In the heart of the continent a vast table of land as large as all our Middle States has been crowded up into the air by some titanic convulsion to a height of more than two miles, or fourteen thousand feet. The surface in many places is deeply encrusted with salt, suggesting the upheaval of a great mediterranean sea and a spilling of its waters over the succession of terraced slopes that finally break off abruptly and merge in the summer valleys of Brazil and Paraguay; for from these heights innumerable streams shimmer off toward the distant Amazon.

The plateau is hemmed in by the Cordillera de la Costa (the coast range) and the Cordillera Real, the main range, on the east, and is intersected in various directions by cross-sections, the whole producing a topography of a grandeur that makes all attempts at description pitifully inadequate. The majestic snow-clad peaks of Guallatiri and Miniquis in the coast range, and IllampÚ (Sorata), Illimani, Chachacomani, and Karkaake in the Cordillera Real rise to a height of over 22,000 feet. A dozen more in both ranges exceed 20,000. On the northwestern border along the Peruvian frontier, lies Lake Titicaca, unique also in that it is the highest navigated body of water on the globe. It is 160 miles long by thirty wide and is fed by the melting Andean snows.

This plateau is the center of Bolivia’s life to-day, as it was the cradle of successive aboriginal civilizations that finally culminated many centuries ago in the Inca empire. It is the highest inhabited land on the face of the earth, with the possible exception of Tibet. The evidence at every hand of nature’s tremendous activities must have left its impress on the races that formerly had their being here. The gigantic relics which are now the enduring monuments of these peoples are proof of the bigness of their point of view. They saw largely and the range of their vision embraced great distances, great altitudes, and great depths. There is evidence also that the newly awakened present race will prove worthy of its surroundings.

The people now inhabiting this great Andean Massif have in their veins the blood of both the intrepid Conquistadores and the hardy Aymara and Inca stock, and it is in the nature of things that the present-day Bolivian, now that his republicanism is established after a century of turbulent assimilation, will make great strides in industrial progress in justification of the spirit that is his birthright. In this altitude, so high that at first most foreigners suffer from its effects, the Bolivians have built their capital and chief cities. Here the first blow was struck against the oppression of Spain, and in the mountain defiles of the Peruvian Andes leading down to the Pacific coast the last shot was fired that drove the viceregal army to its transports. With the departure of the Spanish came the establishment, in 1825, of the Republic of Bolivia, the name given to the old Buenos Airean province of Alto-Peru by its first president, BolÍvar’s famous lieutenant, General SucrÉ, in honor of his chief.

Bolivia is fourth in size among the South American republics. It covers 708,195 square miles, and could include within its limits the combined areas of California, Nevada, Utah, Idaho, Arizona, Oregon, and Washington. The republic lies wholly within the torrid zone, but the gradation of its topography extends from the yungas (“hot valleys”) at the border of the Amazon basin to the punas, or high table-lands, ranging from four to fourteen thousand feet, so that animal and vegetable life of every clime is represented—from the brilliantly colored flamingo and butterfly of the Amazon plains to the dread condor of the Andes; from the rubber tree, through all stages of arborial and plant life, to the little yellow bitter potato, grown near the point at which vegetation vanishes in the Arctic cold of the higher peaks.

Of course, the shortest and most direct route to Bolivia’s capital and chief cities is by rail from either of the Pacific ports of Mollendo, in Peru, or Arica or Antofagasta, in Chile. The quick change of view from the arid coast to the grandeur of Andean mountain scenery, and the familiar comforts of railway travel incline most visitors to the approach from one of those points. But, as the greater part of Bolivia’s territory is that which falls away from the plateau, like a lady’s train, northward and eastward to the frontiers of Brazil and Paraguay, a more comprehensive and impressive acquaintance with the country can be had by entering either from the north, via the Amazon and Maderia rivers to Villa Bella on the Brazilian frontier, and thence over a thousand miles on horseback to La Paz, or from the east, starting from our last resting place at AsunciÓn in Paraguay. From AsunciÓn one travels up the Paraguay River to CorumbÁ in Brazil, thence, by a small affluent to Puerto SuÁrez, eighty-one miles distant on the frontier, thence by a zigzag course of eight hundred miles up the rising elevation to Santa Cruz, a thriving city of 20,000 population, and thence to Cochabamba, still larger and 8000 feet in altitude. From here there is a stage line over one hundred and ten miles of mountainous country to Oruro, where connection is made with the Antofagasta-La Paz railway to the capital.

Or one may go by railroad from Buenos Aires via Rosario, Cordoba and TucumÁn to La Quiaca on the frontier and then north for only two hundred miles by stage-coach to Uyuni, through which the Antofagasta-La Paz line passes on its way to the capital. But, in any event, the approach from the east or north richly repays the visitor for the time consumed and discomfort he may have to undergo on the way. The noted naturalist, D’Aubigny, says of the yungas region, through which one must first make his way on leaving the Paraguay: “If tradition has lost the records of the place where Paradise is situated, the traveler who visits these regions of Bolivia feels at once the impulse to exclaim, ‘Here is the lost Eden.’”

Leaving the dense and weirdly impressive tropical forests of the hinterland, the rolling areas of the yungas ascend toward the plateau—a succession of vast gardens delicately scented and brilliant with color. As the country is coming more under cultivation each year the traveler’s eye rests frequently upon plantations of coffee, cacao, and coca, the plant from which we get cocaine. The coca leaf is highly prized by the native as a stimulant; he chews it as a Northerner would chew tobacco but with a better excuse, since by its use he can perform great feats of endurance and go many hours without food. With his pouch filled with coca leaves and a small supply of parched Indian corn, he can run fifty miles a day, for these fleet-footed Indians constitute the telegraph system of this region. The output of the cocales, or coca plantations, was nearly nine million pounds last year.

This is also the home of the highly nutritious if impossibly named jamacch’ppeke plant, which, when dried and powdered and mixed with water, produces a delicately flavored milk much used in hospitals and even for babies. Higher up in the valle zone wheat and corn fields may be seen as well as the famous chincona tree, so named because, in 1638, the Condesa de Chinchon (wife of the Peruvian Viceroy) wrote of her wonderful cure from malaria by an Indian draught prepared from the bark of this tree. It has been known since as chincona or Peruvian bark, but it was not until 1820 that the French chemist, Pelletier, extracted from the tree the calisaya or quinine with which we are now familiar, and which, by the way, is said to be one of the two or three natural specifics ever yet discovered for disease.

On these slopes also grows the new substitute for wheat, quinua, a grain more nutritious and more cheaply produced than its northern prototype, also the delicious camote, a delicately flavored type of sweet potato, the palta, known in Cuba and Mexico as the aguacate and in Florida as the alligator pear, which makes the rich salad, and all variations of the sweet, pulpy fruits like the pomegranate, granadilla, capote, etc. This is also one of the homes of the nutmeg, olive, and castor bean, and of sugar, cotton, oranges, cinnamon, vanilla, saffron, indigo, and ginger; also of a remarkable variety of medicinal plants: for instance, those from which are derived aconite, arnica, absinthe, belladonna, camphor, quassia, cocaine, digitalis, gentian, ginger, ipecaque, jalap, opium, sarsaparilla, tamarind, tolu and valerian. The Indians of this belt are the most artistic leather workers in the world, and their beautiful ponchos (a sort of circular cape the mountaineers wear, with a hole in the center for the head to go through), woven from native silk, are eagerly sought by all visitors.

Leaving this richly endowed agricultural region for the still richer location of Bolivia’s mineral wealth, the traveler ascends to the great plateau on which the capital and important cities are built. At PotosÍ one is in the heart of the great silver country. From one mountain here, the Cerro de PotosÍ itself, over three billion dollars’ worth of silver has been taken since its discovery in 1545. The luxury and almost unbelievable extravagance told of in the annals of this city have given it a world-wide fame. Its principal building, the mint, cost the then unprecedented sum of two million dollars, an expenditure that brought many qualms to the miserly ascetic, Philip II, who would have preferred to pour the flood of wealth into the coffers of the church. The author of “Don Quixote” refers to PotosÍ as the synonym for fabulous wealth, and there is hardly a writer of the early days of the colony who did not mention the silver mountain to illustrate the idea of lavish abundance. In those days silver was regarded as equally valuable with gold.

Bolivia’s marvelous wealth in tin is unexcelled even in the Malay Peninsula. Already one of the chief centers of the tin industry, this metal promises to bring to the twentieth-century Bolivia as much commercial fame as the gold mines brought Alto-Peru in the sixteenth century. Copper, iron, lead and bismuth, as well as topazes, emeralds, opals, jasper, and marble, are also present in large quantities throughout the plateau.

After descending from PotosÍ, which is at an altitude of 15,380 feet, one should visit the white city of SucrÉ before proceeding to the present seat of government, La Paz. In Bolivia the name of SucrÉ is as omnipresent as BolÍvar’s in Venezuela and Colombia, and most naturally when the new republic was formed the name of its chief city, Charcas, was changed to SucrÉ to honor the hero of Ayacucho—Antonio JosÉ de SucrÉ—when this “right hand” of BolÍvar became its first president. The city is ancient, kindly, and romantically beautiful in its setting on the eastern slope of the royal range, and once, under a law enacted some eighty years ago, it was the capital.

Its extreme altitude, however, made impossible the cosmopolitanism that must pertain to a capital city—the foreign diplomats in most cases refused to reside there because of the severity of the siroche, or mountain sickness, that nearly always assails the newcomer to these altitudes. So the seat of government was removed to La Paz, and now it is the tribunal of the Supreme Court and Archiepiscopal see only. Here also are located the University of San Francisco Xavier and the homes of many of Bolivia’s most aristocratic families. Thus far, modernism has had a beneficial influence on the city in many respects, but has not changed its appearance. Its public works have made it healthful and comfortable, but its stately old dwellings and public buildings preserve their peculiar charm unaltered to suit the modern architectural taste.

Farther north, and not yet connected by rail with SucrÉ, lies the present capital, La Paz, the actual seat of government. There for many years have resided the president, the congress, and the representatives of the foreign governments, so that the PaceÑo is justified in looking upon his city as the metropolis. Like its predecessor in this distinction, it was rechristened when the Spanish rÉgime came to an end. When the Conquistadores exterminated the Indians resident on its site and built the present city, for some occult reason they named it La Ciudad de Nuestra SeÑora de la Paz! Our Lady of Peace clung to the name, no doubt, with grim humor during the turbulent times that followed, until the decisive battle of Ayacucho brought to the nation a more effective peace from Spanish oppression, and to-day La Paz de Ayacucho is the official name of the seat of government.

La Paz, Quito, BogotÁ, Caracas, and Mexico are the five highest capitals in the world, but the first-named is loftier by half a mile than any of its rivals. The visitor is always surprised at the location of La Paz. Having been told of its great elevation—12,300 feet above the sea level, he naturally expects to see a city perched on a high mountain; in fact, it is at the bottom of a deep canyon, backed, however, by the giant peak Illimani, which towers above, to a height of 22,500 feet. Its startling location results in daily variations in temperature that greatly incommode the stranger; frequently the thermometer drops from 80° F. at noon to below zero at night, although generally these extremes vary but little during the year.

Winding cautiously down the canyon to a depth of some 1500 feet, the train comes to a terrace overlooking the city and then unfolds before the traveler one of the most remarkable and picturesque scenes in South America. The reds of the roofs of the flat, two-story houses and the softer tints of the walls that make Caracas so alluring are here given a more brilliant and positive tone. The Oriental atmosphere is tempered by the rugged surroundings and the crisper, clearer air of the higher altitude. Everywhere the bright, elemental colors—red, green, and yellow—worn by the Indians, add to the brilliant scenes of outdoor life. The streets of the city are a series of steep ascents, admirable for drainage, no doubt, but affording little pleasure to the visitor who is fond of walking, for to the newcomer the rarified atmosphere makes exercise a trial. Surpassing Rome in one respect, La Paz seems to be built upon at least fifty hills, but many level areas are laid off in beautiful parks, a dozen or more in number, and here the PaceÑo brings his guests for the delightful social intercourse—perfected here for long centuries for want of many of the other amusements—that makes his city memorable to the visitor.

One of the most attractive parks, the Plaza Murillo, is named to commemorate the inspiring genius of the revolution against Spain: Pedro Domingo Murillo. The Alameda is a broad driveway of five parallel avenues that run for over half a mile through rows of fine shade trees. At night it is lighted with electricity and makes a delightful pleasure ground for the people. An extension of this boulevard, the Avenida Doce de Deciembre, leads to Obrajes, about three miles distant.

The most notable building in the city is the great cathedral. For more than seventy years it has been in course of construction and when completed will be the largest and most impressive church erected in Latin America since the war of independence. In style it is Greco-Roman, with a central cupola 150 feet high and two towers that rise to a height of 200 feet. The interior work is of exceptional magnificence. Like many of the old cathedrals of Spanish origin, its altar is of wonderfully carved wood. Besides the cathedral, La Paz can boast more than a dozen places of worship that compare favorably with the churches of other South American capitals.

Only a short distance from La Paz by railroad are the prehistoric ruins of Tiahuanaco, which Squier tells us

“Have been regarded by all students of American antiquities as in many respects the most interesting, important and at the same time the most enigmatical, of any on the continent. They have excited the wonder and admiration alike of the earliest and latest travelers, most of whom, vanquished in their attempts to penetrate the mystery of their origin, have been content to assign them an antiquity beyond that of the other monuments of America and to regard them as the solitary remains of a civilization that disappeared before that of the Incas began, and contemporaneous with that of Egypt and the East.... Tradition, which mumbles more or less intelligibly of the origin of many other American monuments, is dumb concerning these.”

They are on a broad, arid plain, overlooking Lake Titicaca, about twelve miles from the shore, and occupy about a square mile. In his description of them Mozans says: “In addition to a number of shapeless mounds, of earth, there are remarkable traces of five different stone structures, which writers, for the purpose of classification” (and because of their resemblance to plans of such buildings elsewhere), “have agreed to call the fortress, the palace, the temple, the sanctuary, and the hall of justice.”

“The materials used in their construction,” he goes on,

“Are trachyte, basalt, and red sandstone. The fortress, to judge from its present condition, originally resembled a Mexican teocalli, or the pyramid of Sakkarah in Egypt, and must, when first erected, have presented a very imposing appearance. It is a great, terraced mound of earth, supported by stone walls, is 50 feet high, 620 feet long, and 450 in width. It is, however, in a very dilapidated condition, owing to the depredations of treasure-seekers and to its having been for centuries used as a quarry whence material was obtained for buildings in the neighboring towns, for the railroad and for structures in La Paz. The temple is in the form of a rectangle, 388 by 445 feet. It has been very appropriately called the American Stonehenge, to which, at least in some of its monoliths, it bears a striking resemblance.

“The other three edifices, especially at the hall of justice, are likewise remarkable for the area they occupy and for the cyclopean masses of stone that still remain to attest the extraordinary character of their construction. It is these wonderful megaliths, rivaling anything found in Italy, Greece, or Asia Minor, that have excited the astonishment of travelers since the time of the conquest. The platform, for instance, in the hall of justice, is paved with immense slabs, some of which are 25 feet long, 14 feet broad, and nearly 7 feet thick. But the most remarkable feature in these cyclopean structures is the great monolithic gateway, of very hard trachyte, ornamented with numerous well-executed sculptures, apparently of a symbolical character. This is more than 13 feet long, 7 feet above ground, and 18 inches thick. Some of the stones are in a rough, unhewn condition, but most of them are cut and fashioned in a most remarkable manner. Squier, in referring to this feature of these extraordinary ruins, writes: ‘Remove the superstructures of the best-built edifices of our cities, and few, if any, would expose foundations laid with equal care and none of them stones cut with such accuracy.’”

In a short time the new home of the president and national congress will be finished and occupied, and the stately old palace where the president now resides will be devoted to other uses. The city is well endowed with public service conveniences, electricity, telephones, and handsome public buildings, and its hotels are among the best to be found anywhere on the continent outside of Buenos Aires, Rio and Valparaiso.

Of the 80,000 inhabitants, but one thousand are foreigners. As soon as the railways now projected to radiate from this center are completed, the city will be thrown open to all the bustle of cosmopolitanism, and much of the charm given it by the old Spanish characteristics will be swept away. But the nation will profit vastly by the change. The development of its agricultural and mineral resources should multiply its population of 2,500,000 by ten, and make of the country a Mecca for the capitalist from the North as well as the tourist in search of nature’s wonders and beauties.