CHAPTER II
TRAVEL HINTS
Adopting Local Customs—Value of the Spanish Language—Knowledge of People Obtained through Their Speech—English in Trade—Serviceable Clothing in Different Climates—Moderation in Diet—Coffee at its True Worth—Wines and Mineral Waters—Native Dishes—Tropical Fruits—Aguacate and Cheremoya Palatal Luxuries—Hotels and Hotel-keepers—Baggage Afloat and Ashore—Outfits for the Andes: Food and Animals—West Coast Quarantines—Money Mediums—The Common Maladies and How to Treat Them
TO live as they live; to travel as they travel;—that is about all there is to living and travelling in South America and on the Isthmus.
All the customs will not be adopted by Northerners, nor all the habits followed. More comfort will be demanded and more cleanliness. But the general fact holds that the people living in any country have acquired by experience the knowledge of what is required by climatic and other conditions in regard to food, drink, dress, shelter, and recreation. There is reason for all things, even for the adobe tomb dwellings of the aboriginal Indians of Bolivia, or the mid-day siesta of the busy merchant of Panama.
First of all, it is desirable to know the language. Spanish is the idiom of South America, with the exception of Brazil. At the outset let me say that the chance traveller who wants to go down the coast or even take an occasional trip into the interior can get along with his stock of English. In all the seaport towns are English-speaking persons, merchants or others. On the ships English is as common as Spanish, and in some of the obscurest places the tongue of Chaucer may be heard. In one of the most out-of-the-way and utterly forsaken little holes on the coast, I found the local official who was sovereign there teaching his boy arithmetic in English. He had been both in England and in the United States, and while his own prospects now were bounded by the horizon of the cove and the drear brown mountain cliffs that shut it in, he was determined that his son should have a wider future. There are also many young South Americans who have been educated in the United States and some of whom are met at almost inaccessible points in the interior.
I state this so that no one who contemplates a journey may be turned away from it by any supposed difficulty in getting along through inability to speak the prevailing idiom. He can do very well. Yet with all his faculties of observation alert he will miss much through his ignorance of the readiest mode of conveying and receiving thought. To know any country it is necessary to know the people, and the people are only known through the medium of their speech. Their customs are better understood, their limitations are appreciated, and their strivings for something better, if they have any, are interpreted sympathetically. The paramount local topic becomes a living theme into which the visitor can enter understandingly and add to his stock of knowledge.
Let me say, also, that wherever trade is, there is the English language, and as commerce grows it will spread. The terse English business letter is the admiration of the Latin-American merchant. Yet there is no wilder notion than that trade will advance itself without the knowledge of the language of the country into which it is pushing. Many native mercantile houses have English-speaking clerks, or occasionally a member of the firm knows the idiom. But the commercial traveller from the United States who does not speak Spanish never will compete with his German rival who talks trade in all known tongues.
This, in brief, is the commercial situation as to the English language. The business man who waits for Spanish America to come within its sphere as the world language, will not achieve success in this generation.
For those who look forward to a future in South America, either in trade or in industrial enterprises, there is only one word of advice to be given: that is, to learn Spanish and to learn it at once. Diffident as the North American is about foreign tongues and badly as he speaks any language except his own, there is little reason why his self-distrust or his contempt for other nationalities should keep him from acquiring Spanish. “It is pronounced as written and is written as pronounced.” Colloquially it is the easiest of tongues to master. Since every letter is sounded and is always pronounced the same, there is no trouble with the syllables and there are no such difficult sounds as the German umlaut or the French “en.” The high-sounding expressions, while they seem very formal and complicated, are quickly acquired, and the habit of thinking of the greetings of the day and similar commonplace topics in the strange tongue comes more easily than is imagined. With practice any fairly persistent person can get enough of Spanish to avoid the cumbersome process of thinking in English and then translating his thoughts. A vocabulary of 2,000 words is an ample one for the purposes of every-day life.
The oaths need not be learned. The English expletives are expressive enough not to need translation, and they lack the suggestive obscenity of the Spanish objurgations. It is good to learn “Caramba!” in all the tones and inflections and to stop there.
The phrase-book may be studied without ridicule, and every opportunity be taken for putting its precepts to the test. I do not mean from this to indicate that a thorough knowledge of Spanish can be gained in such manner, or that the Yankee ever will master the noble and stately literary language of Cervantes, Calderon, and Lope de Vega. He will not need to use the literary language. If he have a chance to secure his first training in Bogota or Lima, that will be an unusual advantage, for it is in those capitals that the purest Spanish of the New World is spoken. But this is not necessary, and if it be his misfortune to learn the rudiments through an uneducated Chilean or Argentine source, even that harsh and choppy Spanish will be understood. By all this I mean the practical tool of the tongue in common use, and not the melodious Castilian that may be desirable in polite society.
It is a very decided advantage to know enough of the written language to read the newspapers, an occasional book by a native author, the steamship schedules, the railway time-tables, the proclamations and official decrees, and the advertising posters. All serve their purpose to the man who has business or who would be in touch with his surroundings. It is true that in the interior the Indian tribes adhere to their own dialects and the majority of South American Indians do not understand Spanish. But the officials everywhere speak it, and in the Indian villages there is a head man, or cacique, who knows the idiom of the master race. If they are not familiar with Spanish, the sounds of English are even more strange to them.
Dress for sea voyages is easily determined, but clothing for land and sea is a more difficult question. My own experience, and I think it is the experience of other travellers, has been that woollens are the most serviceable in all climates. In the cold regions they are essential. In the tropics, when loosely woven, they are comfortable. Where the pure wool is disagreeable to the wearer, a mixture of cotton in the garment may serve. Flannels are the best protection against an overheated body and quick changes of temperature. These hints apply to all places, all times, and all conditions.
For the rest, although the Anglo-Saxon newcomer sometimes assumes otherwise, the people of all the West Coast cities are civilized and accustomed to the usages of polite society. Men wear the conventional dress suit, or traje de etiqueta, on formal occasions. The six o’clock rule does not hold in Spanish-American countries. Official functions, weddings, and similar social gatherings call for the dress suit as early as ten o’clock in the morning. But the visitor in this matter may consult his own convenience to some extent, regardless of local customs. The professional classes, doctors and lawyers especially, have a habit of upholding their dignity by wearing the tall hat and the frock coat in the hottest seasons. It is rather a tradition than a requirement of good breeding. The traveller may ignore it without losing social caste.
In the matter of eating and drinking moderation is a rule which slowly impresses itself on foreigners. As to drinking, the Englishman on the West Coast has not yet learned temperance. He absorbs vast quantities of brandy and soda, or of whiskey and water, with the soda or water always in infinitesimal amounts. He has his excuse for it,—the loneliness of his exile, the climate, and so forth. But he also has a counter-irritant for the drink habit in his fondness for the manly outdoor sports which he practises as regularly as at home.
French wines may be procured anywhere in South America, but it is not always well to trust the labels. A fair native wine is made in Peru, and Chile produces an unusually good article. If the quality of the claret is not quite equal to Medoc, it is good enough for any one except a connoisseur. English ales also are to be had, and of recent years bottled St. Louis or Milwaukee beer can be obtained at all the larger places. I have found St. Louis beer up in the Cerro de Pasco mining regions of Peru. All of the countries have local breweries, but Americans do not like the brew.
Mineral waters, which are to be had everywhere, in time come to pall on the palate. They may be alternated with the wines or other beverages satisfactorily. There is a native drink called chicha, a distillation of corn fermented in lye, which is refreshing and strengthening and tastes like fresh cider. The subjects of the Incas refreshed the Spanish conquerors with this drink. It is celebrated in song,—“O nectar sabroso.” Yet a word of warning—to enjoy chicha a second time and other times, make no inquiry and take no thought of how it is prepared. Always imbibe it from a gourd.
The aboriginal thirst of the Indians and also of the mestizos, or half-breeds, is for raw alcohol. This thirst is satisfied by the aguardiente, or cane rum. It demoralizes the native population, and is a curse with which the governments are unable to cope. When the rum cannot be obtained, some other form of alcoholic spirits is provided.
The Continental custom as to meals obtains both in the tropical parts of the West Coast and in the colder climates, as in Bolivia and Chile. There is simply breakfast, or the mid-day meal, and dinner. In the morning coffee and rolls—or with most of the Spanish-Americans, coffee and cigarettes—are the sole refreshment which is expected to carry one through till noon. Americans, however, usually procure fruit and eggs. Coffee-making and coffee-drinking are arts unknown to the Yankee. Travel in South America is a liberal and much-needed education in this respect.
The almuerzo, or mid-day breakfast, is fully as substantial a meal as the six or seven o’clock dinner. Both begin with soup and fish, the best of the latter being the corbina. At the breakfast eggs invariably are served, and usually rice. The latter is prepared as a vegetable with rare art, retaining the form and whiteness of the grain. Meat courses, beginning with the fowl, follow in procession, and a salad always may be had.
The Spaniard and his descendants in South America approach roast pig as reverently as Charles Lamb did. For them it is a poem. A very good dish transplanted from Spain is called the puchero, and is something like a New England boiled dinner, having a variety of vegetables cooked with the meats which are its foundation.
In the interior, where reliance has to be had on the Indian population, the standard dish is the chupé, though it bears different names. This is a rich soup, highly seasoned by dried red peppers, with plenty of vegetables, and with a meat stock as the basis. Sometimes the meat is the vicuña or llama, sometimes goat, sometimes mutton, and once in a while beef. It is wholesome and satisfying. The only caution to be observed is not to see its preparation by the Indian women.
Two luxuries among the fruits of the tropics make oranges, bananas, and pineapples seem commonplace. These are the alligator pear and the cheremoya. The Northern appetite cloys at the preserved sweets which the tropical palate demands, but it never loses the enjoyment of these fruits. The alligator pear (Guanabanus Persea) in the West Indies and in Mexico goes by the name of aguacate or avocat. In South America it is called the palta. It is eaten as a salad, and French genius never concocted a delicacy equal to this natural appetizer.
The aguacate looks like a small squash rather than a pear. It has a kernel, or hard stone, as big as the fist. The flanks are laid open, the stone removed, and the fruit is ready to serve in its own dressing. Some prefer it with just a pinch of salt. Others add a touch of pepper. Many like a little vinegar with the salt and pepper, and a few even prefer a regular French dressing with oil, though that is apt to spoil the natural flavor. Epicures like it with sugar and lemon juice. The aguacate is one of the undisguised palatal blessings of the tropics and the semi-tropics. It should be sought after and insisted on at every occasion. The imported fruit loses the poetic savor. The most careful packing and tenderest care cannot preserve its delicate taste. I tried it once in bringing some from Honolulu to San Francisco. They looked well, but something was lacking in the taste. A similar experience between Jamaica and New York was the reward for my efforts. I was convinced after these experiments that the aguacate is one of the real luxuries which it pays to go abroad in order to enjoy. Young persons who travel will be interested in knowing that it is said to germinate the tender sentiment.
The cheremoya is not unlike the pawpaw of the temperate climates. The fibre is harder and not so juicy. But the fruit is very rich, so rich that the palate does not crave much. A mouthful lingers like the dream of the poet. The cheremoya is called the anona in Cuba. Several varieties of it differ from one another only in the delicacy and richness of the flavor. Cracked ice is the complement of the fruit. They should be introduced to each other an hour before serving.
A delusion which the adventuring North American should get rid of is that no decent hotels are found on the West Coast and in the interior. Everywhere are passable ones and in some of the cities exceptionally good ones. In the ordinary coast towns they are not much more than stopping-places, yet almost invariably an excellent breakfast or dinner can be obtained. As to the lodging conveniences the old Spanish tradition still obtains that a place to sleep in is all that is called for, and clean linen and similar comforts should not be demanded by the traveller who is moving on. But even in this respect improvements are being made.
Most of the hotel-keepers are of foreign nationality,—French, Germans, Italians, and Spaniards. It is rare to find anything of a higher grade than an inn kept by a native. The best hotels are those under the control of the Frenchmen, and when a choice is to be made they should be given the preference, for there is not only good eating but cleanliness and some consideration for the conveniences of life. A Frenchman keeps the hotel at La Paz in Bolivia, and it is a good one. Another passably fair house of entertainment in the same place is kept by a Russian. At the mining-town of Oruro a North American of German descent provides excellent accommodations. In the remote town of Tupiza in the fastnesses of the Andes, where of all places one would hardly look for a foreigner, I found a Slav hotel-keeper and a decent kind of a resting-place. The proprietor was from one of the Danubian provinces. In Lima a very well appointed hotel is managed by an Italian. In Santiago the best one is under the control of a Frenchman.
In the interior palatial inns are not to be expected, though a young French mining engineer who came out telegraphed along the Andes trail which he was to follow to have room with bath reserved for him. The telegram is still shown. Such inns as exist are called tambos. Even in the poorest of these, while the lodging is wretched, a good meal usually can be had.
The practice obtains nearly everywhere of charging separately for the lodging, but in some of the larger cities the hotels now are conducted on the American plan. The visitor is apt to be puzzled by the annexes. Naturally he assumes that the annexes to a hotel are part of it, but usually they are separate and under a distinct management. In Valparaiso there are a Hotel Colon and a Hotel Colon Annex, a block or two apart and altogether different. In Santiago are the Hotel Oddo and the Annex to the Oddo, and so on. This causes confusion, and the traveller should make inquiry in advance so as to know where he is going. While the sanitary conveniences in most of the hotels are poor, improvements are being made, and there is something of an approach to the demands of civilization.
A simple rule as to baggage holds good. Take as little as practicable and pack it as conveniently as possible. That means a good deal of loose luggage; but since trunks are charged by weight and very few of the railroads make any allowance for free baggage, it is desirable to have one’s belongings arranged so that they can be piled up around him. One soon becomes accustomed to this and to providing himself with an armful of rugs and blankets.
Railroad fares are about one-third less than in the United States. The accommodations are not luxurious, but they are fair. Night trips are unknown. Chile is the only country on the West Coast which provides a through night train with a sleeper. This is on the line between Santiago and Talca.
An addition to the regular expense of travel is that for embarkation and disembarkation. It is not covered in the steamship ticket, and since, with few exceptions, in the different ports the vessels do not go to wharves of their own or put their passengers ashore in lighters, each makes his choice of the small boats and pays the bill. These charges are not high, yet in the course of a long voyage they mount up, and it always is desirable to make the bargain with the boatman in advance.
For travel in the Andine regions it is necessary to provide one’s own outfit. For those who have to go about much it is not practicable to have their own pack and riding animals, though occasionally a mining engineer will keep a pair of horses or mules and transport them from place to place. Usually the mules and burros, or donkeys, have to be hired. In every case it is advantageous to own the montura, or saddle, and other accoutrements, with especial regard to the capacity of the saddle-bags. Though in the United States the McClellan is the favorite for hard travelling, Americans engaged in mining or in exploration work in the Andes prefer the Mexican saddle. A mining company in southern Peru after various trials discarded everything except Mexican saddles, and had these made especially in San Francisco. In my own experience I found them the most comfortable.
The petacas, or leather trunks, are used by all the South Americans. These are small, and a pair of them balance nicely on either side of the pack animal. Yet during a long mountain journey I managed to transport an ordinary trunk. The Andean mule is bred in northern Argentina. It is not the society pet that is its cousin of the United States Army, and it will carry a burden of two hundred pounds in the upper altitudes.
A supply of canned goods and similar provisions is essential, for it is not possible to rely solely on such wayfaring entertainment as may be had at the Indian huts, even when the trip is short enough to keep within the limits of human habitation. Charqui, or jerked beef, is the mainstay of the stomach for a long journey, but dried mutton sometimes may be had, and is less likely to become unpalatable. Chuni, the dried and frozen potato which nourishes the Bolivian Indians, has nutritive virtues, but palatability is not one of them.
The chief problem in mountain travelling is fodder for the animal rather than food for the man. In the valleys and part way up the punas, or table-lands, fresh alfalfa may be had. But in the higher sierras this is lacking, and it is necessary to carry a stock of barley. In some places where barley can be raised it runs to straw and does not mature into the grain, so that the local supply is not to be depended on.
A hammock is useful in the forest regions. A tent and other camping outfit are sometimes desirable, yet where it is possible to keep within the range of population it is better to risk shelter in the Indian huts, the traveller carrying his own blankets or sleeping-bag. A Western frontiersman or miner has little difficulty in outfitting for the Andean regions.
The quarantine is one of the serious annoyances of travel on the West Coast, though the interruption which it causes often is exaggerated. At times one may have to postpone a landing or a departure because of the restriction, and in that case there is nothing to be done but go on to the next open port and wait in patience. The regulations of the different governments are similar, though they are not always enforced with discretion and common-sense. Yet they are no more severe than the regulations of New Orleans or other Southern ports of the United States. Their purpose of self-protection is justifiable. The objection is that the application of the measures taken is unreasonable. The steamship companies insist on the exaction of charging the passengers an extra sum for the time in which the vessel is held in quarantine.
So many sorts of money are in circulation that it is impossible for the traveller not to lose through exchange. The United States dollar is known well enough, but it has not yet made its way down the coast sufficiently to insure being taken for its full worth. Letters of credit and bank drafts would better be in English money, for the banks and exchange houses insist on counting the $5 gold piece as equal only to the pound sterling, or $4.85. It will take some years for the full result of the Panama money system to be felt on the West Coast, though ultimately that will help to extend the use of United States currency.
A calculation is made every quarter by the United States Mint of the value of the coins representing the monetary units of the various Latin-American countries. This serves as an index of values, though in actual transactions it cannot always be insisted upon. The universal coin on the West Coast is the Peruvian sol, equal to 48½ cents gold. It is the size of the American silver dollar. Since Peru has the gold standard and coins a Peruvian pound called the inca, exactly the weight and fineness of the English pound sterling, there is no fluctuation. Ten soles make a pound. For local purposes along the coast the Peruvian sol is therefore the best medium of exchange.
I have left for separate consideration the subject of the diseases incident to West Coast travel and residence. Their mention frightens. Why, I do not know.
Pneumonia and typhoid in the temperate climates cause greater ravages than tropical diseases in their field, nor is malaria in its manifold manifestations limited to a given area. Fever and ague in the United States, calentura in the West Indies, terciana in the forest regions of the Andes,—it all is essentially the breakbone fever. Quinine and calomel remain the tonic preventives. Tropical dysentery is to be guarded against by common-sense in diet. The social vices bring their inexorable penalty more swiftly than in the North, but their remedy is the moral prophylactic. Yellow fever, since the demonstration of the mosquito as the active agent in its propagation, is losing its terrors, but its avoidance comes under the sphere of epidemic quarantines rather than of individual measures. The exceptional conditions which will prevail on the Isthmus during the Canal construction and the exceptional means adopted to combat disease are not to be taken as representative of the West Coast. Yet the benefit of this experience will be great. But whether along the coast, on the plateaus of the Andes, or in the tropical valleys, one general rule is more valuable than a medicine chest. It is that of a healthy, fearless mind which does not magnify ordinary ailments and which keeps its poise in the shadow of more serious illness.