84 



BREAD CROPS. 



Ayacucho and Huancavelica, distant 189 leagues; the other by the 

 English steamer from Callao to Yslay, thence through Arequipa. This 

 is the most expeditious route ; the distance from Cuzco to Arequipa is 

 95 leagues. 



October 28, 1851. — Our baggage well covered with tarpaulins. 

 Jose's saddle wallets received two roasted chickens, a leg of mutton, and 

 a large cheese fresh from the dairy, a present from the kind lady of the 

 house. This is the custom of the country. Jose tells me, as we follow 

 our train out of Cuzco, when guests are treated in this way, they may be 

 sure they are considered friends of the family. The hospitality of this 

 country is conspicuous and delicate. 



The arrieros contract to go from post-house to post-house, on the 

 road south. I was recommended to go by the post, instead of engaging 

 mules for so long a distance. Although the change of mules is desirable, 

 the daily change of arrieros is not ; the men work best after they become 

 accustomed to us. 



The Indians are ploughing in barley and hoeing corn. The crops 

 suffer for want of rain in the valley. The road is very dusty. We 

 halted for the night in the small town of Oropesa, and for the first time 

 took up quarters in a Peruvian post-house. The moment Paititi entered 

 the patio, he began to war with the dogs. The house consisted of one 

 story and one room. Travellers take a house ; we had a table and three 

 chairs, made of the wood of the montana ; in the corners were earthen 

 couches for beds. The walls were dirty, painted with pictures of angels 

 and saints. The ground floor was swept for us. As we took our tea, 

 Paititi sat in the doorway looking on. I felt a flea. The entrance 

 to the corral where the post-mules were kept, was opposite the kitchen, 

 where two large black hogs were feeding. In the doorway was seated 

 the fat, homely wife of the postman. The smoke of the kitchen fire 

 gracefully flowed out over her shaggy head ; she was a very cross- 

 looking woman. One of her hogs came near, and Paititi gave him a 

 snap in the ham ; she mumbled out something revengeful, while the 

 jolly postman laughed and praised our spirited watch-dog. 



In the morning at 7, thermometer 58°, the postman, came to say 

 good morning, ani inquire how we passed the night, as though he did 

 not know how full of fleas his house was. After breakfast he left his 

 sour-looking wife, and accompanied us to the next post. The custom is 

 to pay fare in advance. Paititi gave the fat woman's sow a farewell 

 nip, and we marched on. 



As we rise the side of the small mountain of rocks and red clay, we 

 look down upon a lake of clear water, in which a flock of wild ducks 



