Travels in Southern Europe and the Levant, 1810-1817: The Journal of C. R. Cockerell, R.A.Cockerell, C. R. (Charles Robert)
History
Travels in Southern Europe and the Levant, 1810-1817: The Journal of C. R. Cockerell, R.A.
Cockerell, C. R. (Charles Robert)
Cockerell, C. R. (Charles Robert), 1788-1863; Europe -- Description and travel; Middle East -- Description and travel
Two hours' travelling next day brought us at last to the end of the
immense plain of the Hermus, and we began to get among the mountains,
going up the east side of a steep romantic dell, the west side of which
was wonderfully rugged and wild. Beyond were mountains covered with
snow: beneath us an immeasurable giddy depth. Except a few sheep, we saw
no living thing for hours together. Once I heard some wild duck by the
torrent below. At the end of six hours we reached Derwent, a village of,
say, two hundred houses. A wretched lodging and, as there was no fowl to
be got--and that is what one depends entirely upon--no supper; and I had
to be content with smoke, coffee, and Homer. In the evening came, as
usual, a number of Turks to see the stranger. They enter, they salute
with a 'Salaam aleikum,' and sit down perhaps for hours. Their
conversation generally turns upon the stranger, with conjectures upon
his object in coming. Later at night came in the son of our host. He had
been searching for a strayed ox, and was afraid that the wolves had got
it. He examined my firearms for a long while, and admired them very
much. The Turks of this part of the country are large, handsome, very
slow in their speech, and stupid and ignorant.
Starting next morning, we began by following the course of a river till
we got on to a high level plain surrounded by formless hills--an ugly
country. We met a few Turcomans, and once I saw some ploughing. At the
end of seven hours' riding we reached the edge of the valley of the
Meander and looked over a glorious view; then downwards through
Bulladan, a village of about five hundred houses and a number of
mosques, to a village the name of which I never learnt, where we slept.
As one expects nothing of one's host but shelter, it was an unusual
hospitality in ours to give us some of his bread. It was a strange
compound, such as I had never seen before. To make it, the dough is
mixed very thin and poured on a heated copper. The result looks like
rags of coarse cloth and tastes like bad crumpets. We slept in a barn
with the horses.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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