The Lands of the Tamed Turk; or, the Balkan States of to-day: A narrative of travel through Servia, Bulgaria, Montenegro, Dalmatia and the recently acquired Austrian provinces of Bosnia and the Herzegovina; with observations of the peoples, their races, creeds, institutions and politics, and of the geographical, historical and commercial aspects of the several countriesJaekel, Blair
History
The Lands of the Tamed Turk; or, the Balkan States of to-day: A narrative of travel through Servia, Bulgaria, Montenegro, Dalmatia and the recently acquired Austrian provinces of Bosnia and the Herzegovina; with observations of the peoples, their races, creeds, institutions and politics, and of the geographical, historical and commercial aspects of the several countries
Jaekel, Blair
Balkan Peninsula
Over there on the curb a swarthy, fur-coated individual has just halted
his puny pack-animals, whose dust-covered flanks tell that they have
tottered many miles under the bulging loads of wood. It is no wonder
that their master perspires as he tugs at the ropes to relieve the
little beasts, for, if you examine his clothing, you will wonder how
he came to get mixed in the seasons. Although the glare of the sun
is nothing if not calorific, this fellow’s legs are bundled closely
in thick, woollen stockings tied with thongs, while on his back and
reaching clear to his knees he wears a heavy sheepskin coat turned
wrong side out. But the particular style in which he wears this coat
proves beyond an atom of doubt that he knows as well as you the time of
year, for in winter he turns the wool on the outside.
[Illustration: BULGARIANS IN GALA ATTIRE.]
Now look, if you please, at this group of Bulgarian belles from the
mountains—symphonies in lavender. The ribbons in their hair are
lavender, the embroidery on their jackets is lavender, their long
underskirts and aprons are lavender, the linings of their sunshades
are lavender. How conscious they are of the tawdry effect of their fine
raiment, as they strut about through the dust in the middle of the
street! At their heels stalk, jealously, three Bulgarian beaux, also
gorgeously attired for the occasion in their Sunday-go-to-meetings.
On the other side of the street two women, each of whom looks to be
little less than a hundred years of age, are spreading aprons on
the dust-covered sidewalk and arranging thereon their baskets and
bundles. They will sell you the finest, most delicious cherries you
have ever closed your teeth upon for forty _centimes_ a litre; and
strawberries!—well, you just can’t wait to buy a basket of such
strawberries at the same price as the cherries. They are large and
luscious but a litre really does not weigh enough to get a great number
of fruit, for each one is worth at least two bites. I am not stretching
the tape a hair’s breadth when I say that I have measured Bulgarian
strawberries four and one-half inches in circumference.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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