This book tells the story of one of the greatest horse rides of all time. Tschiffely’s 10,000 mile journey made him one of the most influential equestrian travel writers of his day. The trek took three years from 1925-1928. The author was 30—the Headmaster of a high school in Buenos Aires. Evidently, some of the local papers deemed his announced trip as impossible and “absurd.” The author got to know some of the local ranchers and decided on two Creole horses, which were descendants of horses brought to Argentina in 1535 by the founder of the city, Don Pedro Mendoza. So, the fitness and resilience of the horses was amply proven.
My interest in this trek was based on my own 15,000 mile trek after the Peace Corps when I embarked on a trip through eleven countries, starting from Guatemala all the way to Southern Chile and back, over a five-month period 45 years after Tschiffely’s trip; we passed through many of the same places. My trip was also by land, except my mode of transportation was bus, truck, and train plus an occasional taxi (although I needed a plane to get from Panama to Colombia while the author circumvented the Darien Gap with his two four-legged companions in a ferry.)
The author explained that he’d spent nine years in the English-American school in Argentina but he wanted variety: “I was young and fit; the idea of this journey had been in my ear for years, and finally I determined to make the attempt.” Almost as soon as he headed north from Buenos Aires, he passed some isolated communities like “Santiago del Estero,” where he realized that the dark thundercloud he saw coming his way was, in fact, an “invasion of locusts,” which formed a thick carpet, “every cactus plant and shrub was overhung with a grey mass…” and was a foreboding of additional surprises and adventures to come.
One situation I could appreciate was trying to get directions from the local population, “It is no use asking these people the way, for they have only one answer and will invariably reply, “sige derecho no mas” (just go straight ahead), although the trail may wind and twist though a regular labyrinth of deep canyons and valleys.”
Eventually, the author and his two steeds would make their way to the highest area of South America and the mining town of Potosi. This brought back memories of serious altitude sickness at 20,000 feet. The author often shared the local history and, in this case, the horrors of early Spanish Colonial days. Their mines where called “Socabon,” where the Spanish coat of arms was carved in the rocks over the entrance and an “estimated 20,000 Indians were driven into the darkness of this mine, and none who entered there ever saw daylight again.”
One delay that brought back memories was in the Andes mountains around Ayacucho where, “Landslides and swollen rivers made it impossible to follow the road and compelled me to make a large detour over the mountains to the west.” In my case, 45 years later, another landslide in the same area forced me to continue south through Peru to Chile and on my way back, I travelled through Cuzco on to Ayacucho, only to learn that the road had still not been cleared almost three months and six countries later, resulting in “Plan C” in order to reach Lima.
The author’s experience was even more harrowing, as he was forced to go over a bridge spanning a “wild river” which was, “like a long, thin rope, wire and fibre held the rickety structure together.” The floor was made of sticks laid crosswise and covered with some coarse fibre matting to give a foothold and to prevent slipping that would inevitably prove fatal.” This included walking across with his horses… “His weight shook the bridge so much that I had to catch hold of the wires on the sides to keep my balance….Once we started upwards after having crossed the middle, even the horse seemed to realize that we had passed the worst part, for now he began to hurry towards safety…”
As if this wasn’t dangerous enough, the author tells of a “mysterious disease” known as “verruga” which is usually fatal, and manifests itself in great swellings or boils.” The local “opinion varied as to its cause. Some said it was the water; others said it was in the air, while some blame insects.”
Fortunately, both the author and his steeds were not struck down by this local malady.
Another situation I could identify with was crossing from Ecuador into Colombia over a natural bridge called “Rumichaca” (Quechua for Stone Bridge), where customs officers “..wearing dirty clothes, stopped us and demanded to see my documents..” But this is where our experiences differed, as I was usually harassed and delayed with heavily armed, teenage guards looking for a bribe, but in Tschiffely’s case, “they had been advised of my arrival and treated me with courtesy.” Evidently, the British embassy did an excellent job of alerting the local authorities of the author’s arrival and he was treated as an honored guest.
One of the first places the author visited upon arriving in Guatemala was a relief map, which I’ve visited many times to get an idea where some of the isolated villages I worked in were located in relation to the rest of the country. “…This map is made to a 1/10,000 scale horizontally and 1/2,000 vertically. It is made of concrete, and running water marks the rivers, lakes and oceans.” The nuance in his case was, “…On my way back (to his hotel), the street car derailed, and the driver asked me to help him lift it back on the rails…”
The author visits the darker side of Guatemalan history, “While in this city (Guatemala City) I saw a man who had been kept in a dungeon below the San Francisco church for sixteen years. This happened during Cabrera’s time. Food and water were lowered through a hole to the prisoners below, and those who died were hoisted out through the same opening...” and he reveals that the prisoner’s mind was “slightly deranged.”
Fortunately, he didn’t miss one of the more spectacular places in the country, and possibly in all Latin America, “On reaching the summit of a high hill, after zigzagging higher and higher among the strong-smelling fir trees, I beheld, far below at our feet, Lake Atitlan. Its mirror-like surface of a deep blue reflected the surrounding mountains and the snow-white clouds that looked like huge airships. The lake is more than 4,500 feet above sea level, and rivals anything Switzerland has to offer.” (Which he knows well, as he was born in Bern, Switzerland).
He then took a short-cut from the lake into the Maya highlands and visited a village well known for its distain for outsiders, “…this trail led over mountains and was rough in parts, and we had to pass through the village of Nahuala, which I had been warned to avoid. It is inhabited exclusively by Indians, who will not tolerate the presence of a white man overnight. In Guatemala, as in most Central American countries, the sale of liquor is a State monopoly, but the Indians of Nahuala pay the government a certain sum each year for not sending alcohol into their district…”
Mexico would be the most receptive country to the author because of his two mounts, Mancha and Gato, who he dedicates his book to, “Mexicans are born horsemen and lovers of adventure and the open air, and therefore, our journey appealed to them. Without meaning to boast, I just add that, as a nation, they are the ones who best understood the significance and valued the merit of my undertaking and showed their appreciation accordingly.
Of all the banquets I have ever attended, the most brilliant and picturesque was given to me by the “Asociacion Nacional de Charros.” It was appropriately given in the Don Quixote Hall in one of Mexico’s finest hotels. The diplomatic corps was well represented, and all the participants who were charros wore the typical costumes of the different regions to which they belonged…”
And upon his departure from Mexico, “…To my surprise, crowds of mounted charros were assembled near the stables, ready to accompany me out of town for some ten miles, where, after many embraces and fervent handshakes, I sadly watched them disappear behind a cloud of dust…”
Tschiffely would continue his journey to Washington D.C. where he was received by President Coolidge in the White House. He was also honored by the National Geographic Society, which invited him to give the opening lecture to the Society in Washington.
After Ride, Tschiffely became a famous and successful author and moved with his wife, Violet, to London where he continued to write more books, one of which was a biography of his friend, Robert Cunninghame Graham, who wrote the preface for this book. In 1937, the author returned to South America and made another journey, by car, to the southern tip of the continent, recording his experiences among the natives and the changes brought on by modernity in This Way Southward (1940).
The book includes an excellent map, which plots this epic journey, as well as various photos. According to the New York Times, It is pretty certain that the crafty Ulysses, Marco Polo, or the indomitable Drake would have been hard put to keep up with Tschiffely. This is a heroic book.”