Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
their way down to the towns, where they exchange these articles for corn, sugar, coca leaves
and other necessaries that cannot be obtained in the regions where these people live. They
usually make one trip a year, and this during the dry season, because it is utterly impossible to
travel when the rivers are high.
Not only do these Indians use llamas; many put their loads on small, shaggy burros. It is
raretoseethenativesride,theyseemtoprefertotrotbehindtheanimalsanddrivethemalong.
The loads the llamas carry are not heavy, for should one of them be overloaded it is likely to
lie down and not get up until the extra weight is taken off it.
Llamas never eat during the daytime but only after the sun has gone down, and they are
able to subsist on fodder which would not even keep a burro or mule alive. Up in the Bolivian
highlandstherearepractically notreesandthereforefuelisscarceandaccordingly expensive.
The droppings of the llamas might well be called 'Bolivian coal', for they serve as fuel every-
where, even in La Paz, the capital, where I have frequently seen Indians unload their precious
burdens at private houses and hotels where this excellent fuel is used for cooking, etc.
We were slowly advancing towards the Argentina-Bolivia border, and the imposingly
broken and rough valley we were using as a road was walled-in by high mountains which
had wonderful tints. Some appeared reddish, some green and others violet. Travelling was
very bad and exceedingly hard on the animals, for the stony riverbeds were strewn with huge
bouldersandrocks.Aswepassedduringthedryseasonmostoftheriverswereabsolutelydry,
but a few had water and made things unpleasant at times, the current being very strong and
oftendangerous.Thehorsesstumbledandtrippedandwehadtocrossandre-crossthevalleys
from one side to the other. One evening I had arrived at a little village in a narrow, deep, side
valley.Allthehousestherearemadeof
adobe
(mud)andarecoveredwithpeculiarround-tiled
roofs. Behind every house there is a huge square corral made of high, thick mud walls. Not a
soul was to be seen. I rode through two narrow streets without seeing the slightest sign of life
until I came to a place where a mule was tied to a post, to all appearances fast asleep. After
a while a door opened and a curious darkish face looked at me. After no little trouble I found
the house of the
comisario
. The gentleman was asleep on the floor of his office. After I had
shaken him several times he opened his eyes and turned over on his back. It did not take me
long to realise that he was very drunk; however, I managed to revive him sufficiently to make
him understand what Iwanted. When hewasable tomove again heprovided me with the best
he had, which, by the way, was very little.
The office consisted of a room that had not been swept nor dusted since it was built, and
in it were a couple of rickety chairs, a bench and a worm-eaten table. On the latter I made my
bed, and the horses were put into the backyard where they were given a feed of straw, which
is considered a luxury for animals in these parts. Next day we continued up the main valley
which is known as the Quebrada de Humahuaca. This name is due to an old fable that is still
toldtothisdaybypeopleoftheregionandwhichanoldhalf-casteIndian,inahardlyaudible,
soft and singing voice, told me whilst sitting beside the fire in his poor little hut.
