Santiago, 1913
From Modern Chile by W. H. Koebel, 1913.
From: 1913 C.E. To: 1913 C.E.
Location: Santiago, Chile
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From Modern Chile by W. H. Koebel, 1913.
Santiago is the centre of Chile, and the Cerro Santa Luzia is the central point of Santiago. Moreover, the Cerro stands out as perhaps the most notable landmark on the capital. It is certain that there are very few towns which can boast a phenomenon such as this—a mountainous mass of rock which rises up from the very centre of the city in curious contrast to the plain on which the streets of the capital repose.
I have called this Cerro a mass of rock, which is accurate enough so far as its general bulk is concerned. But this bald material is not permitted to appear with too great a freedom on the surface. Such glimpses of it as are obtained serve merely as a most efficient background for the trees, flowers, masonry, and terraces with which the sides of the Cerro are so generously adorned.
There is no doubt that Santiago, notwithstanding all its other advantages, would not be quite what it is without this Cerro. In the daytime its greens and greys, shot with the more brilliant hues, serve admirably as the immediate horizon upon which so many of the central streets give. At night, viewed from the same points, the cluster of lights, to all appearances hanging up aloft in thin air, produces an effect that would be charming if for no other reason than its utter unexpectedness.
The approach to the Cerro from below—and, saving an aeroplane, there is no other way—is guarded by massive entrances, and broad stone stairways and terraces shaded by the first tiers of the trees which go mounting up to the summit. The place, of course, decks itself out in various colours according to the time of year and the corresponding fashion of nature. When I visited it the vegetation which abounded on the rocky slopes was densely starred and festooned by the giant deep-purple convolvulus blossoms which shone like dark fire from the trees and rocks it had overwhelmed.
The ascent of the Cerro is easy, thanks to the artifice of man. Even the least experienced mountaineer may safely trust himself to the broad and winding pathways which lead aloft in gradients so gentle as to be almost imperceptible. It matters very little which of the many ways you take—there is a varied choice—each winds through a similar scene of trees and flowering shrubs, statues, balconies and many broad terraces, while the panorama beneath extends itself more, and more widely all the while.
The labour expended on the taming and harnessing of the Cerro must have been enormous. Where the natural rock has refused to adapt itself to the purposes of terraces and paths, great walls and embankments of stone and brick have been heaved bodily up its side, erections now softened and beautified by the verdure which covers them. Having once attained to a certain height you will naturally not be satisfied until you have reached the summit itself. Even in these latter stages there is nothing which can be compared—say with the clambering of theMatterhorn! Indeed, however hard one may try, it is useless to attempt to make an adventure out of the ascent of the Cerro. The way continues with a perfectly irritating security by pathways cut in the rock and viaducts which lead over small precipices until the narrow top itself is reached.
Here is a small pavilion—and this, indeed, did appear to me rickety—which balances itself in some precarious fashion upon the topmost pinnacle of rock. From this point the view is completely delightful. On the plateau directly beneath spreads the town, ’yielding up with an ungrudging alacrity its entire panorama of roofs, spires, avenues, and squares. But this, extensive though it is, fills nothing more than the immediate foreground. Some two or three miles away, visible for the first time from this point of vantage, rises a conical mountain. But for the company of its smaller brother, the Cerro, whom this other eminence quite overshadows in bulk and importance, it is a rather solitary peak, which has come to press forward its top crowned by a colossal statue of the Virgin.
At the back of all—and, of course, dwarfing all else—rises the great range of the Andes. Now the colouring of these stupendous masses is at all times admittedly vivid; but never was there a better place than this from which to watch their varying hues, as these deepen and soften beneath the topmost sheets of white snow.
It is surely superfluous to explain that the period of sunset is the most gorgeous of all. But I had forgotten for the moment that the function of this luminary’s rising must necessarily equal the other in splendour; on the other hand, in order to be perfectly candid, it is necessary to admit that I have never witnessed the rising of the sun from the Cerro Hill. So let the sunset suffice. As a matter of fact, it more than suffices so far as the finding of adequate words for its description is concerned. Then, the darkening city on its plateau is girt about with a mountainous band which glows with a strange purple brilliancy, while the snowfields high above seem to hang in the sky in the shape of mystic and gleaming worlds quite detached from the earth of every day. All this just for a while—until the broad curtain of shadow has risen like the tide of a dark sea, and has sent these white worlds, the last of .all to go, into dim and intangible shapes.
How much of all this do those folks see who are accustomed to climb to the summit of the Cerro at this hour? Probably very little, since the feast is always .before their eyes, and in human affairs the penalty of abundance is an atrophied enjoyment.
Besides, the majority have other affairs to which to attend. The Cerro affords opportunities for the contemplation of something nearer than distant mountains, and cold ones at that, even though garbed in their sunset clothes. Among its other duties the Cerro serves as the haunt of the cupid of the bourgeoisie. There are ages and times when ten thousand sunsets are not worth an inch of human pressure. And such phenomena occur not infrequently on the Cerro, which seems the accepted rendezvous of all those youthful folk who are given to the pleasant pastime of “walking out."
But these youthful couples do not have it all their own way. The place is popular as a general family picnic spot, and quite a number of worthy people carry their lunch as well as themselves up to the higher terraces, and remain in lofty comfort some thousand feet above the level of every day, whither the turmoil of the city’s traffic only reaches when subdued to a faint murmur.
Perhaps we have already remained too long upon this Cerro. If so, facile descensus est—to some places scarcely less pleasant down below. There is, for instance, the Parque Cousiño, a very extensive wooded spot abundantly endowed with fine avenues of eucalyptus, plane, oak, and numerous varieties of Chilian trees. This is the most fashionable place in which to drive of an afternoon, and here during the season may be witnessed a very gallant display of Santiago’s upper ten thousand. In the centre of the park is a large circular, open space, which serves for football, general sporting purposes, and from time to time for important military reviews.
Adjoining the entrance to this park, by the way, are the pretty grounds of the Santiago Lawn-tennis Club, which is in the fortunate possession of some very fine tiled courts, and a pavilion which leaves nothing whatever to be desired. The club is a flourishing one, possessing as it does no fewer than one hundred and seventy members.
To return to the out-door public institutions of Santiago, the Quinta Normal is decidedly one of the most important of these. In addition to harbouring a museum, the place is planted with a variety of specimen trees and shrubs, and its large area, therefore, furnishes instruction as well as the more material pleasures of the eye.
Another institution which, however, is quite unconcerned with the weightier forms of instruction, is the Santiago racecourse. Now the Santiago racecourse rivals that of Viña del Mar, the popular seaside resort. But the interests of the one clash very little with those of the other, since the Vina del Mar season is at its height when the majority of folk from the capital are visiting that place.
At Santiago, as at Viña del Mar, the course is of grass, and the Andes afford a similar delightful background. The stands, too, seem equally good in both instances, and, indeed, which is the more favoured of the two it would be difficult to say. So far as flower-beds are concerned, those of the capital would be difficult to beat. In any case the Santiago ground possesses one peculiarity in which the other is lacking. The steeplechase course is planned in the area enclosed by the oval of the flat-racing track. But its design is curious in the extreme; it is, in fact, in the shape of a figure eight, thus giving a rather unusual effect when racing is actually in progress.
The sporting element frequently enters into Santiago racecourse even when no races are being run on the track. On a blank Sunday of the kind a considerable crowd may be seen gathered together in the neighbourhood of one of the stands, listening intently to the news that is being telephoned through from the course at Viña del Mar.
Probably the next best thing to the actual watching of a race is the hearing of its description at first hand. And this is what occurs at Santiago. The narrative begins with the starting of the horses from the post, and the telephone continues to give every incident, and every phase of the contest as it occurs, until the history ends with the arrival of the horses at the winning-post.
When in Viña del Mar it has been my lot to sit beside the man who was describing the race for the benefit of the expectant crowd in Santiago. With field glasses glued to his eyes, the feat he performed was no common one. Never for one moment when the field was bunched in apparent close confusion did, he hesitate as to the identity of a horse. The place of each was given clearly and distinctly, and each change of place was recorded with an unfailing accuracy.
Indeed, for a post such as this, a clear-headed and clear-eyed person is essential. The responsibilities of the task are sufficiently onerous; for it may well be believed that not one of the listeners at Santiago would take the trouble to be on the spot were he not financially interested in the result of the race, and an error on the part of the describing agent would at the best lead to no little confusion. As it is, the Santiago enthusiast are all ears for the. occasion, and the excitement which prevails at the distant spot is scarcely less than that on the actual course itself.
In addition to these racing clubs, Santiago is provided with a paperchase club, the competitors being of course mounted. This institution is extremely well managed, and boasts a haven in the capital, as well as an imposing list of meetings.
The boy scout, by the way, has made his appearance in Chile. According to those who take an interest in him he has been there some while. Indeed, the Chilians claim that it was their country which was the first to follow England’s example in the matter, and that therefore Chile may claim to be the second country in the world to adopt the movement which has now become so popular.
As for the boy scout himself, his appearance resembles in every detail that of his English brother, from the slouch hat to the staff which is the accepted badge and instrument of his tribe. The companies, moreover, undoubtedly take themselves with a praise-worthy seriousness, and are as efficient as all other bodies of the kind in the Republic, which is saying a good deal.
It is, of course, in the neighbourhood of Santiago and Valparaiso that the scouts are most in evidence. In both places the field for their ingenuity is favourable and wide. For cover there are the gigantic blackberry clumps, the groves of flowering trees, and the tall, broad columns of the cactus, while are not the sandy spots which break in upon the vegetation here and there most admirably adapted for tracking? But all this is no business of mine; it is that of the boy scout. Undoubtedly, Chile is all the better for his presence.
Compared with the prices which prevail on the east of the Andes, the cost of living in Santiago, and, indeed, throughout Chile, is pleasantly cheap. To the traveller who has had experience of the domestic finances in Argentina, Uruguay, and Brazil, the sense of added wealth which pervades him immediately after the passage of the Cordilleras is gratifying in the extreme.
Just at present the cost of living in Chile does not exceed that which prevails in England, which means that it may be taken as the half of that in the Eastern Republics of South America. From the householder’s point of view that state of affairs obtains all round, affecting as it does wages, provisions, and luxuries. From the traveller’s standpoint the new order betrays itself in hotel bills and railway fares worked out on a far less ambitious scale than in the east. As a result his thankfulness inclines him to be lavish to a degree which is somewhat perilous to the mental balance of such folk as the waiter and railway porter.
Whether this fortunate financial condition will continue for long is more than doubtful. It may be taken as a practical certainty, in fact, that the price of general commodities will increase in sympathy with the growing prosperity of the country. The law seems unbreakable, in South America, at all events. I would recommend travellers, therefore, who intend visiting the country merely for pleasure not to delay their visit for too long, but to come while the mental horizon of the hotel keeper still remains comparatively unexpanded.
The first evidence of a new era, it may be mentioned, has already come into being. This is the beginning of a rise in the price of land. In the neighbourhood of Santiago and Valparaiso this phase has already become noticeable, and—in South America, at all events—a continuous rise in the price of land would seem invariably accompanied by dearer necessities added to a surprising influx of luxuries. It is to be imagined that something of this may be looked for in Chile in the near future.
To jump with a somewhat giddy rapidity from one topic to another, there are certain objects in Santiago and the Republic in general which may be classed as either luxuries or necessities according to the temperament of the observer. The leathern cups which hold the dice are as ubiquitous in Chile as elsewhere in South America. These are to be met with chiefly in restaurants and clubs, and their gaming purpose is by no means so sinister as the nature of the objects might suggest. The fateful riddle which they are wont to solve is confined to matters concerned with the payment of refreshments. As I have had occasion to explain in a previous book, the influence of these ivory things—also of those others of common but efficient bone—is held by many to be beneficent rather than evil. That is to say, the loser pays because he must, and the winner is freed from any obligation to return the courtesy. By this means the number of purely complimentary drinks is rigidly economised.
This may, or may not, be so. There is no space available here for an extended inquiry into the vexed question. Indeed, the chief reason why I have introduced these dice is to explain a certain game which seems fairly popular in Santiago and Valparaiso. This goes by the name of terramoto, or earthquake. In this it is necessary in the course of your throws to approach as nearly as possible to a given number of “pips.” The main feature, of course, is to know when to stop, since one cast too many, causing the limit to be exceeded, loses the game to the incautious.
This is where the metaphorical earthquake comes in: for your house is supposed to be shattered, and yourself crushed beneath it. Consequently you pay for the drinks, a position which in itself might be envied by the actual victims of these disasters. In any case this rather grim game is sufficient evidence that the Chilian is not easily depressed. Indeed, what stronger proof could be required of a powerful and profitable elasticity of temperament?
Koebel, William Henry. Modern Chile. G. Bell & Sons, 1913.
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