The Ship-Dwellers: A Story of a Happy CruisePaine, Albert Bigelow
General
The Ship-Dwellers: A Story of a Happy Cruise
Paine, Albert Bigelow
Middle East -- Description and travel
The Grande Bazaar of Damascus excels anything we have seen. It is bigger
and better and cleaner than the bazaar of Constantinople, and a
hundred--no, a million--times more inviting. No Christian could eat
anything in a Constantinople market-place. The very thought of it gags
me now as I write, while here in Damascus, Laura and I were having
confections almost immediately--and lemonade cooled with snow brought on
the backs of camels from the Lebanon mountain-tops. Mark Twain speaks of
the place as being filthy. I think they must have cleaned up a good deal
since then; besides, that was midsummer. I would not like to say that
the place is speckless, but for the Orient it was clean, and the general
bouquet was not disturbing. Also, I had a safer feeling in Damascus. I
did not feel that if I stepped into a side-street I would immediately be
dragged down and robbed. I did not feel as if I were a lost soul in a
bedlam of demons.
We noticed other things. The little booths, one after another, were
filled with the most beautiful wares--such wares as we have seen nowhere
else--but the drowsy merchants sat cross-legged in meditation, smoking
their nargileh or reading their prayers, and did not ask us to buy. If
we stopped to look at their goods they hardly noticed us. If we priced
them they answered our guide in Arabic monosyllables. Here and there a
Jew with a more pretentious stock would solicit custom in the old way of
Israel, but the Arab was silent, indifferent, disinterested. Clearly it
was his preference that we pass by as quickly as possible. His goods
were not for such as us. I did manage to add to my collection of
donkey-beads, and would have bought more if Laura had not suggested that
they probably thought I was buying them to wear myself. At the
book-booth they even would not let us touch the volumes displayed for
sale.
Another thing I have noticed: there are no beggars here--none worth
while. Now and then, perhaps, somebody half extends a timid hand, but on
the whole there is a marked absence of begging. Damascus does not beg
from the Christian.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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