What We Saw Part4

What We Saw in the West Indies     Part IV

THE DIARY OF TWO REAL GIRLS ON A REAL TRIP

By Lola and Valerie

From Everyland magazine, Apr. 1917; researched by Alan Schenker; digitized by Doug Frizzle

GETTING into Demerara is different from getting into any other place that we have visited. The trip across from Barbados was the roughest we've had, and when we came within sight of land, we found the water a dark, muddy brown, for Georgetown, the capital, is on a big river twenty miles from the sea and the river-water colors the sea for many miles outside.

All we could see was a few tall chimneys against the horizon, and a lightship. The country is so low and flat that the buildings and trees seem to grow right out of the water, but as we came near, we found that the shores were covered with low green bushes and trees and the town was hidden behind docks and warehouses.

There are a number of nice boarding places and hotels here in Georgetown, and we found a fine place right on the main street for the week we are to be here. We were very pleasantly surprised as we drove about the town to find it a beautiful, big city, with the streets regularly laid out and canals everywhere, sometimes beside the streets and sometimes in their centers, for the old Dutch settlers chose this place below the level of the river and had to make canals to drain the water off, and there are dykes to keep the water out just as in Holland. The streets are filled with crowds of people from all quarters of the globe, dressed in their native costumes. There are Hindus, East Indian coolies, Chinese, Afghans, Brahmans, and native Indians. It is very hot in the middle of the day, but the breeze blows from the river and it is cool in the morning and at night. There is a lovely place called the Sea Wall, where the band plays and the people promenade and enjoy the breeze.

We have been very much interested in the shops here as they are so very different from those in any other place we have seen. One part of the town has fine, up-to-date French and English shops, but the ones we like best are in the East Indian section. We prowled about, examining the curious brassware, and picked out some funny little gods and brass candlesticks and some beautiful bowls of East Indian manufacture. The Hindu women are the banks for their families, and the amount of jewelry they wear in their ears and noses and on their arms, toes, and ankles is wonderful.

Valerie wears some Hindu bracelets and an anklet, and I have a funny silver collar, such as is worn by the oldest child in East Indian families, and the coolies all chatter and seem pleased when they see us wearing their ornaments.

The botanic gardens here are the finest we have seen. They are beautifully planned with nearly ten miles of drives and every sort of palm, flower, and tree. There are many canals and lakes in the gardens, and these are filled with beautiful water-lilies of blue, red, pink, purple, and white, but the one which were the most wonderful are called victoria regia. These have leaves so large that they look as if a person could stand on them. They remind us of giant green pancakes on the water, and the enormous white and pink flowers are as big as my head.

The thing we liked best of all in the gardens was a pond where there were live manatees and alligators. The manatees would come up to eat grass we threw into the water, but we could see only their noses. In the trees about the ponds we saw wild herons and white egrets and flocks of parrots, and a great many other strange and lovely birds were everywhere in the trees and shrubbery. Here, for the first time, we saw rice growing, and, much to our surprise, we found it looked just like light green grass growing in shallow water.

Everybody gets up early in the morning, for business begins at seven o'clock and early morning is the pleasantest part of the day. This morning we took an early drive down the coast. The road ran close to the river, and it was very strange to see the water higher than our heads beyond the dyke along the shore. We passed lots of little villages and long lines of houses called ranges, where the coolie laborers on the sugar estates live, and saw native barbers "barbing" their customers on the streets.

This afternoon we went to a football game to which we had been invited by some young people. The game was played in the English way, and none of the players were allowed to touch the ball with their hands. The boys all wore short trousers, and their knees were bare, and many of them were badly scratched and bruised.

When we came back to the hotel tonight, we found a new guest who had just come down from the "bush," as they call the interior. He has a gold mine there and showed us a number of gold nuggets which he had washed out of the sand in a creek. They were the first we'd ever seen, and he gave us each one to have made into a pin as a souvenir. He also showed us some beautiful diamonds from the "diggings" up the river.

Early this morning we went to the market-place, and though it was much the same as the other markets we have seen, it was larger and was more interesting, for it was filled with picturesque Hindus and in the stalls were lots of curious things. There were great blue and red and yellow macaws, monkeys and parrots and many other wild animals and birds for sale. One kind of monkey is just too cunning: it is called a sakawinki and is a little, soft, cuddly thing about the size of a squirrel. We wanted to buy one, but father says they'll not live over winter at home, so we bought a pair of lovebirds for some friends at home, and a very tame blue parrot that just loves to be petted. We have named him Boy Blue. He is mine, and Valerie has a parrakeet, called Joseph because his coat is of many colors.

This afternoon we went to an entertainment given for the benefit of the Baby-Saving League. Everybody is trying to help save Creole and coolie babies by teaching how to feed and care for them properly. I think they used to give babies all kinds of dreadful things to eat before this league was formed.

Our steamer is coming in to-morrow, and we have had such a fine time here it doesn't seem possible we've been here a whole week. We are just getting well acquainted and enjoying our stay, and mother is sorry to go, too, but father says we'll find plenty to interest us in Paramaribo, where we are going next.

We find the Maraval a nice big ship with even larger and better staterooms than the Guiana. We are on board now and ready to sail, and so many of our friends have come to bid us good-by that it makes us feel quite homesick. The people down here are certainly very hospitable and friendly.

This morning we found ourselves in the same old muddy water, although we were entering the river at Surinam. We stopped by a funny little red lightship to take on the pilot and lifted his launch and its occupants right up onto our deck. At the quarantine station the doctor came along in a boat flying the Dutch flag, but we hardly noticed anything besides the men who rowed the boat. They were all black and were dressed in blouse, trousers, and cap, one side of their costume being bright blue and the other brown. The captain told us they were convicts and this was the convict dress to prevent them from getting away without being recognized. They didn't seem at all unhappy, but laughed and joked and appeared as jolly as possible.

Very soon after, we saw the town and were delighted with its appearance, for it was so clean and neat and all the houses had quaint dormer windows and looked just like the pictures of Holland. The Maraval tied to a big iron dock close to the market-place, and the ship was so high above the buildings that the town seemed like a little toy village.

Paramaribo is very different from any other place. The streets are all shaded with huge mahogany trees, and the houses look like those of some little New England or Dutch village. We drove out to a big rubber plantation and were much interested in seeing the men tap the trees and gather the white sap that flowed out. This was caught in little glass cups and was treated with acid, and then it turned into real rubber.

We find the people fearfully and wonderfully dressed. The idea of the colored women seems to be to look as fat as they can, and they wear bright-colored, stiffly starched clothes with padded rolls about their waists to keep their skirts out, and flowing starched capes, with stiff handkerchiefs tied like Dutch caps on their heads. One dear little girl named Trinka, who sold us candies and baskets, looked so sweet in her Dutch dress that I wanted to take her home. She helps her mother make the baskets and sweets to sell but goes to school every day and to church and Sunday-school and speaks English well. She is so polite and nice we told her we would put her picture in the Everyland magazine, so children all over the world could see how dear and clean and nicely starched she looks, and you ought to see how happy that made her!

There are Hindus here, too, and hundreds of Javanese who dress in flowered silk and cotton and look like pictures of the Far East, and then there are native Indians and Bush Negroes from the interior who wear very little clothing.

The people all speak Dutch, and the shops are full of a funny mixture of things from Holland and Java and the East Indies.

The botanic gardens here are not as large nor as pretty as those in Demerara, but they are very interesting because of the Javanese village there. The Javanese are the laborers here, and in their village in the gardens they live just as they do in Java. The little brown babies run about without any clothes and are so shy they seem like little brown birds or rabbits, but the women and men followed us about on their funny wooden clogs and seemed to find us just as strange as we thought them.

Valerie tried to take some snapshots of some Bush Negro children whom we met on the street, but their fathers and mothers dragged them out of sight behind themselves, so she couldn't take them. They think that if any one takes their picture it robs them of part of their spirit or soul.

We happened to see a very interesting coolie betrothal ceremony. The little bride-to-be was only twelve years old and had her face covered with a heavy veil and was fastened by her long white wedding garments to the bridegroom's pink robes. He wore a funny bird-cage-like head-dress of fancy colored paper and Christmaslike trimmings, through which his face could hardly be seen. On paying a piece of silver any one could look at the bride's face, so we each took a shilling look.

We left Paramaribo day before yesterday and this morning early saw Trinidad ahead. We are now just entering the Bocas, narrow strips of water which connect the ocean with the Gulf of Paria. The captain says boca is Spanish for mouth and that these at the north are the dragon's mouths and that those at the other end of the gulf are the serpent's mouths. There are three of these mouths at this end of the gulf, and we are going through the narrowest of all. It doesn't look as if the ship would have room to pass, the mouth is so narrow, and on either side are great mountains rising right out of the water and covered with forests and with huge caves at their bases. Trinidad is on the left and Venezuela on the right, and ahead we can see the gulf of Paria, on which the town, Port of Spain, is situated.

(To be concluded)

Where East Meets West

This article originally had 13 pictures (by the author) and in the processing, the captions below the images were discarded by my software. That being the case, I've just included three, sorry.

Where East Meets West

Demerara and Paramaribo, a study in contrasts—Oriental life in South America—British and Dutch Guiana, the last relics of great colonial empires—Native customs and character

A. Hyatt Verrill

Travel magazine February 1916, collected by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle August 2011.

TO those seeking new lands to visit during the winter months— places out of the beaten track and yet within easy reach and where every necessity and luxury may be obtained—Demerara will prove an ideal spot.

Here on the northeast coast of South America is a land intensely tropical and marvelously luxuriant with strange and wonderful forms of vegetation—a land where splendid highways enable the visitor to drive or motor for hundreds of miles through scenes utterly new, and where hunting, fishing, sailing, golfing or any other sport or recreation may be followed to one's heart's content. A country of strange, sharp contrasts, where Twentieth Century civilization borders on the untamed wilderness, where wild birds and beasts and wilder men may be seen dwelling in their native homes, and yet where every comfort and necessity is provided for.

Although less than five hundred miles north of the equator, Demerara—or more properly Georgetown, the capital of British Guiana is not oppressively hot, and, contrary to prevalent ideas, it is not unhealthy.

Throughout the year the trade winds blow constantly and temper the heat of the tropic sun, and while it is often unpleasantly wet during the rainy summer season, yet the mercury never soars into the nineties, and the sweltering, humid heat of New York is unknown. During the winter—from October until January or February—the thermometer rarely exceeds 85 degrees, occasional showers cool and freshen the air, the nights are cool and delightful, mosquitoes and other insect pests are rarely troublesome, and as a whole there are few places in the tropics which possess a climate more agreeable or less trying to Northerners. But if you visit Demerara don't make the mistake of trying to live, dress and eat as in the north; even the healthiest of tropic lands will prove inimical to one's welfare unless one's life and habits are adapted to the local conditions.

"Early to bed and early to rise," is an excellent maxim for the visitor to the tropics to bear in mind, for abundant sleep is a necessity and the early hours of the morning are the pleasantest of the twenty-four.

Don't overeat, but partake of native food as much as possible; far too many tourists adhere to a northern diet in the tropics, with dire results. Wear the lightest of summer clothing, but avoid draughts or cool air when warm. Don't overexert or over-exercise, and thus exhaust your vitality, for while sunstroke and heat prostration are practically unknown, yet extreme lassitude, digestive disorders and irritating skin affections often result from a too strenuous life beneath a tropical sun. Above all, never use spirituous liquors to excess; if you must drink, drink sparingly; liquor has killed more men in the tropics than all the fevers, insects, snakes and diseases combined.

While Demerara is almost unknown to the majority of Americans, yet it is a big, bustling, modern place with a population of nearly half a million, commerce amounting to over $20,000,000 annually, and an output from its gold mines of over $1,000,000 a year.

Quite out of the world, as far as tourist travel is concerned, yet Demerara is within easy reach by steamer from New York, and the ten days' voyage, over the smoothest of summer seas, is pleasantly broken by stops at charming West Indian islands— tropic gems set in turquoise and sapphire seas where verdure-clad mountains lose their summits in the drifting clouds and rustling palms shade the quaint and sleepy towns—and to visit which would alone be worth the entire trip.

Originally settled by the Dutch in 1613, Demerara has been a British possession since 1814, but the influence of its original owners may still be seen on every hand. Wherever the Dutch settled, they seem to have selected sites as much like their beloved Holland as possible, and they apparently could not feel thoroughly at home unless they devoted much of their time and labor to keeping the sea from their possessions. True to this tendency they founded Georgetown on land as flat as a board and so low that it is several feet beneath sea level—or, rather, river level, for the town borders on the great Demerara River nearly twenty miles from the ocean.

Seen from the water Demerara is disappointing, for the one-time dykes have been transformed into broad sea walls and great docks, lined with warehouses, stores and buildings which almost conceal the city beyond. But as the traveler emerges from the docks he steps into a busy, bustling, well-built modern town. The broad, straight streets are smooth and well kept; trolley cars run here, there and everywhere; automobiles and motor trucks hurry hither and thither; drays and carts pass and repass in a never-ending stream, and people of innumerable races and of every shade and color throng the sidewalks and the stores. As in most West Indian towns, colored people predominate in Demerara, but the population as a whole is wonderfully cosmopolitan. Aside from the English, Scotch and other Anglo-Saxons, there are many Portuguese; Chinese are numerous, and most noticeable of all are the Hindus. Picturesque and striking in their native costumes, the East Indians give a touch of the Orient to the scene and form one of the most interesting features of Demerara. Originally brought over from India as indentured field laborers, the ''coolies" have prospered and increased, and many of them are now independent planters, well-to-do merchants, successful tradesmen and skilled artisans. Everywhere they are in evidence. On country roads, in stores and shops, on the city streets they are seen, all redolent of the Far East, ever with something of the mystery of India about them and always fascinatingly foreign and strange to northern eyes.

Thin almost to emaciation, the men stalk about, clad in the lightest and scantiest of costumes and with huge turbans on their heads, while the women—brilliant in gaudy, silken jackets and heavy with silver and gold armlets, bracelets, anklets, collars and nose rings—squat beside trays of sweets or fruits, or trip along with lace or silken scarfs fluttering to the breeze. To see the East Indians at their best, however, one should visit their villages in the suburbs or should travel to the outlying sugar estates.

Here they swarm, living their own lives, following their own customs, and worshiping in their own temples as in far-off India.

Above the nodding palms the shimmering dome of a mosque gleams in the sunlight, and if the visitor desires—and wins the favor of the white-bearded descendant of the Prophet—he may step within the dim interior or the mosque, first having removed his shoes, and may gaze upon the ponderous Koran resting in its niche.

In soggy, marshy pastures, mud-blue buffaloes graze while tended by naked Hindu boys. Beside the roads motley throngs of Orientals haggle over the prices of strange, spiced viands and odd fruits. In the shade of tamarinds coolie barbers ply their trade and shave their fellow countrymen in the open air in sight of all the world, and upon the highway passes an ever-changing procession of men, women and children that well might have stepped from one of Kipling's stories.

Hindu priests in loose, white robes; Parsees and Brahmins; wizened fakirs in rags and tatters; holy men with beards dyed scarlet and foreheads painted with mystic symbols; fat, well-fed merchants in spotless silk and with huge parasols to protect their turbaned heads— a score of races, a thousand types, innumerable castes, some plodding on foot, others crowded into tiny donkey or bullock carts, and still others whirling along on motorcycles or in automobiles.

Though far more interesting and picturesque than the omnipresent negro, and while their soft "Salaam, Sahib" is a vast improvement over the accustomed "Mornin', San," yet the East Indians are but one of the manifold attractions of Demerara.

The broad, smooth streets are shaded with great trees, and in the residential districts have well-kept grass plots and shady paths in their centers, while through many of the city thoroughfares and everywhere in the country are the canals. Within the town they are lined with concrete and are flushed and cleaned daily and at cross streets they are spanned by attractive bridges, while on their placid waters are mirrored the lofty palms and beautiful buildings that rise above their banks. In the outlying districts they become lovely sylvan streams, bordered by gorgeous flowering shrubs, shaded by long avenues of stately palms and often filled with blooming lotus and pink-hued water lilies. By their sides the natives dwell in neat cottages on stilt-like posts, while under the verandas ducks swim about, cattle and buffaloes munch the reeds and water plants and children bathe and splash in the shallow water.

These canals are a characteristic feature of the place, typical of Demerara, and while adding greatly to its charm they combine utility with attractiveness, for they are essential to Georgetown and serve to drain the low-lying ground on which the city is built. Each time the tide runs out the ponderous sluice-gates are opened by their Hindu tenders and the land is drained, and when the tide turns the gates are again closed to keep the river out. Stretching across the country, bordering the highways and flowing through the city's streets, the canals add a touch of Holland to the scene, but unlike those of the Netherlands they are not used as thoroughfares, for canals have few advantages where roads are as numerous and as perfect as in Demerara. Level as a table, smooth as asphalt, broad, straight and lined with palms, luxuriant tropical foliage and brilliant flowers, the roads of Demerara are simply ideal for driving or motoring. One may spend days driving about and never visit the same spots twice, for there are over 350 miles of highways around Georgetown, and if one cares to go farther afield there are splendid auto roads leading for seventy miles and more into the interior.

Here one may motor in comfort and ease, with the untamed "bush" stretching away on every hand, or past broad fields of cane and great sugar mills; through paddy fields where all-but-naked Hindus labor waist deep amid the tender, green rice plants; along rivers where sharp-prowed Indian canoes drift slowly down the stream between jungle-covered banks; or by villages of thatched and wattled huts where bare, brown children scurry to cover like frightened partridges at one's approach.

If one cares for outdoor sports or recreation they are to be had in plenty in Demerara. There are golf links and tennis courts, cricket grounds and shooting clubs, and a race course which is one of the finest in America. Within easy reach there is excellent fishing, game is abundant in the near-by forests, and the river affords an ideal spot for motor boating or sailing.

Lines of river steamers ply upon the great waterways, and an excursion may be taken far into the heart of South America, where naked Indians live their primitive lives, where gigantic liana-hung trees form a forest that sweeps unbroken for untold leagues, and where strange beasts and birds are still unafraid of man. By these steamers one may visit the lumber camps where greenheart, purpleheart, crab-wood and many another rare timber is being cut, or may travel to the "diggings'' where miners are washing precious metal from Guiana's golden sands.

And to accomplish all this requires no hardihood, little discomfort and no hardships. Stopping places are all provided with hotels, the steamers are clean and comfortable, and the entire trip is scarcely more than a summer picnic or a holiday excursion, for at Demerara civilization rubs elbows with the wild, and it's but a step from the teeming, modern business center of the town to the vast, almost unknown interior and its impenetrable jungles.

But of all things in Demerara, the crowning attraction is the public garden, or "Botanic Station." Close to the busy city and within easy reach by trolley or carriage is this veritable wonderland —a bit of tropical forest improved and beautified by man and yet so well arranged and so admirably planned that there is no artificiality about it to detract from its natural beauty. Here are gathered together the flowers, shrubs, vines, trees and palms of every tropic land, with nurseries and experimental plots filled with all the food-plants, fruits, spices and economic trees adapted to a tropical climate. Everywhere through the gardens are smooth, well-kept, shady roads stretching for miles, and one may walk or drive through the station for hours and ever see something new, interesting and strange. Here and there are broad, grassy lawns, above which rise stately palms of enormous size. Ponds and streams are spanned by picturesque Japanese bridges and shaded by clumps of gigantic bamboos. Beside the roadways are canals choked with the wonderful leaves and great, white flowers of the marvelous Victoria Regia, and everywhere are arches of huge trees, their branches covered with strange air plants and brilliant orchids. Best of all, bird and animal life teems in this beautiful setting, and to drive through the Botanic Station is like driving through a zoological garden.

In the tree-tops paroquets and parrots chatter and scream or wing away in bright-hued flocks at one's approach. From hedges and shrubbery the notes of gorgeous song birds issue, and among the flowers brilliant tropic butterflies and swift-winged humming-birds flash like living jewels in the sun. Across the lily pads and water plants dainty jacanas and purple gallinules run nimbly back and forth, seeming to walk upon the water's surface. Among the lotus leaves white egrets and dignified herons perch and crane their necks to view the passerby, and in canals and pools great alligators doze and clumsy manatees look curiously at the intruders.

But no description can do justice to the gardens or to Demerara, and one must visit the place in person to appreciate the many attractions, the innumerable features of interest and the manifold advantages which this bit of the tip of South America presents to the tourist from the north.

Then, having seen Demerara thoroughly, take a little trip "around the corner," so to speak, and visit Georgetown's next door neighbors in quaint old Paramaribo.

Only eighteen hours are required to make the trip from British Guiana's capital to that of Dutch Guiana, a city unlike any other in the world and the quaintest and most interesting town in South America, if not in the entire western hemisphere. Moreover, Paramaribo should be of the greatest interest to every New Yorker, for Dutch Guiana or Surinam was the price of our metropolis, and* Paramaribo was given by the British to the Dutch in exchange for New Amsterdam in 1674.

For twenty miles inland from the ocean the ship steams slowly up the broad and sluggish, coffee-colored Surinam River, between the low, mangrove-covered shores and around bend after bend. Here and there, upon a higher bit of ground, large trees, lofty palms and red-roofed houses may be seen. Cane fields, patches of bananas and cultivated lands break the monotony of the all-pervading "bush" and now and again a "Dutchy" church steeple rises above an outlying village. At last the city comes into view and the traveler feels that by some magic spell he has been transported from South America to the shores of Holland, for squatting behind its dykes at the water side Paramaribo might well be a village on the Zuyder Zee were it not for the palm trees nodding above the roofs and the absence of great windmills. White, green-shuttered houses with steep, gabled roofs and projecting dormer windows line the streets and water front; typically Dutch church steeples stand clear cut against the deep blue sky and the Dutch flag floats from the masthead of many a steamer and sailing ship lying at the great iron and concrete docks.

Strange as it seems to find this bit of Holland dropped down amid tropical surroundings, it is stranger still to step ashore among the people. In vain one looks about for staid, stout Dutchmen, plump, fair-haired fraus and tow-headed youngsters. In their places are burly negroes, buxom negresses and brown pickaninnies, but despite the color of their skin all are Dutch as Dutch can be.

Their gabble and chatter is in Dutch, prices are quoted in guilders, Dutch names adorn street corners and store fronts, and "Yah, mynheer," is substituted for the customary and familiar "Yes, sah."

Even the costumes of the negro women are patterned after the dress of Holland—combined with the African's love of gaudy colors and slight variations made necessary by the climate—the result being both picturesque and remarkable.