W. H. Koebel

Uruguayan roads—A comparison with those of Argentina—The benefits of stone—Some fine metalled highways—The road to San JosÉ—On the way to Pando—The journey as effected by motor-car—A smiling landscape—Distant sand-dunes—A spotless range—The mountains of Minas—The town of Pando—A typical minor urban centre—The ending of the macadamised road—The track beyond—An abrupt change in the order of going—The bumps of the Campo—Piriapolis—A budding pleasure resort—Completeness of the enterprise—Eucalyptus forests—A vehicular wreck by the way—Unsuccessful Samaritans—The work of SeÑor Piria—The Castillo—An imposing home—View from the spot—The Pan de Azucar—A landscape of mountain, valley, forest, and sea—Architecture of the Castillo—Piriapolis Bay—A centre of future bathing—Preparations already effected—The hotel and casino—A wonderful feat of private enterprise—Afforestation—Encouragement of the industry by the Uruguayan Government—The work of Mr. Henry Burnett—The transformation of arid soil into fertile land—Commercial success of the venture—The Maldonado sand-dunes—Fulgurites—A curiosity of the sands—Discoveries by Mr. C. E. R. Rowland.

A feature that is not a little remarked upon by those who have entered Uruguay from the stoneless Pampa of Argentina is the excellence of the roads that surround Montevideo, and of several, indeed, that penetrate for a considerable distance inland. The highway to the town of San JosÉ, for instance, that extends for ninety-six kilometres is macadamised throughout its length, and is, moreover, excellently constructed and sustained.

The benefits of convenient deposits of stone are strikingly emphasised here. Now that a start has been made, there is no reason why efficient roads of the kind should not pierce the countryside in all directions. For, notwithstanding the natural fertility of its soil, there is scarcely a corner throughout the whole length and breadth of the Republic that is not seamed to a smaller or larger extent with these layers of useful stone, the eruption of which frequently marks the surface itself of the land.

The road to San JosÉ, as a matter of fact, is by no means the only important one of its kind. There are various similar specimens, equally well constructed if of less imposing length. A very admirable road leads from the capital to the small town of Pando in the neighbouring province of Canelones. The journey by motor-car is an easy one, and renders an admirable insight into the nature of the country in this particular district.

Curiously enough, the least smooth portion of this highway is represented by a mile or so of its length on the outskirts of Montevideo itself. This point once passed, however, the undulations in the surface of the road die away, and the broad grey thoroughfare stretches with remarkable smoothness over hill and dale. The car can snort along at the utmost speed its power will permit, since the grey band opens out ahead with a refreshing openness that is totally devoid of secrecy, and only at the lengthiest intervals is its surface darkened by the form of a rider or of a lumbering country cart.

The progress is of the switchback order, with long-drawn-out rises and falls that are effected with alternate exuberance and strainings, while on either hand the fields, verdure, and masses of fruit blossom speed by in very pleasant sequence. For a spring shower has laid the dust, and when the Oriental landscape smiles, its countenance is supremely fascinating. As though to add just the tinge of sombreness that is requisite for the accentuation of the delightful scene, a dark forest of eucalyptus stands out here and there by the way, the massive serried trunks and branches painting the landscape with a heavy splash of gloom.

For the first few leagues the aspect of the country—although the great variety of its attributes preserves it entirely from the taint of mere monotony—remains much the same. After a while, however, the skyline to the right becomes lightened in a rather remarkable fashion. The foreground is a medley of green, brown, and purple—rendered respectively by the hills, trees, orchards, and a patch or two of ploughed soil. At the back of these rich colours a range of very lofty snow-white sand-dunes has risen up. The gleaming barrier marks the frontier-line of the land; upon its farther side, invisible, of course, from inland, are the breakers of the South Atlantic Ocean. Indeed, the effect of this spotless range, when viewed from the shoreward side, is doubly curious, since the verdant landscape that leads right up to them gives no other indication of the propinquity of the sea.

To the north-east elevations of quite another kind have been slowly rising upwards from the horizon as the car speeds along. As the town of Pando itself is more nearly approached, the distant mountains of Minas have swollen into view to assert themselves in a fashion that is not to be overlooked. Great rounded masses piled in dim purple against the horizon, their aspect presents a sharp contrast to that of the dunes close by. The latter are shadowless things, clear-cut and wanting in depth for all their purity; the inland mountains are deep and secretive, with an outline that confounds itself mysteriously with the sky.

The town of Pando itself is remarkable for little in the way of commercial or industrial development beyond forming the centre of a very flourishing agricultural district. The place possesses a quaint red-brick church, the walls of which are adorned with a curious number of balconies. With this exception the buildings are unpretentious; but almost every one is lent its own particular charm by the wealth of gardens and shade-trees with which the spot is endowed. Pando, indeed, is one of those very pleasant minor urban centres with which Uruguay is so plentifully besprinkled, with its delightful surroundings of orchards, vineyards, and cultivated land planted here and there with eucalyptus forests and with groves of other trees. In the near neighbourhood of the town runs a typical Uruguayan stream, its banks thickly lined with verdure, more especially with the weeping willows whose branches droop downwards in a thick green curtain over the water's edge.

THE CASTILLO: PIRIAPOLIS.

To face p. 198

It is at this placid rural centre that the macadamised road ends. There is no mistaking the terminus of the metalled highway. One turn of the wheels of the car has left the smooth, hard surface behind—and then begins quite another order of going. The progress of an automobile over a representative local road of the country partakes of many elements, amongst others of those of steeplechasing, toboganning, and of the switchback railways common to those centres less well provided with natural forms of excitement. The mounds and valleys of the way provide an unbroken succession of surprises to which the car responds by lurching and dipping wildly, although the dexterity of the driver keeps it staggering upon its four wheels. Nevertheless, a very little of this goes a long—or an incredibly short—way. So after a while the nose of the car is turned—a manoeuvre that demands as much caution as putting a small boat about in a gale—and the vehicle bumps its way back again through the smiling outskirts of Pando to come to rest, as it were, upon the hard, grey road again.

The sand-dunes of which a glimpse has been obtained at Piriapolis are characteristic of almost the entire length of the Uruguayan coast that gives upon the Atlantic Ocean. There are many spots along this open shore that are well worthy of a visit. Not the least of these is Piriapolis—a place that is in the act of making a very bold bid for popularity as a pleasure resort. Piriapolis is a spot of no little interest. Situated a little to the west of Maldonado on the southern coast that faces the open Atlantic, the place is a budding town, and is noteworthy as much for what it promises in the future as for its present aspects, interesting enough though they are. Piriapolis is remarkable in being a one-man place—by which no connection is implied with the one-horse epithet of tradition—in that it has emanated from the mind and pocket of a prominent Uruguayan, SeÑor Francisco Piria.

Piriapolis lies to the coastward side of the railway line that is being prolonged in the direction of Maldonado, and, as matters at present stand, it is necessary to board a construction train, and to proceed soberly along the unballasted track to the point where the coach, with its four horses abreast, waits in readiness to complete the journey. It must be admitted that the road that goes rising and falling over the hilly country is not good. The future will doubtless endow the district with a network of highways of quite another kind.

But Piriapolis is young. Hence the unfortunate wagon that is lit upon, shortly after the start, stuck hard and fast in the deep mud of a hollow. In the way of good Samaritans, horses are detached from the coach to assist in the struggle; but the tenacious mud clings in unyielding obstinacy to its wheeled prey. In the end the contest is abandoned for the time being; the lent horses return to their place in front of the coach, and the driver of the wagon departs gloomily to scour the neighbouring country in search of oxen.

As the coach proceeds, the way lies through a wild and mountainous country that bears not a little resemblance to portions of the South West of Ireland. But here in the place of the whitewashed Irish cabins are mud ranchos, almost every one of which reposes beneath the sheltering branches of its own particular unit or group of ombÚ-trees.

After a little more than an hour's drive the aspect of the country to the front changes abruptly, and presently the coach enters the cool shade of a great forest of eucalyptus and pine. It is difficult to conceive these stretches of giant trees as not having covered the soil for generations. Yet less than twenty years ago the face of this particular district was as bare as any of that of the surrounding country, since it is only eighteen years ago that SeÑor Piria planted the first sapling that went to form this present forest land.

Roads of a better order now prick their way the length of the woodland aisles, and after a while a lonely little store and post-office stand out from amidst the trees. A little beyond evidences of civilisation appear quite unexpectedly. A pair of fine wrought-iron gates are to the front. Once through these an avenue, adorned by statues at intervals of a few yards, leads to a square turreted building that is known as the castillo, or castle, of SeÑor Piria himself. The dwelling is a pleasant one, with its broad stone terraces that overlook pretty grounds, covered with semi-tropical trees, shrubs, and flowers, laid out after the Italian style.

The view obtained from the upper terrace here is decidedly beautiful. Beyond the gardens spread broad orchards and vineyards, and at the back of these again on one side is a belt of forest that covers the ground for seven miles and more until the edge of the sea itself is reached—a sparkling line of blue that is visible in the distance from here. On the opposite side rises a rugged hill of immense queer-shaped boulders, from the interstices of which grows a dense tangle of scrub.

By far the most conspicuous object, however, in the whole panorama is the aptly named Pan de Azucar, or Sugar Loaf Mountain, that rises to a height of some two thousand feet on the west of the castle. The hill is a bare mass of serrated rock, and represents one of the highest points in the Republic. It is the dominating feature in a landscape that affords a wonderful combination of mountain, valley, forest, and sea.

The architecture of the castillo itself is somewhat original. The ground floor is almost entirely occupied by the guests' bedrooms, apartments with great vaulted ceilings that open promiscuously the one into the other. The living apartments are on the first floor, and the walls of the central hall are hung with many old Italian paintings. Above this again is the square tower that stands as the summit of the house. I mention the architecture more particularly, since it is entirely unusual, the ordinary country houses of Uruguay being almost without exception constructed on a single floor.

The seven miles of eucalyptus forest that intervene between the castillo and the sea afford a delightful drive to the shore of Piriapolis Bay. This portion of the coast consists of a shelving sandy shore eminently suited for the purposes of bathing, and is backed by an imposing vista of forest and mountain. The hill immediately behind the bay, by the way, is locally known as the Sierra de los Ingleses, having been employed, it is said, for the purposes of smuggling in the old days by English sailors.

It is at this point that the future town and pleasure resort of Piriapolis is to be situated. Some considerable start in this direction has already been made, as will be evident when it is explained that a great hotel has already been constructed, and is now complete, and ready for the day when it shall be officially opened. The place is of quite a palatial order, and is provided with no less than 120 bedrooms, as well as with a magnificent dining-room and very spacious apartments and lounges. A broad terrace runs the entire length of the building on the seaward side, and the tide, when at its highest, reaches to within twenty yards of the hotel itself. A very useful addition to the place is a large vegetable and fruit garden that holds everything of the kind that is needed. The plants and trees flourish amazingly well here, although, curiously enough, their roots are planted in no more satisfying a soil than sand.

The enterprise, however, has not contented itself with the erection of the hotel. In the neighbourhood of this building is a small casino, destined to be employed for the purpose of games of chance, and almost the entire margin of the bay is dotted by little, square, four-roomed chÂlets. At some distance from the hotel a stone mole is in the course of construction, and it is here, of course, that the pleasure steamers will land their passengers when the place is once in the full swing of its active life.

At present the place stands empty—a prepared shell awaiting this influx. As a feat of private enterprise Piriapolis must take a high rank; for the difficulties of transport have added vastly to the labour of the undertaking. It is a beautiful spot, in any case, and the pleasure resort should meet with all the success it deserves.

The topic of Piriapolis brings us to the question of afforestation. On this portion of the coast the science is undoubtedly one of supreme importance, and one to which of late years a fitting amount of attention has been paid. The Government of Uruguay has very wisely done much towards the encouragement of tree-planting and the transformation of apparently arid areas to regions of genuine fertility.

As an instance of this liberal and progressive policy it may be mentioned that in 1909 Mr. Henry Burnett, the British Vice-Consul at Maldonado, was awarded a gold medal and a bonus of three thousand dollars for having been the first to plant a collection of over ten thousand maritime pines. The labour in the first instance of inducing these young trees to grow was arduous, and time after time the budding plantation was buried beneath the masses of driven sand. With the eventual survival, however, of the first screen the remainder of the task proved easy, and Mr. Burnett has now in his possession over one hundred thousand maritime pines.

Encouraged by this example, numerous other landholders of the district have succeeded in cultivating similar plantations, and the result has proved highly beneficial, not only in the transformation of the country but from the commercial point of view as well. For districts that until recently were absolutely worthless are now valued at anything from ten dollars to forty dollars the hectare.

A peculiar characteristic of these Maldonado sand-dunes is to be met with in the fulgurites that are found there—the vitrified sand-tubes caused by the action of lightning that are referred to by Darwin on the occasion of his visit to the spot. Similar phenomena obtain in a few other corners of the world, but those found here are by far the largest in size, some extending to no less than five feet in length. Owing, however, to their extremely fragile nature, it is impossible to extract these larger specimens in any fashion but in comparatively small fragments.

Mr. C. E. R. Rowland, the British Vice-Consul at Montevideo, has taken especial interest in these fulgurites of the Maldonado Sands. The British Museum contains some very fine specimens sent by him, and he has supplied the national museum at Montevideo with its first specimens of these curiosities. This same gentleman, by the way, quite recently discovered two distinct species of Uruguayan lizards that, sent for classification to the South Kensington Natural History Museum, were discovered to be of kinds that until then had been perfectly unknown. They remain in the museum to which they were sent, dignified by the name of their discoverer.