124 



CHICHA FACTORER. 



know whether we were English or French gringos." We pointed out 

 to him the words " Los Estados Unidos ;" when looking up with sur- 

 prise, he bowed, touched his hat, and bidding us good evening, they 

 quietly and quickly walked off. I mention this fact solely because it 

 was the only case throughout our route where a personal difficulty with 

 the authorities was encountered ; having to deal with such a number, 

 it was the only exception to politeness and accommodating manners — 

 possibly occasioned by some foreign importation. 



The town is on the decline ; it looks so dilapidated, and like the 

 dusty, unproductive country round about, that had it not been for the 

 church steeples and the chicha, we might have passed without having 

 seen it. A cura, travelling with his servant, left his intended road and 

 joined us for company. He had been on a visit to La Paz from Sucre, 

 the capital of Bolivia, with a remittance from the church. As we rode 

 along on the tf ble-lands, he would point out an unusually level piece of 

 ground, and say, "What a beautiful place for a battle between two 

 armies." The man who had carried the remittance to La Paz trotted 

 on foot after us, and travelled every day as fast and as far as the cura 

 with his fine bay mule. We read each other's passports. 



Stopping on the plain at a small hut, the only nabitation in sight, 

 except a large stone church, we inquired for. water ; there was none, 

 but a fat woman said she had chicha. The cura purchased a gallon for 

 the same price other people usually pay for a pint. The woman said 

 " she had chewed the maize for it herself ;" so we had the manufac- 

 turing apparatus before us, established without wheels or water. She 

 kissed the cura's hand, and asked for his blessing. With one hand on 

 her head and the other occupied with the chicha jug, he uttered a short 

 prayer, tossed off the beverage and mounted his mule. 



Our course is now east ; we leave the table lands and enter a small 

 narrow pass in the Andes. As the sun goes down over the Cordilleras, 

 the hawks go to roost among the rocks. All is still as we ride up to a 

 lonely hut — the post-house of Condorchinoca ; while the Indian attends 

 to our mules, his wife cooks supper, and bis little child plays with the 

 post dog. The night is clear, calm, and cold. 



Ascending the western side of the Andes we come to a spring at the 

 temperature of 68° ; the water flows westward. We are now about to 

 leave the Titicaca basin, which contains an area of thirty-nine thousand 

 six hundred square miles. It is a curious basin ; all round its edge 

 snow is found, from which numerous streams of water flow and wash 

 away the soil, so as to show that the earth is partly made up of silver 



If, during the rainy season, an unusual quantity of water is poured 



