"Stella Australis": Poems, verses and prose fragmentsCoungeau, E. (Emily)
General
"Stella Australis": Poems, verses and prose fragments
Coungeau, E. (Emily)
Australian literature; Australian poetry
Well, two or three Greek girl friends and myself made up our minds to
have a real good day’s outing, so, packing our luncheon baskets, we were
off before sunrise, as, living some distance from the town of Mitylene,
we had a long walk in front of us. We started in high spirits, and were
nearing the town when I heard what, to my unsophisticated ears, was a
most peculiar awe-inspiring sound. I found it was produced by the Hozahs
at sunrise, calling from the minarets of the mosques, the faithful to
prayer. And Turks they may be, but, they shame us by their devotions,
which all the jeers in the world would never prevent.
We toiled along up the hill towards the Konah, the kiosk, being near by
the Governor’s residence, and at the top we stood admiring the sunrise
over the hills of Anatolia, in Asia Minor; and the view right along to
the heights of Smyrna in the distance was superb. Every inch of this
part of eastern Europe is teeming with historical interest. We walked
along past the Turkish graveyard, the tombs of which are all surmounted
with turbans beautifully sculptured, giving in the dusk a most weird
appearance, as though human beings stood there on guard.
At length we arrived at the Loutra, as it is called. The thermal water
is conducted underground from the hot springs. We entered a small garden
enclosed by a wall; then we were ushered into a room containing dozens
of small cupboard-like compartments, scrupulously clean. Our entrance
fee was five piasters, or tenpence in English money. We were each
supplied with clean towels. Then I, at least, went timorously towards
the apartment where the first portion of our ablutions were to be
carried out. An attendant came forward to receive us. The first
apartment was very warm, and we remained there until the perspiration
began to trickle down on to our towels which we secured round our
waists. Then came the ordeal.
On entering the “chamber of horrors” (I thought at first) I could
scarcely breathe, the air was so hot, and then I noticed that the floor
in this dome-shaped chamber sloped towards the middle. Suddenly several
taps were turned on, gently at first, and the attendant smeared us all
over the top part of our bodies with Fuller’s earth, after which, the
taps were turned on full speed, and we raced round that room while the
attendants pursued us, and smacked us soundly in turn. We slid around on
the marble floor, but kept losing our footing. Our faces were scarlet,
and oh! the dirt that came from the pores of our skin. And we had
thought we were clean! Well, the smacking process went on; the water
seemed hotter than ever, and at last we were allowed into the cooler
chamber, as we were feeling exhausted. The attendant was a Turkish
woman, but spoke Greek sufficiently to make herself understood. I have
often thought since she was an unusually active person for a Turkish
woman.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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