Then we went back to the dressing rooms again, and after we had rested on one of the numerous divans for half-an-hour, we went into the garden and eat our dejeuner with gusto, we were so hungry and so delightfully tired; and we chatted and watched the groups of well-to-do people enjoying themselves—the Turkish children, in particular, with dozens upon dozens of small plaits adorning their heads, which are often not undone for months.
At 4 o’clock small cups of muddy, but delicious mocha were brought us, and then we regretfully departed for our tramp home after a very pleasant day, almost too fatigued to talk. So ended my first day in a Turkish bath, for it needs the whole day to recuperate after the trying but pleasing experience.
THE PORTS OF PALESTINE.
One morning we were waiting, luggage packed ready, to embark on the Russian liner for all Palestine Ports. We were in a state of suppressed excitement at the alluring prospects in store for us, the historical places, and scenic loveliness of which we had heard, making us long to start. After some hours the belated vessel hove in sight, an immense grey object, capable of carrying in comfort eight or nine hundred passengers. Having previously secured our ticket, we immediately hired a caique, after much altercation about the fare, and were speedily conveyed to the vessel, which was making only a short stay. Arrived on board, we were conducted by a gorgeously dressed official to our cabin, and delivered to the tender mercies of the stewardess, a French woman. We went on deck to explore, and until we started people were rushing about talking in a dozen different languages. At last we were off, and we took our final farewell of Smyrna, that peerless city of the East, set in the beautiful background of opaline-tinted clouds, merging into crimson departing glory of day; and at last, as the pall of night fell, we went into the saloon—which was filled with the usual brilliant company of tourists—to dine. After dinner, tea, instead of coffee, was served in long fragile glasses, a thin slice of lemon floating on top, and a serviette to prevent the fingers being burned. Of pale amber colour this tea was delicious, the flavour exquisitely preserved. The tea is imported overland, the sea voyage destroying the flavour more or less.
We again went on deck and, glancing beneath us on the lower deck, we saw long rows of reclining figures in white, like so many mummies, with one or two sitting up talking volubly and gesticulating. They were Turks and Arabs bound for Bagdad and Mecca. There were long-bearded Greek priests, Armenians, Italians, and Russians, all en route to Jerusalem or Damascus, the majority for Jerusalem. They would return as Hadjes, a title which is borne by those who have visited the Holy Sepulchre.
We were up very early to see the first beams of Aurora, and we were well rewarded, earth and sea combining to make one feel how beautiful it is to live. The mysterious beauty of the misty mitre-peaked hills on the land side of us, rosy in the gilded dawn, filled our minds with imagination. On the other side, gleaming like the facets of an emerald, lay Samos, noted for its vintage, its figs and oil, the dark olive mounts, showing against the tender foliage of orange and lemon groves. On we went until we came to Rhodes, with its great harbour, once famed for its colossus erected to Apollo, but long since levelled to the ground by seismic agencies. It must have appeared like a mighty janitor watching down the centuries, worshipped as a deity by the wonderful race who lived there.
We chummed with five young Russian ladies, who, with their chaperon, were journeying to the Holy Sepulchre, and we were shown the presents of silver and crosses which they were to lay on the shrine. We extracted much pleasure from their company, and we would not like to disclose how many cups of tea we consumed from the ever-boiling samovar, which these ladies dispensed every time they could induce us to visit the cabin de luxe reserved for their special use. They will always hold a place in our memory.
On leaving Rhodes, we steamed away from the coast and we turned in towards Cyprus, passing the Gulf of Adalia. The Island of Cyprus is noted for its ancient copper mines, its magnificent temples, statues to the deities, and frescoes covered with the dust of centuries. From there we made for the mainland, remaining at the small town of Alexandretta but a few hours. Everything was extremely Oriental. We saw a number of Mohammaden women, attended by an eunuch, walking along, their yasmaks now and again lowered, and a pair of laughing young eyes disclosed. How the dark eyes, some very dreamy looking, of these wise children of the East (some of them the Bedouin Arabs, the descendants of Ishmael) have been, century after century, centred on these Eastern nights of splendour, watching the heavens—wiser than we in things pertaining to nature.