Travels in Central Asia: Being the Account of a Journey from Teheran Across the Turkoman Desert on the Eastern Shore of the Caspian to Khiva, Bokhara, and SamarcandVámbéry, Ármin
History
Travels in Central Asia: Being the Account of a Journey from Teheran Across the Turkoman Desert on the Eastern Shore of the Caspian to Khiva, Bokhara, and Samarcand
Vámbéry, Ármin
Asia, Central -- Description and travel; Vámbéry, Ármin, 1832-1913 -- Travel -- Asia, Central
During the daytime it was tolerably warm, but it froze hard in the
early morning hours, particularly in the mountainous districts. I
could not support the cold in my thin clothing on horseback, so I was
forced to dismount to warm myself. I handed my horse over to one of
the pedestrian pilgrims. He gave me his stick in exchange, and so I
accompanied them a long way on foot, hearing the most animated
descriptions of their homes; and when their enthusiasm had been
sufficiently stimulated by reminiscences of the gardens of Mergolan,
Namengan, and Khokand, they all began with one accord to sing a telkin
(hymn), in which I myself took part by screaming out as loud as I was
able, 'Allah, ya Allah!'
Every such approximation to their sentiments and actions on my part
was recounted by the young travellers to the older pilgrims, to the
great delight of the latter, who never ceased repeating 'Hadji Reshid
(my name amongst my companions) is a genuine Dervish; one can make
anything out of him.'
[Mazendran]
After a rather long day's march, on the fourth day we reached
Firuzkuh, which hes rather high, and is approached by a very bad road.
The city is at the foot of a mountain, which is crowned by an ancient
fortification, now in ruins; a city of some importance from the fact
that there the province Arak Adjemi ends, and Mazendran begins. The
next morning our way passed in quite a northerly direction, and we had
scarcely proceeded three or four hours when we {26} reached the mouth
of the great defile, properly called Mazendran, which extends as far
as the shores of the Caspian. Scarcely does the traveller move a few
steps forwards from the karavanserai on the top of the mountain, when
the bare dry district changes, as by enchantment, into a country of
extraordinary richness and luxuriance. One forgets that one is in
Persia, on seeing around everywhere the splendour of those primaeval
forests and that magnificent green. But why linger over Mazendran and
all its beauties, rendered so familiar to us by the masterly sketches
of Frazer, Conolly, and Burnes?
On our passage Mazendran was in its gala attire of spring. Its
witchery made the last spark of trouble disappear from my thoughts. I
reflected no more on the perils of my undertaking, but allowed
imagination to dwell only upon sweet dreams of the regions through
which lay my onward path, visions of the various races of men,
customs, and usages which I was now to see. I must expect to behold,
it is true, scenes a perfect contrast to these; I must anticipate
immense and fearful deserts--plains whose limits are not
distinguishable to the human eye, and where I should have for days
long to suffer from want of water. The enjoyment of that spot was
doubly agreeable, as I was so soon to bid adieu to all sylvan scenes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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