Canaria because of the stout resistance offered by the natives, who
called themselves Canarios, to the Spanish invasion. The original
name is said to have had some connection with the breed of large dogs
peculiar to the island, though none appear to exist now. As regards the
shape of the island the following is a very good description: “The form
of the island is nearly circular, and greatly resembles a saucerful
of mud turned upside down, with the sides furrowed by long and deep
ravines. The highest point is a swelling upland known as Los Pechos,
6401 ft.” I own that as I approached the island there was a curious
sense of something lacking, something missing, and then I realised
that we were no longer to live under the shadow of the Peak, that an
occasional distant glimpse is all we should see of the great mountain
which we had grown to look on as a friend.
The nearest object of interest to the hotel is the Santa Catalina
fountain, where in August 1492, after praying in the chapel,
Christopher Columbus filled his water-barrels with a store of water
which was to last him until the New World was sighted. Columbus on each
of his expeditions touched at the Canaries; but at the very outset of
his first voyage, one of his ships having lost her rudder and suffered
other damage in storms encountered on the way, Columbus cruised for
three weeks among the islands in search of another vessel to replace
his _caravel_. Though he heard rumours of three Portuguese _caravels_
hovering off the coast of Ferro (now called Hierro) three days’ calm
detained him, and by the time he reached the neighbourhood where the
ships had been seen, they had vanished, and repairing his rudder as
best he could he started in search of an unknown land, eventually
reaching one of the Bahama group. Columbus’ next visit to the Canaries
was on his second voyage of discovery, when he again called at the
islands, this time taking wood, water, live stock, plants and seeds to
be propagated in Hispaniola, where he had already been so struck with
the beautiful and varied vegetation. In the town of Las Palmas an old
house is pointed out as the house where Christopher Columbus died;
but I am afraid, if we are to believe historians, this is merely a
flight of the imagination. In Washington Irving’s “Life of Columbus”
we are told that he died at Seville surrounded by devoted friends, and
a note says: “The body of Columbus was first deposited in the convent
of St. Francisco, and his obsequies were celebrated with funereal pomp
in the parochial church of Santa Maria de la Antigua, in Valladolid.
His remains were transported in 1513 to the Carthusian convent of Las
Cuevas, in Seville. In the year 1536 the bodies of Columbus and his son
Diego were removed to Hispaniola and interred by the side of the grand
altar of the cathedral of the city of San Domingo. But even here they
did not rest in quiet; for on the cession of Hispaniola to the French
in 1795 they were again disinterred, and conveyed by the Spaniards with
great pomp and ceremony to the cathedral of Havanna in Cuba, where they
remain at present.”
One of the easiest expeditions from Las Palmas is along the main road
to the south of the island, either driving or by motor. Long stretches
of banana fields provide the fruit for the English market, which finds
its way daily on to the mole: and in spring hundreds of carts, with
potato-boxes labelled “Covent Garden,” come from the same district.
A little way before reaching the village of Tinama, which is built
amid desolate surroundings of lava and black cinders, the road passes
through a tunnel, which must have been somewhat of an undertaking to
bore, and then a vast bed of lava crosses the road. Here some huge
clumps of _Euphorbia canariensis_ show that this plant is not peculiar
to any one island, but is equally at home on any bed of lava or cliff.
Telde, famous for its oranges--said to be the best in the world--is not
a very interesting town; but from a little distance, combined with the
almost adjoining village of Los Llanos, its Moorish dome amid groves
of palm trees, and scattered groups of white houses, make it unlike
most other Canary towns. The celebrated orange groves are some distance
off, and it is feared that so little care is taken of the trees that
the disease and blight which have ravaged nearly all the groves in the
archipelago will soon attack these. The disease could be kept at bay
by insecticides and combined effort, but it is no use for one grower
to wage war against the pest, if his neighbour calmly allows it to get
ahead in his groves, though the excellence of the oranges makes it
seem as if they deserved more care. If disaster overtakes the banana
trade--and already I heard whispers of grumbling at the absurd price
of land, and rumours of as good land and plenty of water to be had on
the West Coast of Africa, where labour is half the price--possibly
orange-growing may be taken up by men who have learnt their experience
in Florida, and by careful cultivation another golden harvest may be
reaped.
The ultimate destination of most travellers in this direction is the
Montaña de las Cuatro Puertas (the Mountain of the Four Doors), which
is a most curious and interesting example of a native place of worship.
The Canarios seem to have been especially fond of cave-dwellings, which
are very common in Grand Canary, though they are by no means unknown
in the other islands; and it is no unusual thing to find districts
where a scanty population is troglodytic in habit, living entirely in
cave-dwellings scooped out of the soft sandstone rock. Some families
have quite a good-sized though strange home, and besides rooms with
whitewashed walls are stables for goats or mules. One writer says: “The
hall-mark of gentility in troglodyte circles is the possession _of a
door_. This shows that the family pays house tax, which is not levied
upon those who live the simpler life, and are content with an old sack
hanging across the open doorway.”
Webb and Berthelot, in their “Histoire Naturelle,” seem to have been
much struck by these cave-dwellings, and the following account appears
in their description of the Ciudad de las Palmas: “The slopes above
the town on the west are pierced by grottoes inhabited by families of
artisans; narrow paths have been made in the face of the cliffs by
which to get to these excavations. After sunset, when the mountain
is in deep shadow, the troglodyte quarter begins to light up, and
all these aerial lights, which shine for a moment and then instantly
disappear, produce the most curious effect.” The “Mountain of the Four
Doors” is of much larger dimensions than any ordinary cave-dwelling, as
the whole mountain appears to have been excavated, and would certainly
have made a very draughty dwelling, as the four entrances which give
the mountain its name are only separated by columns, thus allowing
free entrance to the wind. The sacred hill is said to have been partly
occupied by embalmers of the dead, the mummies being eventually
removed to the burial cave on one side. Another side of the hill was
the residence of the _Faycans_, or priests, who conducted the funeral
ceremony; and there were the consecrated virgins, or _harimaguedas_,
who were here kept in the strictest seclusion for years, employed in
the gruesome occupation of sewing the goat-skins for wrapping up the
mummies. The Canarios appear to have regarded a shelf in the burial
cave running north and south as being the most honourable position,
and on these they placed the bodies of highest rank, judging from the
mummies found on them, as the leather is often richly embroidered, and
the greatest care was taken in embalming the bodies. The inferiors
were laid east and west. Any one who is interested in the study of the
Canary mummies will find much to interest them in the Museum in Las
Palmas, which is said to be richer in remains of aboriginals than any
other museum in the world. Here may be seen rows of mummies in glass
cases, some curious pottery, and the _Pintaderas_, or dyes, which were
used to stamp designs on the skin or leather.
[Illustration: AN OLD BALCONY]
In the same museum the sight of the fearsome “devil-fish,” in the
room devoted to local fishes, must, I think, have made many visitors
from Orotava shudder to think of the light-hearted way in which
they had gaily bathed on the Martianez beach--an amusement I often
considered dangerous from the strength of the breakers and the strong
undercurrent; but when added to this I was assured the monster, which
is said to embrace its victims and carry them away under water after
the manner of the octopus, was “not uncommon round the Canaries,” I was
thankful to think I had never indulged in bathing.
IX
GRAND CANARY (_continued_)
Many of the residents of Las Palmas move to the Monte for the summer,
but even in late spring most people are glad to get away from the town
and the white dust, which by then is lying ankle deep on the roads.
Monte is the only other place which the ordinary traveller will care to
stay in, as the native inns in Grand Canary bear a bad reputation for
discomfort and dirt, and the Monte makes a good centre for expeditions,
besides being an entire change of air and scene.
The last part of the drive up from the town which is only some six
or seven miles, affords good views of the lie of the land and makes
one realise the immense length of the _barrancos_ in this island. It
appears never to be safe to assert the name of a _barranco_, as it is
not uncommon for one ravine to have four or five different names in the
course of its wanderings towards the sea. The great _barranco_ one
looks down into from the road beyond Tafira is called at this point the
Barranco del Dragonal.
[Illustration: A BANANA CART]
A century ago this district was a mere expanse of cinders interspersed
with the usual Canary plants which find a home in the most desolate of
lava beds. Clumps of Euphorbias and its two inseparable companions, the
miniature dragon tree, _Senecio Kleinia_, and the graceful _Plocama
pendula_ broke the monotony of the grey lava. Now the scene has changed
and this once desolate region has been transformed into one of the most
fertile districts of the island. On the terraced slopes vines flourish,
whose grapes produce the best red Canary wine. Footpaths bordered with
flowers lead through these countless acres of vineyards, recalling the
fashion in Teneriffe of the flower borders, _passeios_, which lead
through many of the banana plantations, showing that the owner of the
land still had some soul for gardening and a love of flowers, as he
spared a strip of the precious soil for flowers. Many an alley in early
winter is gay with rows of poinsettias feeding and flourishing on the
water and guano which is given to the crop with a lavish hand, or rows
of scarlet and white geraniums flank rose trees, interspersed here
and there with great clumps of white lilies. The country in late
spring is fragrant and gay from the bushes of Spanish broom (_Spartium
junceum_) which edge the lanes; their yellow blossoms are in charming
contrast to the soft grey-green of the old agaves, which make such
excellent hedges.
Just behind the Monte lies the great basin of the Caldera. It is best
seen from the Pico de Bandama, a hill 1840 ft., which not only commands
an excellent view of the crater, but of all the country round. The
Gran Caldera de Bandama, a vast complete basin with no outlet, is over
a mile across and 1000 ft. deep, and consequently is one of the most
perfect craters in the world. The walls are formed of rocks and here
and there vivid bits of colouring speak for themselves of its origin,
and round the edge are layers of cinders. It is to be hoped that it
will not some day come to life again and throw up a peak, as the basin
of the Cañadas is supposed to have thrown up the great cone of the Peak
of Teneriffe. It looks peaceable enough to-day, a mule track leading
down into it. At the bottom of the crater vines are cultivated, and a
farmer calmly lives on what was once a boiling cauldron.
The vines seem to thrive in the volcanic soil, their roots go down
deep in search of damper loam below, and this possibly helps to keep
them free of disease, though in spring the effect of the tender green
shoots with their long twining tendrils is sadly spoilt when, just as
they are coming into flower, the mandate goes forth to dust the growth
with sulphur. The men and women, who for the past weeks have been busy
gathering in the potato crop, are now employed in sulphur dusting. For
two months or more whole families are engaged with the potato harvest;
the rows are either ploughed up with a primeval-looking plough, or hoed
with the broad native hoe, which does duty for spade or fork in this
country, and then the potatoes are collected with great rapidity, even
the smallest member of the family helping, sorted and packed in deal
boxes holding each some 60 or 70 lb., with a layer of palm fibre on the
top, and shipped to England. It is well known that Canary new potatoes
do not command a very good price in the English market, and I often
wondered whether it is not the kind which is at fault. Kidney potatoes,
which are regarded in England as the best for new potatoes, are hardly
ever grown, the Spaniards regarding them with horror and loathing, and
though English seed is imported annually, the result to my mind seemed
unsatisfactory, as I never came across any young potatoes worthy of the
name “new potatoes.” Possibly the soil and climate are unsuited, and
there is a tendency I was told in all varieties to excessive growth,
and no doubt the green peas and broad beans, which are most suited to
English soil, often here grow to mammoth proportions, giving a poor
result as a crop, and it is only experience which proves which are the
varieties best suited to the climate and soil. The peas which are grown
from seed ripened in the island degenerate to tasteless, colourless
specimens, producing tiny pods, with at the outside three peas in them,
and the French beans have the same lack of flavour when grown from
native seed.
Potatoes and tomatoes are both unfortunately liable to disease, and in
some seasons the whole crop is lost. The same disease appears to affect
both crops. Dr. Morris, when he visited the islands, thought seriously
of the outlook, unless systematic action was taken. He says: “There
is a remedy if carefully applied and the crop superintended, but the
islanders seem to regard the trouble with strange indifference, and go
on the plan of ‘If one crop fails, then plant another.’”
The volcanic soil appears to suit cultivated garden plants, as well
as vines, bananas and potatoes, and the gardens in the neighbourhood
of Telde are a blaze of colour and have a wonderful wealth of bloom
in May, which is essentially the “flower month” in all the islands.
Earlier in the winter it is true the creepers will have been at their
best, and by now the last trumpet-shaped blooms will have fallen from
that most gorgeous of all creepers, _Bignonia venusta_, and the colour
will have faded from the bougainvilleas, red, purple, or lilac, though
they seem to be in almost perpetual bloom. Allemandas flourish even
at this higher altitude, as does _Thumbergia grandiflora_, another
tropical plant. Though its bunches of grey-blue gloxinia-like blooms
are beautiful enough individually, it is sadly marred by the dead
blossoms which hang on to the bitter end and are singularly ugly
in death, not having the grace to drop and leave the newcomers to
deck the yards of trailing branches, with which the plant will in an
incredibly short time smother a garden wall or take possession of and
eventually kill a neighbouring tree. Roses seem to flourish and bloom
so profusely that the whole bush is covered with blossoms, and a garden
of roses would well repay the little care the plants seem to require.
The Spaniards prefer to prune their roses but once a year, in January,
but by pruning in rotation roses could be had all the year round, and
certainly half the trees should be cut in October, after the plants
have sent up long straggling summer growth, and by January a fresh
crop would be in flower. But the native gardener is nothing if not
obstinate, and if January is the month for pruning according to his
ideas, nothing will make him even make an experiment by cutting a few
trees at a different season, and in this month are cut creepers, trees
and shrubs, utterly regardless as to whether it is the best season or
not.
In most gardens the trees comprise several different Ficus, the Pride
of India (_Melia Azedarach_), many palms, oranges, mangos and guavas,
lagerstrœmias, pomegranates and daturas, while flower-beds are filled
with carnations, stocks, cinerarias, hollyhocks and longiflorum lilies,
all jostling each other in their struggle for room. The country people
struck me as having a much greater love of flowers here than in
Teneriffe, where a cared-for strip of cottage garden or row of pot
plants is almost a rare sight, and roof gardening is perhaps more the
fashion. Geraniums and other hanging plants tumble over the edge of
the flat roof tops, looking as though they lived on air, as the boxes
or tins they are grown in are out of sight. Here the humblest cottager
grew carnations, fuchsias, begonias, and pelargoniums with loving care
in every old tin box, or saucepan, that he could lay hands on. One
reason that pot plants are scarce is the enormous cost of flower-pots,
which are mostly imported, and often if I wished to buy a plant, the
price was more than doubled if the precious pot was to be included in
the bargain. In May, the month especially consecrated to the Virgin
Mary, all her chapels and way-side shrines are kept adorned with
flowers. In the larger churches the altar and steps are draped with
blue and white, and piled up with great white lilies whose heavy scent
mingling with the incense is almost overpowering, but in the humbler
shrines the offerings are merely the contributions of posies of mixed
flowers, placed there probably by many a woman who is called after Our
Lady. I was always struck by the number of way-side crosses and tiny
shrines in many of which a lamp shines nightly, and yet I cannot say
the people seemed to be either reverent or deeply religious, and I was
never able to obtain an explanation of the crosses one came across in
unexpected places, even in the branches of trees in the garden. At
first I thought they must be votive offerings in memory of an escape
from danger, possibly a child who had fallen from the tree and escaped
unhurt, but the gardener merely said it was _costumbre_, the custom of
the country, and offered no further information. On May 3, the Fiesta
de la Cruz, every cross, however humble, is decked with a garland of
flowers, which often hangs there until the feast comes round again, and
in front of many of the crosses a lamp is lighted on this one night in
the year.
On holidays and Sundays the women, especially those who are on their
way to Mass, wore their white cashmere mantillas, and I inquired
whether this also had any connection with “Our Lady’s” month of May,
but I was told in old days they were the almost universal head-dress,
a fashion which unfortunately is fast dying out. This appeared to
be the only distinctively local feature of their dress, and the
usual head-dress of the women and children, with bright-coloured
handkerchiefs folded closely round the forehead and knotted in the
nape of the neck, is common to all the islands. When the family is
in mourning even the smallest member of the household wears a black
handkerchief matching its bright black eyes, but the day I fear is fast
approaching when battered straw hats will take their place, not the
jaunty little round hats with black-bound brims, which every country
woman wears to act as a pad for the load she carries on her head. For
generations the women have carried water-pots and baskets which many
an English working man would consider a crushing load, and no one can
fail to admire their splendid carriage and upright bearing, as they
stride along never even steadying their load with one hand. The only
peculiarity of the men’s dress is their blanket cloaks; in some of the
islands they are made of _mantas_ woven from native wool, but as often
as not an imported blanket is used, gathered into a leather or black
velvet collar at the neck. On a chilly evening in a mountain village
every man and boy is closely wrapped in his _manta_, often it must be
owned in an indescribable state of filth. At night they do duty as a
blanket on the bed, and in the day are dragged through dust or mud, but
cleanliness is not regarded in Spanish cottages, where chickens, goats,
and sometimes a pig all seem to share the common living-room.
[Illustration: AN OLD GATEWAY]
I fear the few model dwellings which the tourist is invited to inspect
at Atalaya (the Watch Tower) are not true samples of the average
cottage or cave-dwelling. Atalaya was formerly a native stronghold,
and one can quite imagine what formidable resistance the invaders must
have met with from these primitive fortresses. The narrow ledges cut in
the face of the cliffs made the approach to them almost inaccessible
except to the Canarios, who appear to have been as agile as goats,
and from the narrow openings showers of missiles could be hurled at
the attackers. Atalaya at the present time is the home of the pottery
makers. They fashion the local clay into pots with a round stone in
just as primitive a way as did the ancient Canarios. They seem to live
a life apart, and are regarded with suspicion by their neighbours, who
rarely intermarry with them. The whole colony are inveterate beggars,
old and young alike, but as tourists invade their domain in order
to say they have seen “the most perfect collection of troglodyte
dwellings in the Archipelago,” and request them to mould pots for their
edification, it is perhaps not surprising that they expect some reward.
X
GRAND CANARY (_continued_)
Those who do not mind a long day and really early start can see a good
deal of the country and make some very beautiful expeditions without
facing the terrors of the native inn. When even our guide-book--and
the writer of a guide-book is surely bound to make the best of
things--warns the traveller that the “accommodation is poor,” or that
“arrangements can be made to secure beds,” every one knows what to
expect. So a long day, however tiring, is preferable, if it is possible
to return the same night.
A drive of two hours leads to San Mateo, where good accommodation would
be a great boon, as it is a great centre for expeditions, besides being
beautifully situated near chestnut and pine woods. A rough mule track
leads in something under three hours to the Cruz de Tejeda, which is
about the finest excursion in the island. Good walkers will probably
prefer to trust their own legs rather than the mule’s; but it is a
stiff climb, as the starting-point, San Mateo, is only some 2600 ft.
above the sea, while the Cruz is 5740 ft. Without descending into the
deep Barranco which leads down to Tejeda itself, in clear weather
the view is magnificent. That most curious isolated rock, the Roque
Nublo, stands like a great pillar or obelisk, pointing straight into
the heavens, rising 370 ft. above all its surroundings, and more than
6000 ft. above sea-level, and is often clearly visible from Teneriffe.
The great valley of Tejeda lies stretched before the traveller, who
is surely well rewarded for his climb by the splendid panorama. Deep
precipitous ravines full of blue shadows lie in vast succession in
front, and to the right the cultivated patches in the valley are a
bright emerald green from the young corn, and over the deep blue sea
beyond, towers the great Peak of Teneriffe, looking most majestic and
awe-inspiring rising above the chain of high mountains which are veiled
in a light, mysterious mist. Never, perhaps, is the great height of the
mountain so well realised, as it stands crowning a picture which our
guide-book tells us is “never to be forgotten, and second to none in
Switzerland or the Alps.”
[Illustration: THE CANARY PINE]