The Coolidge examiner., 1933-03-31

\ ACAO, which has long been
| MI one of the gambling centers
of the East, now, with mod
ern improvements, is earning the
right to the sobriquet 1.-The Monte
Carlo of the Orient" 1t is the only
place in the world where fan-tan
houses, opium factories and lottery
tickets finance a colonial govern
ment.
Macao is but the tip end of the
Island of Heungshan (also known
as Macao island). All of the island
except the tip belongs to China.
The Portuguese area, which in
cludes two small adjacent islands,
embraces less than a dozen square
miles; but there are few places in
the Orient where a dozen square
miles contain so much of interest.
1t is the oldest European settle
ment in the Far East and was for
long the only haven of refuge for
distressed mariners in the China
sea. It's modest lighthouse, on Fort
Guia, was the first that ever flashed
beacon from the coast of the Chi
nese empire. and its little cemetery
was for many years the only spot
where a European might find an un-
molested grave.
Many wealthy Chinese live here,
not merely because they find the
| climate more salubrious than that
of Kwangtune province, but be-
cause their heads rest more securely
on their shoulders here. under the
Portuguese flag. The Praia Grande
Is a cool and restful avenue and
leads appropriately to a plaza which
is the vestibule of the grotto and
garden of Camoens.
The plaza is to be seen at it's best
on Sundays and holidays, when the
band from the Portuguese garrison
plays classical selections with the
same ease and perfection that en-
dear the Constabulary band to the
Filipinos. On such occasions the
plaza is adorned with the elite of
Macao, with Chinese and Eurasian
children of the cunning" type, and
with dark-eyed Portuguese girls,
who flirt discreetly (but none the
less effectively with the young Of
ficers from the garrison.
Scenes on the Plaza.
This romantic plaza in Macao
serves the traveller like page torn
from school geography.
Here. stalking grandly across the
square, one sees a swarthy oriental
noncommissioned officer with his
head draped in a striped turban
and wonders what the Hindu is
doing here. Some one explains that
he belongs here, that he belongs
to the battalion sent here from Goa,
the tiny Portuguese colony in India.
Then another apparition catches
the eye, the silhouette of row of
ivory-black soldiers, topped off with
red feZzes, festOoned over the rail
fence in front of the barracks.
Plainly they are not Portuguese, nor
Hindu, nor Chinese.
Suddenly one of the dusky sol
diers lays his head back and laughs
laughs loudly and long. The
Identification is instantaneous and
complete; there is no mistaking
that laugh it is the same that you
hear on the levees of the Ohio and
the Mississippi. 1t was made in At
rica, and these are native troops
from a Portuguese colony some
where along the hot, steaming
coast of the dark continent.
To those who have sojourned
among the frontier forces of the
French in the Senegal. Of the Brit
ish In Sierra Leone. Of the Libe-
rians at Monrovia. or of the Su-
danese on the upper Nile. the spec
tacle brings hack old memories.
Where PortuguaI and China Meet.
But these details are not for the
speeding traveller. He CLEANS the es-
sential facts from a guidebOok en-
route; his all-comprehending eye
sweeps the landscape while the
Hongkong-MacaO boat leisurely
makes its way up to the dock, where
the jinrikisha coolie is waiting to
whirl him around the circuit and |
back to the gangplank. stroll
past the grotto of the poet, a snap |
shot of the imposing facade of |
ruined Sac Paulo's, a brief glance at |
a fan-tan game, a two-mlnute de- |
tour at the opium factory, ten min
utes at the firecracker works, a |
whirlwind finish at the Barrier |
Gate, and Macao has been seem
at least on the average tourist |
schedule.
The Barrier Gate, designed like
an arch of triumph and now
wreathed by the branches of vener.