The "Lure of the Tropics"
The "Lure of the
Tropics" one hears of so frequently works its seductive influence here in old Panama,
holding its victims happy prisoners.
When the cities of what will be terminals of the Panama Canal were quagmires, men spoke of
"The lure of the Tropics" as they leaped across green-coated pools and dodged
the flying mud from passing vehicles. Now that the fairy wand of the engineer has
been waved over Colon and Panama, and God's pure air is free from the scents from
accumulated human and other filth, the "Lure of the Tropics" in these parts is a
real thing; and if its enchanting spell has been proportionately increased in power, it is
because the hand of man has joined forces with Nature, the result being that man himself
has fallen deeper into the power of the balmy influence of the rain-cooled zephyrs, from
blue seas and ward sun rays of even temperature in the midst of all the conveniences of
modern civilization. What was once called a "pest hole" is now termed a
"Health report" by the world's greatest sanitation expert.
"Human derelicts," "tropical tramps," "vagabonds," etc., are
the names given to those victims of the "lure of the Tropics" who relax body and
soul and surrender absolutely to the Enchantress.
Panama has its share of these; huge, hairy Anglo-Saxons, who sprawl in the warm sunshine
along the waterfront, flirting with the brown-eyed "cholitas," and sharing their
last dime with the little sons of the country, whose skins are of all shades, from that
rich brown which gives the "cholita" her charm (which is one of the principal
lures of the tropics) to the deepest ebony, hereditary hue of the son of Ethiopia.
Happy vagabonds! They nourish their weary bodies with the succulent plantain, and an
occasional heaping dish of "frijoles," and, now and then, a little beef -- and
all the rum they can lay their hands on. The last is their ticket to the "long
rest" in the land from whence no traveler hath returned, to date.
The "Lure of the Tropics" is a dangerous thing when the moral structure of the
native of colder climes is frail. Now and then a Canal Man gets caught; but being of
the right kind, he fights free again and goes back to his clean quarters and substantial,
and starts a new collection of postal money orders.
From: Panama Roughneck Ballads by John Hall, 1912
CZBrats
September 19, 1998
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