A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Around the World on a Bicycle V1

T >> Thomas Stevens >> Around the World on a Bicycle V1




Refreshments in abundance are tendered, and the usual pantomimic
explanations exchanged between us; some of the men have been honoring
the joyful occasion by a liberal patronage of the flowing bowl, and are
already mildly hilarious; stringed instruments are twanged by the musical
members of the great family, while several others, misinterpreting the
inspiration of raki punch for terpsichorean talent are prancing wildly
about the tent. Middle-aged matrons are here in plenty, housewifely
persons, finding their chief enjoyment in catering to the gastronomic
pleasures of the others; while a score or two of blooming maidens stand
coyly aloof, watching the festive merry-makings of the men; their heads
and necks are resplendent with bands and necklaces of gold coins, it
still being a custom of the East to let the female members of a family
wear the surplus wealth about them in the shape of gold ornaments and
jewels, a custom resulting from the absence of safe investments and the
unstability of national affairs. Yuzgat enjoys among neighboring cities
a reputation for beautiful women, and this auspicious occasion gives me
an excellent opportunity for drawing my own conclusions. It is not fair
perhaps to pass judgment on Yuzgat's pretensions, by the damsels of one
family connection, not even the great and numerous Pampasian-Pamparsan
family, but still they ought to be at least a fair average. They have
beautiful large black eyes, and usually a luxuriant head of hair; but
their faces arc, on the whole, babyish and expressionless. The Yuzgat
maiden of "sweet sixteen" is a coy, babyish creature, possessed
of a certain doll-like prettiness, but at twenty-three is a rapidly
fading flower, and at thirty is already beginning to get wrinkled and
old. Happening to fall in with this festive gathering this morning is
quite a gratifying and enlivening surprise; besides the music and dancing
and a substantial breakfast of chicken, boiled mutton, and rice pillau,
it gives me an opportunity of witnessing an Armenian family reunion under
primitive conditions. Watching over this peaceful and gambolling flock
of Armenian lambkins is a lone Circassian watchdog; he is of a stalwart,
warlike appearance; and although wearing no arms - except a cavalry sword,
a shorter broad-sword, a dragoon revolver, a two-foot horse-pistol, and
a double-barrelled shot-gun slung at his back - the Armenians seem to feel
perfectly safe under his protection. They probably don't
require any such protection really; they are nevertheless wise in employing
a Circassian to guard them, if for nothing else for the sake of freeing
their own unwarlike minds of all disquieting apprehensions, and enjoying
their family reunion in the calm atmosphere of perfect security; some
lawless party passing along the road might peradventure drop in and abuse
their hospitality, or partaking too freely of raki, make themselves
obnoxious, were they unprotected; but with one Circassian patrolling the
camp, they are doubly sure against anything of the kind.

These people invite me to remain with them until to-morrow; but of course
I excuse myself from this, and, after spending a very agreeable hour in
their company, take my departure. The country develops into an undulating
plateau, which is under general cultivation, as cultivation goes in
Asiatic Turkey. A number of Circassian villages are scattered over this
upland plain; most of them are distant from my road, but many horsemen
are encountered; they ride the finest animals in the country, and one
naturally falls to wondering how they manage to keep so well-dressed and
well-mounted, while rags and poverty and diminutive donkeys seem to be
the well-nigh universal rule among their neighbors. The Circassians
betray more interest in my purely personal affairs - whether I am Russian
or English, whither I am bound, etc.- and less interest in the bicycle,
than either Turks or Armenians, and seem altogether of a more reserved
disposition; I generally have as little conversation with them as possible,
confining myself to letting them know I am English and not Russian, and
replying "Turkchi binmus" (I don't understand) to other questions;
they have a look about them that makes one apprehensive as to the
disinterestedness of their wanting to know whither I am bound - apprehensive
that their object is to find out where three or four of them could "see
me later." I see but few Circassian women; what few I approach sufficiently
near to observe are all more or less pleasant-faced, prepossessing
females; many have blue eyes, which is very rare among their neighbors;
the men average quite as handsome as the women, and they have a peculiar
dare-devil expression of countenance that makes them distinguishable
immediately from either Turk or Armenian; they look like men who wouldn't
hesitate about undertaking any devilment they felt themselves equal to
for the sake of plunder. They are very like their neighbors, however,
in one respect; such among them as take any great interest in my
extraordinary outfit find it entirely beyond their comprehension; the
bicycle is a Gordian knot too intricate for their semi-civilized minds
to unravel, and there are no Alexanders among them to think of cutting
it. Before they recover from their first astonishment I have disappeared.

The road continues for the most part ridable until about 2 P.M., when I
arrive at a mountainous region of rocky ridges, covered chiefly with a
growth of scrub-oak. Upon reaching the summit of one of these ridges, I
observe some distance ahead what appears to be a tremendous field of
large cabbages, stretching away in a northeasterly direction almost to
the horizon of one's vision; the view presents the striking appearance
of large compact cabbage-heads, thickly dotting a well-cultivated area
of clean black loam, surrounded on all sides by rocky, uncultivatable
wilds. Fifteen minutes later I am picking my way through this "cultivated
field," which, upon closer acquaintance, proves to be a smooth lava-bed,
and the "cabbages" are nothing more or less than boulders of singular
uniformity; and what is equally curious, they are all covered with a
growth of moss, while the volcanic bed they repose on is perfectly naked.
Beyond this singular area, the country continues wild and mountainous,
with no habitations near the road; and thus it continues until some time
after night-fall, when I emerge upon a few scattering wheat-fields. The
baying of dogs in the distance indicates the presence of a village
somewhere around; but having plenty of bread on which to sup I once again
determine upon studying astronomy behind a wheat-shock. It is a glorious
moonlight night, but the altitude of the country hereabouts is not less
than six thousand feet, and the chilliness of the atmosphere, already
apparent, bodes ill for anything like a comfortable night; but I scarcely
anticipate being disturbed by anything save atmospheric conditions. I
am rolled up in my tent instead of under it, slumbering as lightly as
men are wont to slumber under these unfavorable conditions, when, about
eleven o'clock, the unearthly creaking of native arabas approaching
arouses me from my lethargical condition. Judging from the sounds, they
appear to be making a bee-line for my position; but not caring to
voluntarily reveal my presence, I simply remain quiet and listen. It
soon becomes evident that they are a party of villagers, coming to load
up their buffalo arabas by moonlight with these very shocks of wheat.
One of the arabas now approaches the shock which conceals my recumbent
form, and where the pale moonbeams are coquettishly ogling the nickel-plated
portions of my wheel, making it conspicuously sciutillant by their
attentions. Hoping the araba may be going to pass by, and that my presence
may escape the driver's notice, I hesitate even yet to reveal myself;
but the araba stops, and I can observe the driver's frightened expression
as he suddenly becomes aware of the presence of strange, supernatural
objects. At the same moment I rise up in my winding-sheet-like covering;
the man utters a wild yell, and abandoning the araba, vanishes like a
deer in the direction of his companions. It is an unenviable situation
to find one's self in; if I boldly approach them, these people, not being
able to ascertain my character in the moonlight, would be quite likely
to discharge their fire-arms at me in their fright; if, on the contrary,
I remain under cover, they might also try the experiment of a shot before
venturing to approach the deserted buffaloes, who are complacently chewing
the cud on the spot where their chicken-hearted driver took to his heels.

Under the circumstances I think it best to strike off toward the road,
leaving them to draw their own conclusions as to whether I am Sheitan
himself, or merely a plain, inoffensive hobgoblin. But while gathering
up my effects, one heroic individual ventures to approach part way and
open up a shouting inquiry; my answers, though unintelligible to him in
the main, satisfy him that I am at all events a human being; there are
six of them, and in a few minutes after the ignominious flight of the
driver, they are all gathered around me, as much interested and nonplussed
at the appearance of myself and bicycle as a party of Nebraska homesteaders
might be had they, under similar circumstances, discovered a turbaned
old Turk complacently enjoying a nargileh. No sooner do their apprehensions
concerning my probable warlike character and capacity become allayed,
than they get altogether too familiar and inquisitive about my packages;
and I detect one venturesome kleptomaniac surreptitiously unfastening a
strap when he fancies I am not noticing. Moreover, laboring under the
impression that I don't understand a word they are saying, I observe
they are commenting in language smacking unmistakably of covetousness,
as to the probable contents of my Whitehouse leather case; some think
it is sure to contain chokh para (much money), while others suggest that
I am a postaya (courier), and that it contains letters. Under these
alarming circumstances there is only one way to manage these overgrown
children; that is, to make them afraid of you forthwith; so, shoving the
strap-unfastener roughly away, I imperatively order the whole covetous
crew to "haidi." Without a moment's hesitation they betake themselves
off to their work, it being an inborn trait of their character to
mechanically obey an authoritative command. Following them to their other
arabas, I find that they have brought quilts along, intending, after
loading up to sleep in the field until daylight. Selecting a good heavy
quilt with as little ceremony as though it were my own property, I take
it and the bicycle to another shock, and curl myself up warm and
comfortable; once or twice the owner of the coverlet approaches quietly,
just near enough to ascertain that I am not intending making off with
his property, but there is not the slightest danger of being disturbed
or molested in any way till morning; thus, in this curious round-about
manner, does fortune provide me with the wherewithal to pass a comparatively
comfortable night. "Rather arbitrary proceedings to take a quilt without
asking permission," some might think; but the owner thinks nothing of
the kind; it is quite customary for travellers of their own nation to
help themselves in this way, and the villagers have come to regard it
as quite a natural occurrence. At daylight I am again on the move, and
sunrise finds me busy making an outline sketch of the ruins of an ancient
castle, that occupies, I should imagine, one of the most impregnable
positions in all Asia Minor; a regular Gibraltar. It occupies the summit
of a precipitous detached mountain peak, which is accessible only from
one point, all the other sides presenting a sheer precipice of rock; it
forms a conspicuous feature of the landscape for many miles around, and
situated as it is amid a wilderness of rugged brush-covered heights,
admirably suited for ambuscades, it was doubtless a very important
position at one time. It probably belongs to the Byzantine period, and
if the number of old graves scattered among the hills indicate anything,
it has in its day been the theatre of stirring tragedy. An hour after
leaving the frowning battlements of the grim old relic behind, I arrive
at a cluster of four rock houses, which are apparently occupied by a
sort of a patriarchal family consisting of a turbaned old Turk and his
two generations of descendants. The old fellow is seated on a rock,
smoking a cigarette and endeavoring to coax a little comfort from the
slanting rays of the morning sun, and I straightway approach him and
broach the all-important subject of refreshments. He turns out to be a
fanatical old gentleman, one of those old-school Mussulmans who have
neither eye nor ear for anything but the Mohammedan religion; I have
irreverently interrupted him in his morning meditations, it seems, and
he administers a rebuke in the form of a sidewise glance, such as a
Pharisee might be expected to bestow on a Cannibal Islander venturing
to approach him, and delivers himself of two deep-fetched sighs of "Allah,
Allah!"

Anybody would think from his actions that the sanctimonious old man-ikin
(five feet three) had made the pilgrimage to Mecca a dozen times, whereas
he has evidently not even earned the privilege of wearing a green turban;
he has neither been to Mecca himself during his whole unprofitable life
nor sent a substitute, and he now thinks of gaining a nice numerous
harem, and a walled-in garden, with trees and fountains, cucumbers and
carpooses, in the land of the hara fjhuz kiz, by cultivating the spirit
of fanaticism at the eleventh hour. I feel too independent this morning
to sacrifice any of the wellnigh invisible remnant of dignity remaining
from the respectable quantity with which I started into Asia, for I still
have a couple of the wheaten " quoits" I brought from Yuzgat; so, leaving
the ancient Mussulman to his meditations, I push on over the hills, when,
coming to a spring, I eat my frugal breakfast, soaking the unbiteable
"quoits" in the water. After getting beyond this hilly region, I emerge
upon a level plateau of considerable extent, across which very fair
wheeling is found; but before noon the inevitable mountains present
themselves again, and some of the acclivities are trundleable only by
repeating the stair-climbing process of the Kara Su Pass. Necessity
forces me to seek dinner at a village where abject poverty, beyond
anything hitherto encountered, seems to exist. A decently large fig-leaf,
without anything else, would be eminently preferable to the tattered
remnants hanging about these people, and among the smaller children puris
naturalis is the rule. It is also quite evident that few of them ever
take a bath; as there is plenty of water about them, this doubtless comes
of the pure contrariness of human nature in the absence of social
obligations. Their religion teaches these people that they ought to bathe
every day; consequently, they never bathe at all. There is a small
threshing-floor handy, and, taking pity on their wretched condition, I
hesitate not to "drive dull care away" from them for a few minutes, by
giving them an exhibition; not that there is any "dull care" among
them, though, after all; for, in spite of desperate poverty, they know
more contentment than the well-fed, respectably-dressed mechanic of the
Western World. It is, however, the contentment born of not realizing
their own condition, the bliss that comes of ignorance. They search the
entire village for eatables, but nothing is readily obtainable but bread.
A few gaunt, angular fowls are scratching about, but they have a beruffled,
disreputable appearance, as though their lives had been a continuous
struggle against being caught and devoured; moreover, I don't care to
wait around three hours on purpose to pass judgment on these people's
cooking. Eggs there are none; they are devoured, I fancy, almost before
they are laid. Finally, while making the best of bread and water, which
is hardly made more palatable by the appearance of the people watching
me feed - a woman in an airy, fairy costume, that is little better than
no costume at all, comes forward, and contributes a small bowl of yaort;
but, unfortuntaely, this is old yaort, yaort that is in the sere and
yellow stage of its usefulness as human food; and although these people
doubtless consume it thus, I prefer to wait until something more acceptable
and less odoriferous turns up. I miss the genial hospitality of the
gentle Koords to-day. Instead of heaping plates of pillau, and bowls of
wholesome new yaort, fickle fortune brings me nothing but an exclusive
diet of bread and water. My road, this afternoon, is a tortuous donkey-trail,
intersecting ravines with well-nigh perpendicular sides, and rocky ridges,
covered with a stunted growth of cedar and scrub-oak. The higher mountains
round about are heavily timbered with pine and cedar. A large forest on
a mountain-slope is on fire, and I pass a camp of people who have been
driven out of their permanent abode by the flames. Fortunately, they
have saved everything except their naked houses and their grain. They
can easily build new houses, and their neighbors will give or lend them
sufficient grain to tide them over till another harvest. Toward sundown
the hilly country terminates, and I descend into a broad cultivated
valley, through which is a very good wagon-road; and I have the additional
satisfaction of learning that it will so continue clear into Sivas, a
wagon-road having been made from Sivas into this forest to enable the
people to haul wood and building-timber on their arabas. Arriving at a
good-sized and comparatively well-to-do Mussulman village, I obtain an
ample supper of eggs and pillau, and, after binning over and over again
until the most unconscionable Turk among them all can bring himself to
importune me no more, I obtain a little peace. Supper for two, together
with the tough hill-climbing to-day, and insufficient sleep last night,
produces its natural effect; I quietly doze off to sleep while sitting
on the divan of a small khan, which might very appropriately be called
an open shed. Soon I am awakened; they want me to accommodate them by
binning once more before they retire for the night. As the moon is shining
brightly, I offer no objections, knowing that to grant the request will
be the quickest way to get rid of their worry. They then provide me with
quilts, and I spend the night in the khan alone. I am soon asleep, but
one habitually sleeps lightly under these strange and ever-varying
conditions, and several times I am awakened by dogs invading the khan
and sniffing - about my couch. My daily experience among these people is
teaching me the commendable habit of rising with the lark; not that I
am an enthusiastic student, or even a willing one - be it observed that
few people are - but it is a case of either turning out and sneaking off
before the inhabitants are astir, or to be worried from one's waking
moments to the departure from the village, and of the two evils one comes
finally to prefer the early rising. One can always obtain something to
eat before starting by waiting till an hour after sunrise, but I have
had quite enough of these people's importunities to make breakfasting
with them a secondary consideration, and so pull out at early daylight.
The road is exceptionally good, but an east wind rises with the sun and
quickly develops into a stiff breeze that renders riding against it
anything but child's play; no rose is to be expected without a thorn,
nevertheless it is rather aggravating to have the good road and the
howling head-wind happen together, especially in traversing a country
where good roads are the exception instead of the rule. About eight
o'clock I reach a village situated at the entrance to a rocky defile,
with a babbling brook dancing through the space between its two divisions.
Upon inquiring for refreshments, a man immediately orders his wife to
bring me pillau. For some reason or other - perhaps the poor woman has
none prepared; who knows? - the woman, instead of obeying the command
like a "guid wifey," enters upon a wordy demurrer, whereupon her husband
borrows a hoe-handle from a bystander and advances to chastise her for
daring to thus hesitate about obeying his orders; the woman retreats
precipitately into the house, heaping Turkish epithets on her devoted
husband's head. This woman is evidently a regular termagant, or she would
never have used such violent language to her husband in the presence of
a stranger and the whole village; some day, if she doesn't be more
reasonable, her husband, instead of satisfying his outraged feelings by
chastising her with a hoe-handle, will, in a moment of passion, bid her
begone from his house, which in Turkish law constitutes a legal separation;
if the command be given in the presence of a competent witness it is
irrevocable. Seeing me thus placed, as it were, in an embarrassing
situation, another woman - dear, thoughtful creature! - fetches me enough
wheat piilau to feed a mule, and a nice bowl of yaort, off which I make
a substantial breakfast. Near by where I am eating are five industrious
maidens, preparing cracked or broken wheat by a novel and interesting
process, that has hitherto failed to come under my observation; perhaps
it is peculiar to the Sivas vilayet, which I have now entered. A large
rock is hollowed out like a shallow druggist's mortar; wheat is put in,
and several girls (sometimes as many as eight, I am told by the American
missionaries at Sivas) gather in a circle about it, and pound the wheat
with light, long-headed mauls or beetles, striking in regular succession,
as the reader has probably seen a gang of circus roustabouts driving
tent-pins. When I first saw circus tent-pins driven in this manner, a
few years ago, I remember hearing on-lookers remarking it as quite novel
and wonderful how so many could be striking the same peg without their
swinging sledges coming into collision; but that very same performance
has been practised by the maidens hereabout, it seems, from time immemorial-
another proof that there is nothing new under the sun. Ten miles of good
riding, and I wheel into the considerable town of Yennikhan, a place
sufficiently important to maintain a public coffee-khan and several small
shops. Here I take aboard a pocketful of fine large pears, and after
wheeling a couple of miles to a secluded spot, halt for the purpose of
shifting the pears from my pocket to where they will be better appreciated.
Ere I have finished the second pear, a gentle goatherd, who from an
adjacent hill observed me alight, appears upon the scene and waits around,
with the laudable intention of further enlightening his mind when I
remount. He is carrying a musical instrument something akin to a flute;
it is a mere hollow tube with the customary finger-holes, but it is blown
at the end; having neither reed nor mouth-piece of any description, it
requires a peculiar sidewise application of the lips, and is not to be
blown readily by a novice. When properly played, it produces soft,
melodious music that, to say nothing else, must exert a gentle soothing
influence on the wild, turbulent souls of a herd of goats. The goatherd
offers me a cake of ekmek out of his wallet, as a sort of a I peace - offering,
but thanks to a generous breakfast, music hath more charms at present
than dry ekmek, and handing him a pear, I strike up a bargain by which
he is to entertain me with a solo until I am ready to start, when of
course he will be amply recompensed by seeing me bin; the bargain is
agreed to, and the solo duly played. East of Yennikhan, the road develops
into an excellent macadamized highway, on which I find plenty of genuine
amusement by electrifying the natives whom I chance to meet or overtake.
Creeping noiselessly up behind an unsuspecting donkey-driver, until quite
close, I suddenly reveal my presence. Looking round and observing a
strange, unearthly combination, apparently swooping down upon him, the
affrighted katir-jee's first impulse is to seek refuge in flight, not
infrequently bolting clear off the roadway, before venturing upon taking
a second look. Sometimes I simply put on a spurt, and whisk past at a
fifteen mile pace. Looking back, the katir-jee generally seems rooted
to the spot with astonishment, and his utter inability to comprehend.
These men will have marvellous tales to tell in their respective villages
concerning what they saw; unless other bicycles are introduced, the time
the "Ingilisiu" went through the country with his wonderful araba will
become a red-letter event in the memory of the people along my route
through Asia Minor. Crossing the Yeldez Irmak Eiver, on a stone bridge,
I follow along the valley of the head-waters of our old acquaintance,
the Kizil Irmak, and at three o'clock in the afternoon, roll into Sivas,
having wheeled nearly fifty miles to-day, the last forty of which will
compare favorably in smoothness, though not in leveluess, with any forty-
mile stretch I know of in the United States. Prom Angora I have brought
a letter of introduction to Mr. Ernest Weakley, a young Englishman,
engaged, together with Mr. Kodigas, a Belgian gentleman, for the Ottoman
Government, in collecting the Sivas vilayet's proportion of the Russian
indemnity; and I am soon installed in hospitable quarters. Sivas artisans
enjoy a certain amount of celebrity among their compatriots of other
Asia Minor cities for unusual skilfulness. particularly in making filigree
silver work. Toward evening myself and Mr. Weakley take a stroll through
the silversmiths' quarters. The quarters consist of twenty or thirty
small wooden shops, surrounding an oblong court; spreading willows and
a tiny rivulet running through it give the place a semi-rural appearance.
In the little open-front workshops, which might more appropriately be
called stalls, Armenian silversmiths are seated cross-legged, some working
industriously at their trade, others gossiping and sipping coffee with
friends or purchasers.

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.