Jazira, or Jazira ibn Umar, once important, is now but a large and excessively filthy and ruinous village, peopled by Arabs, Kurds, Turks, and Christians of various kinds. Its importance is evidenced by the existence of some police, and we were soon made aware of their existence. When we first arrived, as we were short of a few odds and ends, I went and explored the bazaar, which is good and well stocked, considering the size of the place. There is also a public bath, into which I put my nose and fled. The bazaar sells rope (for which the place is locally famous), dates, desiccated cheese, dried fruit and raisins, and the usual imported articles. I wanted dates, I remember, and had a curious time getting them, for the inhabitants, mostly Kurds, would not believe that I was anything but a Turk, fez and overcoat being inseparably connected with that race in the minds of a people who dress in pegtop trousers of native cloth, shirts of the same, and felt waistcoats. I had acquired sufficient Turkish to speak by now, but Kurdish came more easily off my tongue, so at the first shop I reached, where I saw dates exposed for sale, I asked the price in Kurdish, and was answered in Turkish. Mentioning the price I professed to be ready to give, I received the assurance of its impossibility in Turkish, with an assertion, not made without pride, that the speaker knew that tongue. “Very good,” said I; “but I don’t.” “How? do you only know Arabic, then?” “No, I don’t know Arabic; you must talk Kurdish.” “Where do you come from?” “Diarbekr and Aleppo and the cities of the West.” “And don’t know Arabic?” “No, nor would I speak it if I did, to a Kurd.” “Then you must be a Kurd, but your language is not ours; where is your country?” “My country is one you never saw--Persia.” “Persia!” he exclaimed, and shouted to his neighbours, “Here is a Persian!” Several collected about, anxious to see me, for it is a curious fact that anywhere along the Tigris above Bagdad no Persians exist, nor ever come, and are greater strangers in this out-of-the-way corner than a Greek. [Sidenote: A CHANGE OF CREW] There was soon a small crowd around, and ignoring my need of dates, the heartier ones took me off to a café, and I was kept there for an hour or two answering questions about Persia, and learning a little about Jazira, the chief feature of which was, according to them, the bridge of boats which crosses the river during the summer only, and a hill upon which the Ark is said to have grounded on its way north to Ararat.[10] I at last escaped, and having purchased dates and rope, was returning to the kalak, when I met our late skipper, who sought me, to say good-bye, as he was returning on foot to Diarbekr.