, made the valley ring. The men were so frightened they clung to the horse as soon as he could get up to breathe, and down they all went again. Finally, they aided each other, and so found their way back, leaving the horse to take care of himself. In two hours the water ran off, and we crossed without a ducking.
The valley of Cochabamba supplies many parts of Bolivia with flour; wheat, maize, and barley are transported to the miners of Potosi and Oruro, and to the coffee or chocolate planters of Yungas. This has been called the granary of Bolivia; although it is at the base of the Andes, yet it is higher than the garden of Yungas. Following the course of the Mamoré, from Tapacari into the bottom of the Madeira Plate, the descent is long and gradual.
The apple, the pear, and the quince, are produced in the valley of Cochabamba; coffee and chocolate in Yungas. These are not plants that flourish by the side of each other. Yungas is thickly wooded. Here the hills and some of the plains are too dry to produce any vegetation without the help of man.
The winds seem to draw up into the Yungas valley more than here, while the crops suffer for the want of rain, and the heavens over Cochabamba are perfectly clear. We have seen heavy clouds driven along the northern side of the range, and heavy rains pouring down just on the edge of the ridge, far enough on the south side to flood the tributaries of the river which flow past the city. The clouds come in contact with the Andes' sides, and seem to be turned and twisted up, so that sheets of water fall to the earth, and produce a growth of forest trees. The winds drive well up into Yungas, loaded with moisture, and meeting the great Illimani and Sorata, form an immense quantity of snow and ice.
The moisture of this valley is carried up through the ravines of Tapacari, and strike the table-lands on the Andes, where we met the cedar bushes.