Well, it has a reputation, does Bayamón, for two things. Officially, it’s the city of the chicharrón—the pork rind fried in lard. Sorry, but even reading about it has added twenty points to your cholesterol.
And the unofficial reputation?
The city of tapones—that would be traffic jams.
Well, I did neither the chicharrón nor the tapón. In fact, I strolled into the ferry terminal in Old San Juan, sailed to Cataño, and then took a público to Bayamón.
Well, it was old territory. I used to do this trip for years, several times a week. The Home Office for Wal-Mart was in Bayamón, behind store 2501 in a new and awful mall—Plaza del Sol.
My students all knew that.
But I was going to a different Bayamón—Sierra Bayamón. It’s the old part of town, the original part of town.
Students don’t know that!
It’s a testament to how the automobile has changed our lives. Unless you live in Bayamón, all you’ll ever come here for are the malls—Plaza del Sol, Santa Rosa, Río Hondo. This you’ll easily do in your car. But Sierra Bayamón is best done on foot.
So here’s where I started….
Yup, the famous públicos! Walk two blocks, and you’ll get to what every town in Puerto Rico (and most of Latin America and the Iberian Peninsula) has—a plaza (town square), a Catholic Church, and the City Hall. Most of the time, of course, the City Hall and the Catholic Church are facing each other, with the plaza serving as neutral territory between.
It made sense for decades—rather, centuries. Before the movies, before television, before air conditioning, you had to go somewhere to amuse yourself, escape the heat, and meet people.
That was the plaza.
All that’s changed, now. And, as usual, I’m behind the times. I once waited for hours at the plaza in Yauco, while Harry spent the equivalent time scouring through Yauco Plaza—the mall at the edge of town.
All this is an age before cell phones….
So here’s the plaza, or the plaza del pueblo:
All right,
one small corner of it. And what are the guys doing?
Dominoes—very
big in Puerto Rico….
In fact,
the plaza del pueblo is quite lovely, here in Bayamón. Lots of big trees, and
the shade is welcome….
Hey—shade, good friends, a pleasant game of dominos! Life’s good in Bayamón!
OK—it’s an old structure, unfortunately modernized. Sometimes it’s a bad thing, to have some money….
It's the Oller Museum. Originally (I suspect) the City Hall, it’s now a museum devoted to one of Puerto Rico’s best artists, Francisco Oller. The guy’s a serious painter, studied in France and Spain, and was a friend of Pissarro and Cézanne. Have a look!
 |
| Francisco Oller, Hacienda Aurora, Oil on panel, 1898-1899 (Museo de Arte de Ponce, Puerto Rico) |
It’s a nostalgic view of, perhaps, a terrible time. One wonders—did Oller paint it on site? Or in France, far from home? One thinks of him, in the cold, dark French winters, huddled perhaps in a cold atelier, warming himself with memories of home.
The reality was different. And though few people know it, Bayamón was the site of one of the few slave revolts in Puerto Rico.
Here’s—who else?—WikiPedia:
According to his plan several slaves were to escape from various plantations in Bayamón, which included the haciendas of Angus McBean, C. Kortnight, Miguel Andino and Fernando Fernández. They were then to proceed to the sugarcane fields of Miguel Figueres, and retrieve cutlasses and swords which were hidden in those fields.[1] Xiorro, together with a slave from the McBean plantation named Mario and another slave named Narciso, would lead the slaves of Bayamón and Toa Baja and capture the city of Bayamón. They would then burn the city and kill those who were not black. After this, they would all unite with slaves from the adjoining towns of Rio Piedras [note 1], Guaynabo and Palo Seco. With this critical mass of slaves, all armed and emboldened from a series of quick victories, they would then invade the capital city of San Juan, where they would declare Xiorro as their king.[1][9]
Well, does sound like a plan! Just one hitch….
Unfortunately for the slave conspirators, Miguel Figueres had a loyal slave named Ambrosio who divulged the plans of the conspiracy to him. The whistleblower also had both personal and financial interest, as slaves who reported any kind of slave conspiracy were granted their freedom and 500 pesos.[3] Figueres then informed the mayor of Bayamón who mobilized 500 soldiers. The ringleaders and followers of the conspiracy were captured immediately. A total of 61 slaves were imprisoned in Bayamón and San Juan.[1]
¿Bíjte?! There’s always one water party (aguafiestas or party pooper, in Puerto Rican Spanish).
Well, well, there’s much to see in Bayamón. Readers of Iguanas will know of the elfin Dr. Veve, who blew in one day only to find English a bit deflating. So I was pleased to find myself here, contemplating the sign….
And the landscape is indeed pleasant. Here’s a typical storefront….
Walking a bit further one comes to this….
It’s Bayamón’s tribute to one of the most amazing things in Puerto Rico—the troubadour (el trovador).
Yup, you heard me right.
Puerto Rico has had and continues to have an extraordinary history of the troubadour.
Suppose I gave you a line, say de lo frío a lo caliente, or “from being cold to being hot.” Now, all you have to do is improvise on the spot a poem sung to music of ten lines, with the first four lines ending in ABBA, the second four lines ending in ACCD, and the last two lines being DC. And the last line has to be the line I gave you, the de lo frío a lo caliente. That’s called the forced foot, or pie forzado.
My bet? I’ve lost you even in the request. And no way could you do it.
Especially since each line has to be eight syllables. And that’s only if the last word of the line doesn’t end in an accent on the final syllable, in which case the line has seven syllables.
Unbelievable, as Gunnar might exclaim.
But there are guys who do it.
Years ago, driving in the country, we came, Raf and I, on the gentle sound of the cuatro and tiple and the tenor voices singing the décimas, as they are called. Raf stopped the car by the side of the tree-lined road, and we walked, holding our breath—could it be possible?
It was. Fifty or a hundred people, all sitting and listening to people of varying ages engaging in this centuries-old tradition. (The first décima came to the island in the 16th century.)
Best of all, it’s a tradition that is getting stronger. Check out this link….
One New Year’s Eve, I was sitting in a restaurant with Raf’s family. And there appeared a troubadour, who improvised a décima with a line or couplet based on each member of the family. And when he came to me?
Well, they explained it later.
With typical, gentle humor, it went something like this:
Welcome, good stranger, from across the seas:
If you love Puerto Rico, stay: if not, leave!
Guess he has his answer!
