A DREAM COME TRUE

Evening Star, Issue 19274, 12 June 1926, Page 2

A DREAM COME TRUE

AK INTERLUDE ON THE WAY THE INTEREST OF THE CANAL No. IV. [Written by “Pilgrim,” for the ‘livening Star.’] They tell you that the Panama route is dull. Judged by stopping places it is. You may not call atj Pitcairn, and if you are not an oil ship you do not stop at Curacao. That leaves only Panama, and your ship may so strike the Canal that you go ashore at only one place. If, as is planned, larger ships are put on to this run, it may be necessary, in order to attract sufficient patronage, to include another call. That, however, might interfere with the time programme, which aims at landing the passenger in Englandin thirty days.

Panama, however, is most interest ing especially to those who see it lor the first time. The Canal is now more than ten years old, and the world has ceased to marvel at it, but that is no reason why the traveller should not be deeply impressed by this magnificent achievement of the Americans. Here the observant voyager secs, as in the vastnoss of the ocean, something that no home study of geography can teach him fully. It is a huge object lesson, with continents and oceans as the teacher’s material. Then there are the Canal settlements, fascinating to the traveller who is going abroad for the first time, as the first experience of foreign countries. We were fortunate enough to reach the Pacific end of the Canal in the late afternoon, which gave us the evening ashore at Balboa and Panama, and while the ship was coaling at the other end next afternoon we had a glimpse of Colon and Christobal. It was a happy company that streamed from the ship that evening at Balboa, a crowd of schoolboys off for a holiday, to many of whom the adventure had all the excitement of complete novelty. The taxi rolled us over perfect roads through the American settlement, with its dignified public buildings and rows of bungalowed residences, all saying “ Efficiency,” “Efficiency.” Then suddenly the scene changed, and we were in the middle of a foreign city of narrow streets and mixed dark population, ol palm trees and “ spicy garlic smells,” of strange speech and sights. Not that the smells were offensive; the Americans, so a guide book informed us, have “ sanitated ” Panama. It was like going into a theatre, and like being a child again and seeing one’s first play; how romantic it all seemed then! The city was fully alive. Some of the passengers lamented that they did not see the place in the daytime, but they were fortunate in that they saw it at its time of greatest vitality. Some visitors go there in tho afternoon, and complain when they return to the ship that the town is dead. The fact is that the inhabitants like to take a siesta in the afternoon, and it is in the evening that they' wake up and enjoy life. The streets are crowded, and the shops keep open until 2 in the morning. By the way, I am not sure whether these people should ho called Panamese or Panamanians. In the shipping world, 1 am told, they are known as the “ Spikkadeso,” because when they cannot or will not understand you, they say “No spikka da Eenglish.” Many a New Zealander who finds himself in a foreign country must he struck by the smallness and insignificance of his own land. So long as he is at home ho finds it difficult to realise that there are millions of people abroad who do not even know that there is such a place. Sot down in the middle. of Panama, and watching crowds of alien people pass by, the New Zealander feels that, like his country, he is an atom in a great world. Prob-, ably some of those passers-by know there is a place called New Zealand; they would know this from the liners that call. Here, however, is a community that, we may be sure, has never heard of Sir James Parr, or the Otira Tunnel, or Mr Holland, or the All Blacks—surely a solemn thought. All this is a wholesome corrective to national self-importance cultivated in isolation. This, however, is a _ mood that soon passes. Interest in this now world is the predominant fact. Also the sense of humor is apt to take charge. Things are funny, because they are strange. It is funny, for example, to see men being shaved in public; funny to see phaeton-like cabs drawn by single horses not much bigger than calves;'funny to be tangled in the intricacies of American money, and to solve the difficulty of holding out .t handful to the lady at the Y.M.C.A bar and asking her to take tho right coin. We felt for tb§ American sailors who in New Zealand ports were be fogged by our two shilling and haltcrowfii pieces. The horse cab was the funniest experience. The driver was an Italian, and, by a strange coincidence, a ‘ Punch ’ reached us next day with a picture of an Italian proprietor of a similar vehicle being engaged by a nervous English tourist. “ ’Ave no tear, Signora, Vittorio, ’o no maka da gallopa.” Our Vittorio also showed no disposition to “maka da gallopa.” Indeed, the five of us felt consciencestricken at setting the little thing the task of pulling us, and two of us in pity stepped off easily as the cab wenr up hill. I fear tho laughter that possessed us did not impress the inhabitants favorably. It was mostly the padre’s fault. He sat up beside the driver, and conversed with him in elementary French and Italian, throwing explanatory remarks to ns over his .shoulder. The driver seemed to see none of the humor in the situation. “ Cheval blanc,” said the padre, indicating the horse. “Non,” replied tho driver, just like a teacher in a secondary school; “Cheval blanche. He even scorned to be quite touched by tho Italian expression “ Dolce lar monte, being possibly surprised that so inarticulate a person as an Englishman should know so much of a foreign tongue. Wo wished him grama most politely when we descended, tlio padre adding “ signor ’’—being the best .scholar of the party—ami wo sought a Y.M.C.A. refreshment room to appease our tropical thirst and check onr laughtor. There wo hail iced drinks and delicious sliced bananas,_ served with an indigestible largesse ol ice cream in long silver platters. After that we wandered down to the ship, and, passing an American church, stopped to listen to an orchestra that was practising inside. It gave us a Chopin nocturne and a Mendelssohn song without words. Travel is full of surprises. The Canal has been written about so often that I do not propose to describe either the locks or the Gotun Dam. The whole great work is enormously interesting; a huge monument of engineering efficiency. Tho most fascinating thing about its working is tho entire absence of fuss. The big ship was nulled into the locks and raised and lowered quickly, smoothly, and quietly. There was no shouting, no rushing about of men. The handful of employees on the lock side seemed to stroll about their jobs, and one could almost imagine them saying: “By jove, here’s a ship! Suppose we put her through, what?” No orders wore beard; everybody knew exactly what to do and did it without bustle and noise, but quickly and efficiently. The impression of silent efficiency is produced largely by the fact that, except for the electric “ mules ” that take the ship through tho locks, the machinery of this huge system is

invisible and silent. The gates open and shut without a sound, and there is nothing to show how they arc worked. Ono passenger said ho belt sorry for the French, whose part in the Canal enterprise is in danger of being forgotten. Their chapter in the Canal’s history is a tragic record of financial corruption and disease, but they had the vision, and they did a good deal of the work. As it was, the loss of life was terrible; had they gone on and finished the job it would have been appalling. Fortunately, by the time the Americans took it in'hand the means of prevent lig ye.low fever had been found. On ohr ship we had an old sailor who remembered the Panama rogifin at its worst. He had visited Colon in a sailing ship, and seen fever strike down evei'y man in the ship except himself. The contrast between tills experience and the healthiness of the Canal zone to-day is-like the' Canal itself, a splendid monument to the American people. We had a few hours at ChristobalColon, and added to our experience of foreign lands. _ For example, an extra plate of one kind of cake at afternoon tea cost us a dollar, which was a’ reminder that ah tea rooms are not as cheap as those in New Zealand. However, the laugh that followed on this discovery was almost worth the dollar. Next morning we were in the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic, with memories of the Spanish Main crowding on us, and the ship’s head pointed for England. This was Drake’s sea—- ■** slung between the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay, an’ dreainin’ arl the time of /lymouth Hoe.” The engines seemed to beat the tune as wo swung away northwards towards his home and the homo of us nil.