Finally we stopped in front of one of the hotels—poor excuses, all of them, believe me—and commenced to bargain and barter for accommodations, only to discover that all of the rooms were occupied; I doubt if the place could have housed more than half a dozen patrons at one time. We tried another hostelry, with the same result. Then another. The train on which we had arrived, the last one leaving Nisch that day in either direction, had long since departed for Sophia; the hotel people seemed anything but desirous of taking us in, for I am dubious about their houses being so crowded as they were said to be; and we commenced to consider a suitable place in which to leave our luggage, so that we might at least walk the streets that night unencumbered. Our driver, too, was apparently at his wits’ end, but after we had tendered him an extra dinare as a stimulant he thought he knew of just one more hotel where it might be possible to obtain rooms, and, accordingly, we were rattled thither. Here our trials ended, for the proprietor of this place graciously consented to accommodate us during our stay.
After first walking through a combination office and general loafing-room, containing at one end a bar, reeking with foul-smelling tobacco-smoke and alive with Servian officers who shuffled over the sanded floor or played billiards at an antequated table or sat about telling the gossip of the garrison, then through a labyrinth of narrow passages, across a court and up two flights of stairs, we came upon our room.
I think we paid about fifty cents a day each for this room, but in the Balkans you get a great deal more for your money at the hotels than you would dare to expect in America. The floor was scrupulously polished; clean bed-clothes were on the beds; fresh water had been brought up for both drinking and toilet purposes; spotless white candles projected from each candlestick; hair-combs and brushes (for your application if you cared not to doubt the cleanliness of the previous user) adorned the bureau; and a gaudy pair of bed-room slippers reposed beneath each bed, awaiting only the insertion of your tired toes. Our meals we ate on the pavement in front of the hotel, “without restraint or finger bowls,” surrounded by the army, sniffed at by the dogs and stared at by the multitude, while a pet sheep nibbled playfully at our coat buttons.
In Nisch the soldier element ever predominates over the civilian, for here is located a Servian garrison of some 2,500 men. Evidently they consider themselves proficient in military tactics, for they are always on the streets, and the pavements in front of the hotels are constantly crowded with officers, smoking and drinking. And every soldier wears a different uniform. There are blue coats with white trimmings, white coats with blue trimmings; there are black trousers with green stripes and green trousers with black stripes, not to mention the brown trousers with red stripes; there are gray caps with black visors and black caps without visors. Every private stops on the street to salute his officer and every officer stops to salute his superior officer; the place reminds one of a health resort for the treatment of St. Vitus’ dance.
The moment you unlimber your camera, the peasants and townspeople, who are none too familiar with the habits, customs or pastimes of English-speaking visitors, crowd around in veritable droves, until you have to give up in disgust and resign yourself to the good luck you may hope to have with your snapshots. Only a week after we left Nisch an Englishman was arrested for taking photographs in and about the city, and he had a very great deal of trouble in finally convincing the authorities that his object in making pictures was entirely inoffensive and not with a view of better explaining to his home War Department the position of the Servian fort. As it was, he was held in Nisch for some days until the British Minister to Servia demanded his release.
To say the least, the people of Nisch are primitive and their looks belie not their methods. Here, for the first time, I saw put into practice a process which was in vogue centuries ago; the proprietor of the hotel, after making out his bill, sanded the wet ink instead of using a blotter.
There is but one object of absorbing interest to be seen in Nisch, and that is what once was a tower of human skulls, erected by the Turks. This ghastly monument commemorates the Turkish victory over the Servians near Nisch in 1809, and it is said to have been composed originally of twelve hundred of the enemies’ skulls. Now but one remains, too deeply imbedded in the mud-cement for easy extraction, and for that reason left undisturbed by the relic-hunter. When Nisch became Servian all the skulls which could be found, except this one, were buried reverently.
Because the time of arrival and departure of trains in the Balkan States appears to be a matter of mere conjecture and of little consequence, it is the custom for travellers to be at the depot at least an hour before train time. On the day set for our departure from Nisch we were awakened at four in the morning, so that we might have plenty of time to take coffee, be jolted the two miles over the cobblestones and wait for the train for Sophia, due to arrive at Nisch at six o’clock.
The route from the Servian frontier to the capital of Bulgaria is rich in wild and picturesque scenery, for almost immediately after leaving Nisch steep grades are encountered and continue until the divide is reached at Dragoman. From there the line descends none too gradually and Tzaribrod is the next stop. At this point the Servian crew surrenders the train to the care of the Bulgarians, a perfunctory customs examination is made of your baggage and you turn the hands of your watch an hour faster to “East European Time.” Beautiful mountain scenery marks the remainder of the journey, and in exactly six hours after leaving Nisch (including the hour change of time) you are in Sophia.
When you alight from the train don’t think you have made a mistake and wax discouraged because you did not locate Sophia immediately, for almost all of these Balkan towns have an unhandy habit of springing up some two or three miles inland from their respective railway stations. You have only to jump into one of the numerous open cabs which meet all trains, each of a different and distinct Renaissance design, and make signs that you wish to be driven to the Hotel So-and-So.