Nicaragua

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—

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!”