THE “PASEO AL MAR”—PREPARATIONS FOR THE ANNUAL VISIT TO THE SEA—THE
MIGRATION—IMPROMPTU DWELLINGS—INDIAN POTTERS—THE SALINES—THE
ENCAMPMENT—FIRST IMPRESSIONS—CONTRABANDA—OLD FRIENDS—THE CAMP BY
MOONLIGHT—PRACTICAL JOKES—A BRIEF ALARM—DANCE ON THE SHORE—UN
JUEGO—LODGINGS, CHEAP AND ROMANTIC—AN OCEAN LULLABY—MORNING—SEA
BATHING—ROUTINE OF THE PASEO—DIVERTISEMENTS—RETURN TO LEON.
Amongst the amusements of the people of Nicaragua, or rather of those
residing on the Plain of Leon, I ought perhaps to number “El Paseo al
Mar,” or annual visit to the Pacific. The fashionables of our cities
flock, during “the season,” to Saratoga or Newport, but those of Leon go
to the sea. And although the Paseo is a different thing from a season at
the Springs, yet it requires an equal amount of preparation, and is
talked about, both before and after, in very much the same strain and
quite as abundantly. It is the period for flirtations, and general and
special love-making,—in short, it is the festival of St. Cupid, whose
devotees, the world over, seem more earnest and constant than those of
any canonized saint in the calendar.
I had heard various allusions to the Paseo al Mar, during the rainy
season, but they were not the most intelligible. When the dry season set
in, however, they became more frequent and distinct, and by the middle
of January the subject of the Paseo became the absorbing topic of
conversation. The half naked muchachos in the streets seemed inspirited
with the knowledge of its near approach; and even my venerable cook
began a series of diplomatic advances to ascertain whether it was my
intention “to do in Rome as the Romans do,” and join in the general
migration. The inquiry was made directly by a number of the Señoras, and
the wife of one of my official friends, whose position enabled her to
trench a little on conventional restrictions, plumply invited me to join
her party. And yet the Paseo was not to come off until the moon of
March, two months in the future.
At that time the dry season begins really to be felt; the crops are
gathered, the rank vegetation is suspended, the dews are comparatively
light, the sky is serene and cloudless, storms are unknown, and the moon
rules at night with unwonted brightness and beauty. The dust in the
cities becomes annoying, and trade languishes. It is just the season for
mental relaxation and physical enjoyment. At that time too, the salt
marshes near the sea become dry, and the mosquitos defunct. In short,
the conditions for a pleasant Paseo are then perfected.
The preliminary arrangements are made during the week preceding the
first quarter of the new moon. At that time a general movement of carts
and servants takes place in the direction of the sea, and the Government
despatches an officer and a guard to superintend the pitching of the
annual camp upon the beach, or rather upon the forest-covered sand-ridge
which fringes the shore. Each family, instead of securing rooms at the
“Ocean House” or a cottage on the “Drive,” builds a temporary cane hut,
lightly thatched with palm-leaves, and floored with petates or mats. The
whole is wickered together with vines, or woven together basket-wise,
and partitioned in the same way, or by means of colored curtains of
cotton cloth. This constitutes the penetralia, and is sacred to the
“bello sexo” and the babies. The more luxurious ladies bring down their
neatly-curtained beds, and make no mean show of elegance in the interior
arrangement of their impromptu dwellings. Outside, and something after
the fashion of their permanent residences, is a kind of broad and open
shed, which bears a very distant relation to the corridor. Here hammocks
are swung, here the families dine, the ladies receive visitors, and the
men sleep. It is the grand sala, the comedor, and the dormitório para
los hombres.
The establishments here described pertain only to the wealthier
visitors, the representatives of the upper classes. There is every
intermediate variety, down to those of the mozo and his wife, who spread
their blankets at the foot of a tree, and weave a little bower of
branches above them,—an affair of ten or a dozen minutes. And there are
yet others who disdain even this exertion, and nestle in the loose, dry
sand,—a cheap practice which I should straightway recommend, were it not
for anticipating my story.
“The ides of March,” it was unanimously voted by impatient Señoritas,
were a long time in coming, and great were the rejoicings on the
eventful evening when the crescent moon—auspicious omen!—revealed its
delicate horn when the sun went down in the west. A day or two after,
the Paseo commenced in earnest; horses, mules, and carts, were all put
in requisition, and when I took my evening ride, I observed that our
favorite balconies were nearly every one empty. There were a few which
yet retained their fair occupants, but the silvery, half-apologetical
“mañana,”—“to-morrow,” which answered our salutations, explained that
these too would soon flit after their companions.
Business intervened to keep me in the city, which, deserted by full half
of its population, now looked dull and desolate, and it was not until
the fourth day, that I could arrange to take my share in the “Paseo.” It
was five leagues to the sea, and we waited until nearly sunset before
starting. Through Subtiaba,—also half deserted, for the Paseo is the
perpetuation of a semi-religious, Indian custom,-along the pleasant
stream which skirts it, winding now between high hedge-rows, among the
tall forest-trees, or spurring across the open “_jicorals_,” yellow from
the drought, here passing a creaking cart, enveloped in a cloud of dust,
filled with women and children, or with fruits and vegetables, and anon
overtaking a party of caballeros, each with a gaily-dressed girl mounted
on the saddle before him, with a reboso thrown loosely over her head and
a lighted _puro_ in her mouth, which, as we gallop past she removes for
an instant, to cheer “al mar! al mar!” to the sea! to the sea!—thus on,
on, until rising a swell of open land, we look over a league of flat
country, shrouded in forest, out upon the expanse of the Pacific! The
sun has gone down, the evening star trembles on the verge of the
horizon, and the young moon struggles with the twilight, high and clear
in the empyrean. A mile farther, and we reach a hollow, at the bottom of
which is a stream, and from it comes a confused sound of many voices,
wild laughter, and the echo of obstreperous songs. We involuntarily stop
our horses, and look down upon a crowd of men and animals, drinking at
the stream or struggling to approach it,—the whole swaying and
incongruous mass but half revealed by the ruddy light of large fires,
quivering on rock and tree, and on the shifting groups, in strong
contrast with the broad bars of moonlight which fall, calm and clear,
through the openings of the trees. This is the grand watering place for
the encampment, where all the horses are twice a day brought to drink,
and these are the mozos, upon whom the task of attending to them
devolves. The fires proceed from rude kilns in which the Indian potter
is baking his wares, and standing beside a heap of newly-made vessels is
his wife, who cries—
“Cantáras, cantáras nuevas,
Queira á comprar?”
We passed through the groups of men and animals with difficulty, and
after a short ride beneath the shadows of a dense forest, came upon what
are called the Salines,—broad open spaces, in the rainy season covered
with water, but now dry, and hard, and white with an incrustation of
salt. In the moonlight they resembled fields of snow, across which wound
the black and well-beaten road. Between the Salines and the sea there is
a broad, dry swell or elevation of sand, which seems to have been formed
by the waves of the ocean, and which is covered with trees. Amongst
these we could distinguish the lights of many fires; and as we
approached, we heard bursts of merry laughter, and in the pauses between
them, the tinkling of musical instruments. We spurred forward, and were
soon in the midst of a scene as novel as it was inspiriting. There were
broad avenues of huts, festooned with hammocks in front, in which the
Señoritas were reclining, in lively conversation with their red-sashed
beaus, who idly thrummed their guitars, while the elders of both sexes,
seated in the background, puffed their puros and cigaritos, pictures of
indolence and physical ease. Flanking the huts were covered carts,
within and beneath which children were playing in an ecstacy of glee.
Behind, the cattle were tethered to the trees; and here too were the
fires for culinary purposes, around which the _cocineras_, chattering
like parrots, were preparing the evening cup of chocolate. Now we passed
an open, brilliantly lighted hut, in which dulces, wines, and cigars
were displayed on shelves twined round with evergreens. In front a
dextrous tumbler exhibited his feats for the entertainment of the
claret-sipping customers of the establishment, from whom he extracted an
occasional _medio_ for his pains. Near by, an Indian girl, seated on a
mat, exposed a basket of fruits for sale, while another paraded a little
stock of gaudy ribbons, to tempt the fancy of some young coquette. In
the centre of the encampment, under the shadow of a species of banyan
tree, which spread out its foliage like the roof of a dwelling, and sent
down half a hundred distinct trunks to the earth,—here was the station
of the guard of police, a detachment of soldiers from the garrison of
Leon, whose duty it was, not only to preserve order, but to keep a sharp
lookout for contraband aguardiente, the sale of which, except in small
quantities, at the government _estanca_, is strictly prohibited. The
prohibition did not extend to the fermented _chicha_, or palm-juice,
which bacchanalian looking Indians, exhibiting in their own persons the
best evidences of its potency, carried round in open calabashes, at a
quartillo the _jicara_, equal to about a pint.
The officer of the guard recognized our party, and before I was aware of
the movement, the soldiers had fallen into line and presented arms. This
was the signal for a general huddle of the idlers. I entered an instant
and half-indignant protest against all demonstrations of the kind, and
told the commandant that I had left the American Minister at my house in
Leon, and had come down to the sea as a simple _paisano_, or citizen of
the country. The explanation was in good time; it entertained the
quidnuncs, and saved me from much annoyance afterwards. Before we had
finished our parley, however, we were made prisoners by my old friend
Dr. Juarros, and taken in triumph to his establishment at the court end
of the camp. Here we found most of our fair friends of the balconies,
sipping chocolate, in a hurricane of spirits. The “gayeties” of the
Paseo were clearly at their height, and the infection was so strong that
we at once caught the prevailing feeling, and fell into the popular
current. We were speedily informed as to what was “up” for the evening
in the fashionable circles. A dance by moonlight on the beach, with
other divertisements when that wearied, had already been agreed upon.
These were to commence at nine o’clock; it was now only eight, and we
devoted the intervening hour to a ramble through the encampments,
followed by a train of idlers, who seemed greatly to relish our interest
in its novelties. We found that Chinandega, Chichigalpa, El Viejo, and
Pueblo Nuevo, as also Telica and the other small towns on the plain of
Leon, were all represented here. The Padres too were in force, and
seemed quite as jolly as the secular revellers; in fact, a thorough
understanding and tacit admission of equality had put all classes in the
best of humors, and they mingled freely, without jostling, conceding to
each other their peculiar entertainments, and banishing envy and rivalry
from the encampment.
There seemed to be a good deal of practical fun going on, of which we
witnessed a number of examples before we had half finished our circuit.
We returned to the court end of the encampment in time to accompany the
Señoras along a wide path cleared through the bushes which grow,
hedge-like, at the edge of the forest, out upon the broad and beautiful
beach. The sand was loose and fine and white near the forest, but
towards the water it was hard and smooth. Groups of revellers were
scattered along the shore, here a set of dancers, and yonder a crowd of
boys engaged in noisy sport, or clustering like bees around some vender
of fruits, or of “frescos.” There were no doorkeepers or ushers to our
moonlit ball-room, and the dancers commenced their movements to the
measured beat of the waves of the great ocean, which rolled in grandly
at our feet. The dense background of forest, the long line of level
shore, the clear moonlight, the gayly-dressed dancers and animated
groups, the music, the merriment, and the heaving sea,—I could hardly
convince myself of the reality of a scene so unlike anything which we
had yet witnessed. In the intervals of the dance, cigars and cigaritas
were lighted, and at eleven o’clock, when this amusement wearied, a
proposition for “un juego,” or play, was carried by acclamation. A large
circle was drawn in the sand, around which the participants were seated,
one of each sex alternately. Our host, who, although his head was white,
nevertheless retained the spirit and the vivacity of youth, responded to
the call for “a boy” to take the centre of the circle and set the
“juego” in motion, and was received with uproarious merriment. The play
seemed to be very much after the order of those with which children
amuse themselves in the United States, and was prefaced by a general
collection of handkerchiefs from the entire party, which were bound up
in a bundle, and deposited in the centre of the ring. The manager then
took one at random, and proceeded to question its owner as to the state
of his or her affections, and, from his knowledge of the parties, often
putting home questions, which were received with shouts of laughter.
Certain standard pains and penalties were attached to failures or
hesitations in answering, and when the interrogatives were finished, the
respondent was assigned a certain place in the circle, the owner of the
second handkerchief taking the next, and so on. Some point was attached
to these accidental conjunctions, which I was not shrewd enough to
discover, but which was a source of infinite amusement to the
spectators, and sometimes of evident annoyance to the “juegadoras.” I
was pressed into a place in the circle, where my verdancy created most
outrageous merriment, in which I joined from sheer force of sympathy;
for, like the subjects of jokes in general, I could not for the life of
me see “the point of it.” I was fortunate, however, in having for my
“compañera,” the Doña I., one of the most beautiful ladies of Leon,
blessed with the smallest and whitest possible feet in the world—for, as
the ladies had removed their slippers after the dance, was it not
impossible to keep their feet concealed? Her husband had fallen to the
lot of a great coquette, to whom the oracle in the centre of the ring
declared he legitimately belonged.
By midnight the entertainments began to flag in spirit, and the various
groups on the shore to move off in the direction of the encampment. Our
party followed, for as it is a portion of the religion of the Paseo to
take a sea-bath before sunrise, the keeping of early hours becomes a
necessity. As we passed along the shore, I observed that a number of the
visitors had taken up their lodgings in the sand, and they seemed to be
so comfortable that I quite envied them their novel repose. Upon
reaching what our arch hostess called her “gloriéta,” or bower, we found
that a narrow sleeping place had been prepared for us within the wicker
cage, which, although neat and snug enough, seemed close and
uncomfortable, as compared, with the open sands. And we quite shocked
our friends by announcing, after a brief conference, that we proposed to
sleep on the shore—that we had, in fact, come down with the specific,
romantic design of passing a night within reach of the spray of the
great ocean. So throwing our blankets over our shoulders, we bade the
Señoras good night, and started for the beach again. The encampment was
now comparatively still; and the hammocks in front of the various
impromptu dwellings were all filled with men, each one occupied with his
puro, which brightened with every puff, like the lamp of the fire-fly;
for the poppy-crowned god of the ancients, in Central America, smokes a
cigar. A single full-sized puro does the business for most men, and none
but those afflicted with a troubled conscience or the colic, can keep
awake beyond the third. The domestics of the various establishments, and
the mozos who had no quarters of their own, were reclining wherever it
was most convenient, some on mats or blankets, and others on the bare
earth, but all, like their betters, puffing silently at their cigars.
There were a few lingering groups; here, in a secluded corner, a party
yet absorbed in a game of _monté_, and yonder, in the shadow, a pair of
lovers, _téte-à-téte_, conversing in whispers lest they should arouse
the paternal dragons. Over all, the soldiers of the patrol kept vigilant
watch, slowly pacing, their muskets glancing in the moonlight, from one
end of the camp to the other.
The shore was entirely deserted, except by the scattered slumberers. We
selected a place at a distance from them all—for there was room
enough—and each one scooping a little hollow in the sand, rolled himself
in his blanket and deposited himself for the night. The moon was now low
in the west, and its light streamed in a glimmering column across the
sea, and upon the waves which, crested with silver, broke in a shower of
pearly spray within twenty yards of the spot where we were reclining.
The cool breeze came in freshly from the water, its low murmur mingling
with the briny hiss of the spent waves chafing on the sand, and the
hoarse, deep bass of the heavy surf beating impotently on the distant
cape. And thus we slept; the naked earth below, the arching heavens
above us, and with the great ocean, rolling its unbroken waves over half
the globe, to chant our lullaby!
We were up with the earliest dawn, just as the morning began to tint the
clouds in the east, and while the retreating squadrons of night hung
heavily in the west. The tide was at its ebb, and already little parties
were strolling along the beach to catch stray crabs, or fill their
pockets with the delicate shells left by the falling sea. We, too,
rambled along the shore, to a high projecting ledge of rocks, against
which the ocean dashed angrily with an incessant roar. They were covered
with the cones of some species of shell fish, which half a dozen Indian
boys, armed with hammers, were detaching, to be cooked for their
breakfast. There were also hundreds of lively crabs, which scrambled
into the crevices, as we leaped from one huge fragment of rock to the
other. Beyond this point, and partially shut in by it, was a little bay,
of which we at once took possession, and were soon struggling with the
combing waves that rolled in majestically on a hard but even floor of
white sand, which preserved the water as pure as in the open sea. Nor
was there the treacherous under-tow, dreaded even by the expertest
swimmer, and which detracts so much from the pleasure of the ocean bath.
But we had not been long in possession of the charming little bay, which
we supposed was ours by right of discovery, when we observed small
parties of women emerging from the woods, and gathering on the shore. W.
had the vanity to believe that they were attracted by the novelty of
white skins; but then, if they had simply come to see, why should they
so deliberately unrobe themselves? Why, in fact, should they paddle out
into the little bay? We modestly retreated into deeper water as they
approached; where we were soon completely blockaded, and began to
suspect that perhaps we had got into the “wrong pew,” and that this nook
of water, from its greater safety, had been assigned as a bathing place
for the women!—a suspicion which was confirmed by the rapidly increasing
numbers which now thronged between us and the shore, and by observing
that the male bathers were concentrated at a point some distance to the
right. But our embarrassment was quite superfluous; everybody seemed to
act on the principle “Honi soit, qui mal y pense;” and when, after
remaining in the water for half an hour longer than we would have
chosen, we ran the blockade, the movement caused never so much as a
flutter amongst the Naiads!
The rules of the Paseo prescribed an hour’s bathing in the morning
before breakfast, quite as rigidly as do those of Saratoga a bottle of
Congress water at the same hour; and when we returned to the camp with
our hostess and the set of which she was the patroness, it was with an
appetite which would make a dyspeptic die of envy. Coffee, a hot
tortilla, and a grilled _perdiz_ or partridge, constituted the matutinal
meal; after which, and while the sands were yet in the shadow of the
forest, a dashing ride on the beach was also prescribed by the
immemorial rules of the Paseo. The gailycaparisoned horses were brought
up by the not less gaily-caparisoned gallants, and the Señoras lifted to
their seats in front. Some of them preferred to ride alone; and when all
was ready, away they dashed, now coursing along the edge of the forest,
and anon skirting the water so closely that the spray, rising beneath
the strokes of the rapid hoofs, fell in glittering showers on horse and
rider.
At ten o’clock, the force of the sun begins to be felt; a cup of tiste
or of chocolate is now in order, followed by a game at cards beneath the
arbor-like corridors; and then, when the sun has gained the meridian, a
siesta opportunely comes in, with “frescos” and cigars _ad libitum_, to
fill up the hours until dinner, a meal which, in common with breakfast
and supper, is chiefly made up of fish, freshly caught, and game, filled
out with an endless variety of fruits and dulces. Besides visiting, and
other devices to kill time, there is always in the afternoon some kind
of divertisement, generally impromptu, to occupy the attention until the
hour of the evening bath. The afternoon of our visit, the divertisement
consisted in a grand search by the police for contraband _aguardiente_,
supposed to be concealed in a marsh, just back of the encampment, which
resulted in their getting mired and completely bedaubed with mud, before
they discovered that they had been adroitly duped by a wag, who the
evening preceding had set the whole encampment in an uproar by raising a
false alarm of “_los facciosos!_” But this time his luck failed him; he
was caught by the indignant soldiers, and, amidst the roars of the
entire encampment, was treated to a most effective mud bath, from which
he emerged dripping with mire. He was next taken to the sea, and
unmercifully ducked, then brought back, tumbled in the marsh again, and,
finally left to extricate himself as he best could. He took his
punishment like a philosopher, and contrived to get his captors quite as
completely in the mud as he was in the mire. This fellow’s love for
practical jokes, and the extravagant merriment which this rude sport
occasioned, illustrate what I before said of the keen appreciation of
the ridiculous which pervades all classes in Central America, and which
is perhaps due not less to a primitive condition of society, than to
that innate comic element which is so inexplicably associated with the
gravity of the Spanish character.
It is often the case that the higher officers of state come down to the
Paseo. The presence of Gen. Muñoz seemed to be specially desired, as
much, I thought, on account of the military band which accompanies him
on such occasions, as of his own social qualities. But the affairs of
the government were now in an interesting, not to say critical state, in
consequence of the threatened revolution in Honduras, and the ladies had
to content themselves with the hackneyed, and not over-exhilarating
music of the guitar and violin. But they were not the people to permit
what the transcendentalists call the “unattainable” to destroy an
appreciation and full enjoyment of the “present and actual.” On the
contrary, they seemed only to regret that the idle, careless life which
they now led must terminate with the decline of the moon; a regret,
however, wholesomely tempered by the prospect of its renewal during the
full moon of April, when it is customary to return again, for a few
days, to “wind up the season.”
My official duties did not permit of more than one day’s absence from
the seat of Government, and on the second evening, under most solemn
promises of a speedy return and protracted stay, just as the general
movement to the beach for the evening dance was commencing, we bade our
host good-by, and struck into the road for Leon. A rapid ride of two
hours over the open Salines, through forest and jicoral, and our horses
clattered over the pavements of Leon to our own silent dwelling.
Circumstances prevented my return to the sea; but when the Señoras came
back, a week later, I had full accounts of all that had transpired in
the way of match-making or adventure.
It not unfrequently happens that eight or ten thousand persons are
collected on the sea-shore, at the height of the Paseo; but of late
years the attendance has not been so full as formerly. “You should have
seen it thirty years ago,” said an ancient lady, with a long-drawn sigh,
“when Leon was a rich and populous city; it is nothing now!”
[Illustration: THE TOUCAN.]