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Around the World on a Bicycle V1

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




Nightfall overtakes me as, after travelling several miles of variable
road, I commence following a winding trail down into the valley of a
tributary of the Arasces toward Ovahjik, where resides the Pasha Khan,
to whom I have a letter; but the crescent-shaped moon sheds abroad a
silvery glimmer that exerts a softening influence upon the mountains
outlined against the ever-arching dome, from whence here and there a
star begins to twinkle. It is one of those. beautiful, calm autumn
evenings when all nature seems hushed in peaceful slumbers; when the
stars seem to first peep cautiously from the impenetrable depths of their
hiding-place, and then to commence blinking benignantly and approvingly
upon the world; and when the moon looks almost as though fair Luna has
been especially decorating herself to embellish a scene that without her
lovely presence would be incomplete. Such is my first autumn evening
beneath the cloudless skies of Persia.

Soon the village of Ovahjik is reached, and some peasants guide me to
the residence of the Pasha Khan. The servant who presents my letter of
introduction fills the untutored mind of his master with wonderment
concerning what the peasants have told him about the bicycle. The Pasha
Khan makes his appearance without having taken the trouble to open the
envelope. He is a dull-faced, unintellectual-lookiug personage, and
without any preliminary palaver he says: "Bin bacalem," in a dictatorial
tone of voice. "Bacalem yole lazim, bacalem saba," I reply, for it is
too dark to ride on unknown ground this evening. " Bin bacalem, " repeats
the Pasha Khan, even more dictatorial than before, ordering a servant
to bring a tallow candle, so that I can have no excuse. There appears
to be such a total absence of all consideration for myself that I am not
disposed to regard very favorably or patiently the obtrusive meddlesomeness
of two younger men-whom I afterward discover to be sons of the Pasha
Khan - who seem almost inclined to take the bicycle out of my charge
altogether, in their excessive impatience and inordinate inquisitiveness
to examine everything about it. One of them, thinking the cyclometer to
be a watch, puts his ear down to see if he can hear it tick, and then
persists in fingering it about, to the imminent danger of the tally-pin.
After telling him several times not to meddle with it, and receiving
overbearing gestures in reply, I deliberately throw him backward into
an irrigating ditch. A gleam of intelligence overspreads the stolid
countenance of the Pasha Khan at seeing his offspring floundering about
on his back in the mud and water, and he gives utterance to a chuckle
of delight. The discomfited young man betrays nothing of the spirit of
resentment upon recovering himself from the ditch, and the other son
involuntarily retreats as though afraid his turn was coming next. The
servant now arrives with the lighted candle, and the Pasha Kahn leads
the way into his garden, where there is a wide brick-paved walk; the
house occupies one side of the garden, the other three sides are inclosed
by a high mud wall. After riding a few times along the brick-paved walk,
and promising to do better in the morning. I naturally expect to be taken
into the house, instead of which the Pasha Khan orders the people to
show me the way to the caravanserai. Arriving at the caravanserai, and
finding myself thus thrown unexpectedly upon my own resources, I inquire
of some bystanders where I can obtain elcmek; some of them want to know
how many liras I will give for ekmek. When it is reflected that a lira
is nearly five dollars, one realizes from this something of the
unconscionable possibilities of the Persian commercial mind.

While this question is being mooted, a figure appears in the doorway,
toward which the people one and all respectfully salaam and give way.
It is the great Pasha Khan; he has bethought himself to open my letter
of introduction, and having perused it and discovered who it was from
and all about me, he now comes and squats down in the most friendly
manner by my side for a minute, as though to remove any unfavorable
impressions his inhospitable action in sending me here might have made,
and then bids me accompany him back to his residence. After permitting
him to eat a sufficiency of humble pie in the shape of coaxing, to atone
for his former incivility, I agree to his proposal and accompany him
back. Tea is at once provided, the now very friendly Pasha Khan putting
extra lumps of sugar into my glass with his own hands and stirring it
up; bread and cheese comes in with the tea, and under the mistaken
impression that this constitutes the Persian evening meal I eat sufficient
to satisfy my hunger. While thus partaking freely of the bread and cheese,
I do not fail to notice that the others partake very sparingly, and that
they seem to be rather astonished because I am not following their
example. Being chiefly interested in satisfying my appetite, however,
their silent observations have no effect save to further mystify my
understanding of the Persian character. The secret of all this soon
reveals itself in the form of an ample repast of savory chicken pillau,
brought in immediately afterward; and while the Pasha Khan and his two
sons proceed to do full justice to this highly acceptable dish, I have
to content myself with nibbling at a piece of chicken, and ruminating
on the unhappy and ludicrous mistake of having satisfied my hunger with
dry bread and cheese. Thus does one pay the penalty of being unacquainted
with the domestic customs of a country when first entering upon its
experiences. There seems to be no material difference between the social
position of the women here and in Turkey; they eat their meals by
themselves, and occupy entirely separate apartments, which are unapproachable
to members of the opposite sex save their husbands. The Pasha Khan of
Ovahjik, however, seems to be a kind, indulgent husband and father,
requesting me next morning to ride up and down the brick-paved walk for
the benefit of his wives and daughters. In the seclusion of their own
walled premises the Persian females are evidently not so particular about
concealing their features, and I obtained a glimpse of some very pretty
faces; oval faces with large dreamy black eyes, and a flush of warm
sunset on brownish cheeks. The indoor costume of Persian women is but
an inconsiderable improvement upon the costume of our ancestress in the
garden of Eden, and over this they hastily don a flimsy shawl-like garment
to come out and see me ride. They are always much less concerned about
concealing their nether extremities than about their faces, and as they
seem but little concerned about anything on this occasion save the
bicycle, after riding for them I have to congratulate myself that, so
far as sight-seeing is concerned, the ladies leave me rather under
obligations than otherwise.

After supper the Pasha Khan's falconer brings in several fine falcons
for my inspection, and in reply to questions concerning one with his
eyelids tied up in what appears to be a cruel manner, I am told that
this is the customary way of breaking the spirits of the young falcons
and rendering them tractable and submissive  the eyelids are pierced
with a hole, a silk thread is then fastened to each eyelid and the ends
tied together over the head, sufficiently tight to prevent them opening
their eyes. Falconing is considered the chief out-door sport of the
Persian nobility, but the average Persian is altogether too indolent for
out-door sport, and the keeping of falcons is fashionable, because
regarded as a sign of rank and nobility rather than for sport. In the
morning the Pasha Khan is wonderfully agreeable, and appears anxious to
atone as far as possible for the little incivility of yesterday evening,
and to remove any unfavorable impressions I may perchance entertain of
him on that account before I leave. His two sons and a couple of soldiers
accompany me on horseback some distance up the valley. The valley is
studded with villages, and at the second one we halt at the residence
of a gentleman named Abbas Koola Khan, and partake of tea and light
refreshments in his garden. Here I learn that the Pasha Khan has carried
his good intentions to the extent of having made arrangements to provide
me armed escort from point to point; how far ahead this well-meaning
arrangement is to extend I am unable to understand; neither do I care
to find out, being already pretty well convinced that the escort will
prove an insufferable nuisance to be gotten rid of at the first favorable
opportunity. Abbas Koola Khan now joins the company until we arrive at
the summit of a knoll commanding an extensive view of my road ahead so
they can stand and watch me when they all bid me farewell save the soldier
who is to accompany me further on. As we shake hands, the young man whom
I pushed into the irrigating ditch, points to a similar receptacle near
by and shakes his head with amusing solemnity; whether this is expressive
of his sorrow that I should have pushed him in, or that he should have
annoyed me to the extent of having deserved it, I cannot say; probably
the latter. My escort, though a soldier, is dressed but little different
from the better-class villagers; he is an almond-eyed individual, with
more of the Tartar cast of countenance than the Persian. Besides the
short Persian sword, he is armed with a Martini Henry rifle of the 1862
pattern; numbers of these rifles having found their way into the hands
of Turks, Koords and Persians, since the RussoTurkish war. My predictions
concerning his turning out an insupportable nuisance are not suffered
to remain long unverified, for he appears to consider it his chief duty
to gallop ahead and notify the villagers of my approach, and to work
them up to the highest expectations concerning my marvellous appearance.
The result of all this is a swelling of his own importance at having so
wonderful a person under his protection, and my own transformation from
an unostentatious traveller to something akin to a free circus for crowds
of barelegged ryots. I soon discover that, with characteristic Persian
truthfulness, he has likewise been spreading the interesting report that
I am journeying in this extraordinary manner to carry a message from the
"Ingilis Shah " to the "Shah in Shah of Iran " (the Persians know their
own country as Iran) thereby increasing his own importance and the
wonderment of the people concerning myself. The Persian villages, so
far, are little different from the Turkish, but such valuable property
as melon-gardens, vineyards, etc., instead of being presided over by a
watchman, are usually surrounded by substantial mud walls ten or twelve
feet high. The villagers themselves, being less improvident and altogether
more thoughtful of number one than the Turks, are on the whole, a trifle
less ragged; but that is saying very little indeed, and their condition
is anything but enviable. During the summer they fare comparatively well,
needing but little clothing, and they are happy and contented in the
absence of actual suffering; they are perfectly satisfied with a diet
of bread and fruit and cucumbers, rarely tasting meat of any kind. But
fuel is as scarce as in Asia Minor, and like the Turks and Armenians,
in winter they have resource to a peculiar and economical arrangement
to keep themselves warm; placing a pan of burning tezek beneath a low
table, the whole family huddle around it, covering the table and themselves
-save of course their heads-up with quilts; facing each other in this
ridiculous manner, they chat and while away the dreary days of winter.

At the third village after leaving the sons of the Pasha Khan, my Tartar-
eyed escort, with much garrulous injunction to his successor, delivers
me over to another soldier, himself returning back; this is my favorable
opportunity, and soon after leaving the village I bid my valiant protector
return. The man seems totally unable to comprehend why I should order
him to leave me, and makes an elaborate display of his pantomimic abilities
to impress upon me the information that the country ahead is full of
very bad Koords, who will kill and rob me if I venture among them
unprotected by a soldier. The expressive action of drawing the finger
across the throat appears to be the favorite method of signifying personal
danger among all these people; but I already understand that the Persians
live in deadly fear of the nomad Koords. Consequently his warnings,
although evidently sincere, fall on biased ears, and I peremptorily order
him to depart. The Tabreez trail is now easily followed without a guide,
and with a sense of perfect freedom and unrestraint, that is destroyed
by having a horseman cantering alongside one, I push ahead, finding the
roads variable, and passing through several villages during the day. The
chief concern of the ryots is to detain me until they can bring the
resident Khan to see me ride, evidently from a servile desire to cater
to his pleasure. They gather around me and prevent my departure until
he arrives. An appeal to the revolver will invariably secure my release,
but one naturally gets ashamed of threatening people's lives even under
the exasperating circumstances of a forcible detention. Once to-day I
managed to outwit them beautifully. Pretending acquiescence in their
proposition of waiting till the arrival of their Khan, I propose mounting
and riding a few yards for their own edification while waiting; in their
eagerness to see they readily fall into the trap, and the next minute
sees me flying down the road with a swarm of bare-legged ryots in full
chase after me, yelling for me to stop. Fortunately, they have no horses
handy, but some of these lanky fellows can run like deer almost, and
nothing but an excellent piece of road enables me to outdistance my
pursuers. Wily as the Persians are, compared to the Osmanlis, one could
play this game on them quite frequently, owing to their eagerness to see
the bicycle ridden; but it is seldom that the road is sufficiently smooth
to justify the attempt. I was gratified to learn from the Persian consul
at Erzeroum that my stock of Turkish would answer me as far as Teheran,
the people west of the capital speaking a dialect known as Tabreez
Turkish; still, I find quite a difference. Almost every Persian points
to the bicycle and says: "Boo; ndmi ndder. " ("This; what is it?") and
it is several days ere I have an opportunity of finding out exactly what
they mean. They are also exceedingly prolific in using the endearing
term of kardash when accosting me. The distance is now reckoned by
farsakhs (roughly, four miles) instead of hours; but, although the farsakh
is a more tangible and comprehensive measurement than the Turkish hour,
in reality it is almost as unreliable to go by. Towards evening I ascend
into a more mountainous region, inhabited exclusively by nomad Koords;
from points of vantage their tents are observable clustered here and
there at the bases of the mountains. Descending into a grassy valley or
depression, I find myself in close proximity to several different camps,
and eagerly avail myself of the opportunity to pass a night among them.
I am now in the heart of Northern Koordistan, which embraces both Persian
and Turkish territory, and the occasion is most opportune for seeing
something of these wild nomads in their own mountain pastures. The
greensward is ridable, and I dismount before the Sheikh's tent in the
presence of a highly interested and interesting audience. The half-wild
dogs make themselves equally interesting in another and a less desirable
sense as I approach, but the men pelt them with stones, and when I
dismount they conduct me and the bicycle at once into the tent of their
chieftain. The Sheikh's tent is capacious enough to shelter a regiment
almost, and it is divided into compartments similar to a previous
description; the Sheikh is a big, burly fellow, of about forty-five,
wearing a turban the size of a half-bushel measure, and dressed pretty
much like a well-to-do Turk; as a matter of fact, the Koords admire the
Osmanlis and despise the Persians. The bicycle is reclined against a
carpet partition, and after the customary interchange of questions, a
splendid fellow, who must be six feet six inches tall, and broad-shouldered
in proportion, squats himself cross-legged beside me, and proceeds to
make himself agreeable, rolling me cigarettes, asking questions, and
curiously investigating anything about me that strikes him as peculiar.
I show them, among other things, a cabinet photograph of myself in all
the glory of needle-pointed mustache and dress-parade apparel; after a
critical examination and a brief conference among themselves they pronounce
me an "English Pasha." I then hand the Sheikh a set of sketches, but
they are not sufficiently civilized to appreciate the sketches; they
hold them upside down and sidewise; and not being able to make anything
out of them, the Sheikh holds them in his hand and looks quite embarrassed,
like a person in possession of something he doesn't know what to do with.
Noticing that the women are regarding these proceedings with much interest
from behind a low partition, and not having yet become reconciled to the
Mohammedan idea of women being habitually ignored and overlooked, I
venture upon taking the photograph to them; they seem much confused at
finding themselves the object of direct attention, and they appear several
degrees wilder than the men, so far as comprehending such a product of
civilization as a photograph is an indication. It requires more material
objects than sketches and photos to meet the appreciation of these semi-
civilized children of the desert. They bring me their guns and spears
to look at and pronounce upon, and then my stalwart entertainer grows
inquisitive about my revolver. First extracting the cartridges to prevent
accident, I hand it to him, and he takes it for the Sheikh's inspection.
The Sheikh examines the handsome little Smith & Wesson long and wistfully,
and then toys with it several minutes, apparently reluctant about having
to return it; finally he asks me to give him a cartridge and let him go
out and test its accuracy. I am getting a trifle uneasy at his evident
covetousness of the revolver, and in this request I see my opportunity
of giving him to understand that it would be a useless weapon for him
to possess, by telling him I have but a few cartridges and that others
are not procurable in Koordistan or neighboring countries. Recognizing
immediately its uselessness to him under such circumstances, he then
returns it without remark; whether he would have confiscated it without
this timely explanation, it is difficult to say.

Shortly after the evening meal, an incident occurs which causes considerable
amusement. Everything being unusually quiet, one sharp-eared youth happens
to hear the obtrusive ticking of my Waterbury, and strikes a listening
attitude, at which everybody else likewise begins listening; the tick,
tick is plainly discernible to everybody in the compartment and they
become highly interested and amused, and commence looking at me for an
explanation. With a view to humoring the spirit of amusement thus awakened,
I likewise smile, but affect ignorance and innocence concerning the
origin of the mysterious ticking, and strike a listening attitude as
well as the others. Presuming upon our interchange of familiarity, our
six-foot-sixer then commences searching about my clothing for the watch,
but being hidden away in a pantaloon fob, and minus a chain, it proves
beyond his power of discovery. Nevertheless, by bending his head down
and listening, he ascertains and announces it to be somewhere about my
person; the Waterbury is then produced, and the loudness of its ticking
awakes the wonder and admiration of the Koords, even to a greater extent
than the Turks. During the evening, the inevitable question of Euss,
Osmanli, and English crops up, and I win unanimous murmurs of approval
by laying my forefingers together and stating that the English and the
Osmanlis are kardash. I show them my Turkish teskeri, upon which several
of them bestow fervent kisses, and when, by means of placing several
stones here and there I explained to them how in 1877, the hated Muscov
occupied different Mussulman cities one after the other, and was prevented
by the English from occupying their dearly beloved Stamboul itself, their
admiration knows no bounds. Along the trail, not over a mile from camp,
a large Persian caravan has been halting during the day; late in the
evening loud shouting and firing of guns announces them as prepared to
start on their night's journey. It is customary when going through this
part of Koordistan for the caravan men to fire guns and make as much
noise as possible, in order to impress the Koords with exaggerated
ideas concerning their strength and number; everybody in the Sheikh's
tent thoroughly understands the meaning of the noisy demonstration, and
the men exchange significant smiles. The firing and the shouting produce
a truly magical effect upon a blood-thirsty youngster of ten or twelve
summers; he becomes wildly hilarious, gamboling about the tent, and
rolling over and kicking up his heels. He then goes to the Sheikh, points
to me, and draws his finger across his throat, intimating that he would
like the privilege of cutting somebody's throat, and why not let him cut
mine. The Sheikh and others laugh at this, but instead of chiding him
for his tragical demonstration, they favor him with the same admiring
glances that grown people bestow upon precocious youngsters the world
over. Under these circumstances of abject fear on the one hand, and
inbred propensity for violence and plunder on the other, it is really
surprising to find the Koords in Persian territory behaving themselves
as well as they do. Quilts are provided for me, and I occupy this same
compartment of the tent, in common with several of the younger men. In
the morning, before departing, I am regaled with bread and rich, new
cream, and when leaving the tent I pause a minute to watch the busy scene
in the female department. Some are churning butter in sheep-skin churns
which are suspended from poles and jerked back and forth; others are
weaving carpets, preparing curds for cheese, baking bread, and otherwise
industriously employed. I depart from the Koordish camp thoroughly
satisfied with my experience of their hospitality, but the cerulean
waist-scarf bestowed upon me by our Hungarian friend Igali, at Belgrade,
no longer adds its embellishments to my personal adornments. Whenever a
favorable opportunity presents, certain young men belonging to the noble
army of hangers-on about the Sheikh's apartments invariably glide inside,
and importune the guest from Frangistan for any article of his clothing
that excites the admiration of their semi-civilized minds. This scarf,
they were doubtless penetrating enough to observe, formed no necessary
part of my wardrobe, and a dozen times in the evening, and again in the
morning, I was worried to part with it, so I finally presented it to one
of them. He hastily hid it away among his clothes and disappeared, as
though fearful, either that the Sheikh might see it and make him return
it, or that one of the chieftain's favorites might take a fancy to it
and summarily appropriate it to his own use.

Not more than five miles eastward from the camp, while trundling over a
stretch of stony ground, I am accosted by a couple of Koordiah shepherds;
but as the country immediately around is wild and unfrequented, save by
Koords, and knowing something of their little weaknesses toward travellers
under tempting, one-sided conditions, I deem it advisable to pay as
little heed to them as possible. Seeing that I have no intention of
halting, they come running up, and undertake to forcibly detain me by
seizing hold of the bicycle, at the same time making no pretence of
concealing their eager curiosity concerning the probable contents of my
luggage. Naturally disapproving of this arbitrary conduct, I push them
roughly away. With a growl more like the voice of a wild animal than of
human beings, one draws his sword and the other picks up a thick knobbed
stick that he had dropped in order to the better pinch and sound my
packages. Without giving them time to reveal whether they seriously
intend attacking me, or only to try intimidation, I have them nicely
covered with the Smith & Wesson. They seem to comprehend in a moment
that I have them at a disadvantage, and they hurriedly retreat a short
distance, executing a series of gyral antics, as though expecting me to
fire at their legs. They are accompanied by two dogs, tawny-coated
monsters, larger than the largest mastiffs, who now proceed to make
things lively and interesting around myself and the bicycle. Keeping the
revolver in my hand, and threatening to shoot their dogs if they don't
call them away, I continue my progress toward where the stony ground
terminates in favor of smooth camel-paths, about' a hundred yards farther
on. At this juncture I notice several other "gentle shepherds " coming
racing down from the adjacent knolls; but whether to assist their comrades
in catching and robbing me, or to prevent a conflict between us, will
always remain an uncertainty. I am afraid, however, that with the advantage
on their side, the Koordish herdsmen rarely trouble themselves about any
such uncongenial task as peace-making. Reaching the smooth ground before
any of the new-comers overtake me, I mount and speed away, followed by
wild yells from a dozen Koordish throats, and chased by a dozen of their
dogs. Upon sober second thought, when well away from the vicinity, I
conclude this to have been a rather ticklish incident; had they attacked
me in the absence of anything else to defend myself with, I should have
been compelled to shoot them; the nearest Persian village is about ten
miles distant; the absence of anything like continuously ridable road
would have made it impossible to out-distance their horsemen, and a
Persian village would have afforded small security against a party of
enraged Koords, after all. The first village I arrive at to-day, I again
attempt the "skedaddling" dodge on them that proved so successful on
one occasion yesterday; but I am foiled by a rocky "jump-off" in the
road to-day. The road is not so favorable for spurting as yesterday,
and the racing ryots grab me amid much boisterous merriment ere * I
overcome the obstruction; they take particular care not to give me another
chance until the arrival of the Khan. The country hereabouts consists
of gravelly, undulating plateaus between the mountains, and well-worn
camel-paths afford some excellent wheeling. Near mid-day, while laboriously
ascending a long but not altogether unridable ascent, I meet a couple
of mounted soldiers; they obstruct my road, and proceed to deliver
themselves of voluble Tabreez Turkish, by which I understand that they
are the advance guard of a party in which there is a Ferenghi (the Persian
term for an Occidental). While talking with them I am somewhat taken by
surprise at seeing a lady on horseback and two children in a kajaveh
(mule panier) appear over the slope, accompanied by about a dozen Persians.

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