A GLIMPSE OF THE ORIENTAL IN THE OCCIDENT
Some two hundred miles south of the City of Mexico lies Oaxaca
(pronounced Wa-hâ-ka). The Valley of Oaxaca was looked upon by the
Spanish conquerors as El Dorado, the traditional land of gold. The Aztecs
told them that the gold of Montezuma came from the sands of the rivers
in this and the connecting valleys, and that immeasurable treasure was
to be found there. Believing these tales, Cortez secured large grants of
land from the crown, and, with the consent and approval of his sovereign,
assumed to himself the title of Marquis of the Valley of Oaxaca.
The cupidity of the Spaniards led them to employ every subterfuge to
induce the natives to reveal the source of their plentiful supply of
gold. The Indians, after considerable urging,—so we are told,—offered to
conduct one man to this place, if he would submit to be blindfolded for
the trip. This was agreed to and the party set out on their journey.
Thinking that he would mark the way, the Spaniard dropped a grain of corn
every few steps. After they had travelled a long distance, the Spaniard
had the bandage removed from his eyes and he was allowed to look around,
when he beheld such wealth as mortal vision never before had seen. His
eyes glittered with the greed of his covetous nature, but his countenance
soon changed when a dusky warrior stepped up and handed him a vessel
which contained every grain of corn that he had dropped by the way. For
this reason he was never able to retrace his steps to this wonderful
region, and the wily Spaniards were again outwitted by the simple natives.
Oaxaca is reached by the Southern Railway which starts at Puebla. This
road penetrates one of the richest sections of the republic, with
abundance of timber and minerals, and unlimited beds of onyx and marble.
Little of this wealth is seen from the railroad, as this line follows
the narrow valleys, through one cañon into another, furnishing scenery
as grandly picturesque as the great passes of Colorado. The mountains
in places are lifted up thousands of feet with crags and peaks which
the storms have cut into fantastic shapes and whose walls drop almost
perpendicularly to the water’s edge. Then again the cañon widens, and the
panorama extends across the valley where gigantic rocks, stained in all
colours by the oozings of the metals of the earth, form far-away pictures
not unlike the battlements of an ancient fortress. The sun tinges each
a different hue, with deeper tones in the near ones which fade as they
approach the horizon, until all seem to blend into the intense blue of
the sky.
As the train leaves the City of the Angels, just at daybreak, a wonderful
panorama is opened up to view. Look in any direction, and the tiled domes
of the churches rise above the plain, for each village and _hacienda_ has
its own. The forts erected on the surrounding hills which are emblematic
of the force that subjugated this valley, are seen, and near them the
pyramid of Cholula erected by those who were overcome. Over all tower
those mighty monuments of nature, the white-capped peaks of Popocatapetl,
Ixtaccihuatl, Orizaba and old Malintzi, with the morning sun reflected on
their snowy heads. The road ascends and descends, and then ascends again
before it takes a dip down into the _tierra caliente_. A number of native
villages are passed but only one town of any size, Tehuacan, noted for
its mineral springs. It is a pretty little city, and in the centre of a
rich agricultural district. The road finally enters a wide, open country
with rich valleys which extend to the hills beyond. At last, after a
twelve hours’ journey, our train rolls into this occidental Eden.
More than three centuries ago a Spanish writer described Oaxaca as
“not very big, yet a fair and beautiful city to behold, which standeth
three-score leagues from Mexico in a pleasant valley.” It is located
at the junction of three valleys and on the bank of a broad river,
which meanders through a billowy sea of cornfields toward the Pacific.
Whichever way the eye may turn the view is bounded by hills covered with
forests. Viewed from one of these hills the city looks like a broad,
flat-covered plain of stone buildings above which are seen many domes,
and the whole scene has a truly oriental touch.
The people that the Spanish found in possession of these valleys were
an industrious race. They had tilled the soil centuries before the
Spaniards, in their lust for gold, despoiled these beautiful valleys.
There is not a hollow, or knoll, where it is possible to scrape a little
soil with a hoe, that has not at some time been cultivated. These early
races had even constructed irrigation works which kept green their fields
during the dry season. The rich basins filled with alluvium are now owned
by the rich _hacendados_, or landowners, whose white buildings dot the
landscape here and there and, with their trees, orchards and cultivated
fields, lend life and colour to an otherwise dull prospect. The poor
Indians are forced to work for these landlords who claim title to the
land formerly owned by their ancestors, or retire to the hills where,
well up toward the crests, they cultivate their little fields of corn
and beans. There is one tribe of Indians that dwell in the mountains of
Oaxaca who have never acknowledged either Spanish or Mexican sovereignty,
and maintain their own tribal form of government. They can be seen at
Oaxaca on market days.
We find Oaxaca to be a city of about thirty-three thousand people of whom
three-fourths or more are Indians. It is laid out with narrow streets,
down the centre of which runs a stream of water, from which rise at
times odours not the most agreeable. The houses are low and one-storied,
with grated windows after the style of architecture introduced by the
Spaniards, and by them adopted from the Moors, who copied it from the
Persians. The water supply is abundant, being brought in from the hills
by an aqueduct. Fountains are located at numerous places, and a constant
succession of Rebeccas with heads enveloped in their shawls, and carrying
great earthen water-jars pass to and fro from them.
Oaxaca contains many fine churches of which one, Santo Domingo, has been
both monastery and fortress, and has just been restored at a cost of
$13,000,000 (silver) so it is claimed, making it the most costly church
in Mexico, if not in North America. The gold on the walls was so heavy
in former times, that the soldiers quartered here during revolutionary
uprisings employed themselves in removing it. This city has been the
scene of troublous times, and has been captured and re-captured by the
combating forces. It has given to the country two great presidents,
Juarez and Diaz, of whom it may well be proud. Of these two men, great
in the annals of Mexico, the former was a full-blooded Indian, and the
latter has a fair percentage of the same blood in his veins. A monument
to Juarez has been erected, and some day—may it be far distant—when
nature has claimed her own, this city will raise a memorial to her still
greater son.
[Illustration: THE AQUEDUCT, OAXACA
A FOUNTAIN IN OAXACA]
Oaxaca has a pleasant plaza, called the Plaza de Armas, adorned with
various semi-tropical trees and shrubs, in the centre of which is the
ever-present band-stand. The Cathedral and municipal palace face this
square. My visit here was during a _fiesta_ and this plaza was the
favourite resort of the Indians as well as myself. The Indians living
in the hills took undisturbed possession at night, and groups of tired
_Indios_ wrapped themselves in their _sarapes_, or shawls, and stretched
their tired limbs out on the cold stones; or propped themselves against
the walls of a building to rest. A number of catch-penny devices were
running during the evening and the favourite seemed to be the phonograph.
The Indian would pay his _centavo_, put the transmitter in his ears and
listen without a sign of expression on his stolid face. Nevertheless,
he enjoyed it, because he would repeat the operation until his stock of
coppers was considerably diminished.
Saturday is market day in this city, and a visit to this popular place is
worth a trip to Mexico. The atmosphere of the market is truly oriental,
for these people have a genius for trading as the innumerable little
stands where crude pottery, rough-made baskets, home-made _dulces_, etc.,
are sold, fully proves. The entrance takes one past the dealers in fried
meats, where bits of pork and shreds of beef are dished out sizzling hot
to the peons under the big _sombreros_ by women cooks who crouch over
earthenware dishes placed on small braziers containing a charcoal fire,
and a three course meal can be obtained for a few cents. There is always
a crowd around this department, for these people are ever ready to eat,
and their capacity is only limited by their purse.
[Illustration: THE MARKET-WOMEN OF OAXACA
THE POTTERY-MARKET, OAXACA]
Next is encountered the fruit and vegetable stands. The finest fruits and
vegetables, and especially the latter, that I saw in Mexico, were right
here in this market and this was in the month of December. Generally
the vegetables in Mexico are not large, but here were fine potatoes,
great red tomatoes, gigantic radishes and elephantine cabbages. Oranges,
bananas, limes, plantains and pineapples were plentiful, as well as the
less-known fruits such as _zapotes_ (a kind of melon), _aguacates_ (a
pale green fruit and vegetable combined), granaditas, mangoes, granadas
and pomegranates. The cocoanut of the hotlands is mingled with the
_dunas_, the fruit of the prickly pear, of the higher lands. With these
a great many drinks called _frescas_, or sherbets, are flavoured, the
merits of which are announced by the dark-eyed, be-shawled vendors. The
women merchants, many of them smoking cigarettes, sit around on the
floor so thick in places that it is almost impossible to work your way
through the mixed assortment of peppers and babies; corn, lean babies
and peas; charcoal, beans and fat babies; naked babies, knives and
murderous-looking _machetes_; hats, laughing babies, shawls and other
useful articles; turkeys, crying babies, chickens, dirty babies, ducks,
squawking parrots in cages, pigs and other live stock, including babies
of all kinds and descriptions.
The pottery market presided over by the solemn-faced, oriental merchants
is a never-ending place of interest, and these artistic vessels are
carried over the mountains on the backs of the Indians. Crude baskets
and mats made of the palm fibre are found in abundance as well as brooms
which bear no union label.
No one could afford to miss the flower department where flowers are so
cheap that it seems almost a sin not to buy them. Here are velvety sweet
peas, purple pansies, tangled heaps of crimson and white roses, azure
forget-me-nots, pyramids of heliotrope and scarlet geraniums. For a
few cents one can buy almost a bushel of these, or, if preferred, can
substitute marguerites, carnations, poppies, or violets. An American will
probably have to pay twice as much as a native, even after the shrewdest
bargaining.
Outside the market enclosure caravans of over-loaded donkeys jostle each
other as a great solid-wheeled cart yoked to a couple of meek-eyed oxen
creaks by, or a tram car drawn by galloping mules thunders noisily along
to an accompaniment of loud cracks of the whip, and a constant repetition
of “_mulas_” and “_arres_” the “rrs” being brought out with a long trill.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE RIVER ON MARKET-DAY]
The Indian will travel for days on his way to market at Oaxaca. On the
day before market I drove out the south road for a number of miles, and
the entire distance was literally black,—or perhaps it would be better
to say brown,—with the natives coming to town bearing the “brown man’s
burden,” and travelling along in the middle of the road at a rapid pace.
These Indians were coming from the “hot country” farther south and
were bringing oranges, bananas, cocoanuts and other kinds of tropical
fruits, besides chickens, eggs and other poultry. Most of them were on
foot, though the more fortunate had donkeys to carry the load; but they
themselves walked and drove the animal. The women bore large baskets on
their heads, which they balanced gracefully, although sometimes the loads
are exceedingly heavy. They will carry one hundred pounds or more in
this manner. Frequently a baby is swung across the back as an additional
burden. The little mites are good natured in this uncomfortable position,
and do not make half as much trouble as American babies in their
rubber-tired, easy-springed perambulators.
A small pot, a basket of tortillas, a few fagots and plenty of coffee
complete the outfit of the man. Perhaps the value of his load is not
over a dollar or two in gold, but his entertainment along the way
costs little, for he sleeps out of doors, carries his food, makes his
own coffee and needs to buy nothing except perhaps a little fruit and
_aguardiente_ (brandy). The entire family sometimes accompany him, for
the wife is afraid to have her man go away alone for fear he may desert
her.
On the opposite side of the city from the road just described is another
main highway. I stood here for several hours by the river bank on the
afternoon of a market-day, when the people were leaving for home. The
sight never grew tiresome or monotonous, as there was a constant
succession of pictures, which a moving-picture machine alone could
adequately portray. Although there is a bridge across the stream, no
one used it, for by making a short cut across the river bed a hundred
yards or more was saved. The pedestrian would remove his sandals to wade
through the shallow water, and then replace them on reaching the opposite
bank. The Indians going this way had more burros, and, as their load was
disposed of, the family rode. Frequently a poor, diminutive burro carried
as many persons as could sit on his back, in addition to the large
baskets. Many of the great carts drawn by one or two yoke of oxen passed
this way. The cattle are all yoked by the horns, which seems a cruel way,
for their heads are brought down almost to the ground, and it looks as
though every jar must cause them suffering.
So this unique panorama continued all the afternoon. I could not think
of anything but Palestine, as I gazed at this unceasing procession of
donkeys, Egyptian carts, women with their shawls folded and worn on their
heads in Eastern fashion; and in the background the white walls, red
tiled roofs and domes of the churches of Oaxaca. For a moment I wondered
if I were not mistaken, and had suddenly strayed into some corner of
the Orient, and found myself involuntarily looking for the mosque, and
listening for the cry of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer.
A trip around about the valley near Oaxaca only served to strengthen
the oriental cast of the picture. The types of buildings, and the signs
of water and fertility in the midst of widespread aridity (for this was
the dry season) are eastern. I saw many flocks of goats herded by the
solitary shepherd in the truly old-fashioned way. Then, a slow-moving
team of oxen followed by a peon guiding a one-handled, wooden plough
deepens the picture. How powerful must have been the Moorish influence
in Spain, for this is the plough of Egypt and Chaldea which was carried
along the coast of Barbary into Spain, and left there as a heritage to
the Spaniards who introduced it into the new world.
Yes, Oaxaca is an El Dorado, a land of treasure to the searcher after
the picturesque. The real wealth lies in its delightful climate. The
temperature is mild and does not vary more than twenty or thirty degrees
during the year. The altitude is a little less than five thousand feet
and the air is fresh and bracing. There is also an abundance of good,
pure water. Some day this city will be known as a health resort for
people from cold climates. They will find relief from the strenuous life
in quiet, restful, oriental Oaxaca.
There is no more picturesque _hacienda_ in all Mexico than that of Mitla
a few miles away. Because of the bleak and rough nature of the country it
has retained its early characteristics. The little store is a revelation
of the simple and primitive life of these people. Evening is sure to
find Don Felix, or his black-eyed son, behind the counter waiting on the
groups of Indians who are constantly coming in to buy a couple of cents
worth of _mescal_, or _tequila_, or cigarettes. One Indian woman came
in to purchase a _centavo_ (one-half cent) of vinegar, another of lard,
and others an equal amount of honey, soap, sugar or matches. They would
invariably buy only one article at a time, then pay for it and watch the
copper disappear down a slot in the counter. Outside the door was an old
Indian who had brought a load of wood down from the mountain, and the
good housewives were noisily bargaining with him for a centavo’s worth of
wood, and trying to get an extra stick or two for that sum.
Bargaining is a part of the education of these people. A young Indian
came in hatless and wanted a _sombrero_ (hat). He was shown one
with thirty cents worth of brim by the merchant. The Indian offered
twenty-eight cents which was accepted and he went away happy over his
bargain. An old Indian,—and an old Indian is but a child in worldly
wisdom,—brought a large cassava root, which, after considerable haggling,
the merchant purchased for five cents. He bought a package of sixteen
cigarettes for three cents and told the young _hacendado_ that he had
another “_mas grande_” (larger), which he would sell for seven cents. He
went away but returned in a few minutes with the other root, and looked
around at the crowd with a grin. The merchant took it but told him it was
“_mas chico_” (smaller), and he could only allow four cents. The Indian
came down to six and the deal was closed at five cents, the same price as
the first one was sold for. He bought a glass of _mescal_ for two cents
and vanished in the night air, with a smile of complete satisfaction on
his face. It is a simple life that these people lead, and the same scenes
may be witnessed any day in the year at this little _tienda_ at the
Hacienda of Mitla.
“When twilight falls, more near and clear,
The tender southern skies appear.”
Twilight is very brief in this land. Scarcely has the sun dropped out
of sight, when the moon appears on the opposite horizon, almost a
counterpart of the former in its descending glory. Then the stars appear
by hundreds, and myriads, and the night in all its magnificence is upon
you, where, but a few minutes before, was the brightness of day. And the
overhanging canopy of the heavens seems so much brighter, and clearer,
and nearer than in our more northerly land.
As the hour grew late, I wandered forth from the little store and walked
through the narrow, winding streets of the village. It was one of those
brilliant tropical nights when the southern skies seemed ablaze with the
light of innumerable stars, and the Queen of the Night was in her glory.
It was such a night as would have appealed to the astronomers of old.
The streets were silent except for the howling of some dogs near by. The
porch of the _hacienda_ was crowded with reclining figures wrapped in
their _sarapes_. A belated traveller came up and with a sigh of relief
deposited his load, and joined the sleeping crowd. A match illumed a dark
face for a moment as he lit a cigarette. Finally, all voices ceased and
quiet reigned supreme. It was a silence as deep and mysterious as that of
the ruined city that lay but a few rods away.