In spring-time they are half-buried in fruit-trees, a foamy ocean of blossoms out of which the round roofs of the huts rise like large grey clouds.
Chickens, geese, and newly born pigs sport hither and thither over the doorsteps; early hyacinths and golden daffodils run loose in the untidy courtyards, where strangely shaped pots and bright rags of carpets lie about in picturesque disorder.
Amongst all this the half-naked black-eyed children crawl about in happy freedom.
"IT IS ESPECIALLY IN THE DOBRUDJA THAT THESE DIFFERENT NATIONALITIES JOSTLE TOGETHER" (p. [16]).
Never was I able to understand how such large families, without counting fowls and many a four-footed friend, could find room in the two minute chambers of which these huts are composed.
In winter these villages are covered with snow; each hut is a white padded heap; all corners are rounded off so that every cottage has the aspect of being packed in cotton-wool.
No efforts are made to clear away the drifts. The snow lies there where it has fallen; the small sledges bump over its inequalities, forming roads as wavy as a storm-beaten sea!