Jaice.
The road runs along by the river which has cataracts and falls, and little mills built of wood, standing over the water, these are reached by a plank, and are used for grinding corn. We passed an inland lake on the way, the Lake of Jesero.
In this part, it is the custom to kiss your hand—a performance I particularly dislike, and I now carefully retain my gloves when I think it may take place. It can’t be helped, and to draw it hurriedly away would cause great offence.
Next morning was not very fine, but we started in a carriage about 7-30 to drive to Bajnaluka, a nine hours’ drive. On the way, where we lunched and the horses rested, the landlord told me that this year the wolves had come down as low as his house, but as he had no gun, he had to wait till they chose to go away.
At Bajnaluka there is not much to see. Karabaich and I wandered about and found a few Turkish shops and stalls. The people are hideously ugly, clothed in quantities of rags, so they may be warm.
A train at 7 a.m. brought us to Novi (the end of the world we called it). Here we were to find a carriage to take us to Plitvice, but the only decent one refused to go, and the others were so falling to bits I was sure we should never reach our destination, so I had reluctantly to give up the expedition and go on to Vienna. Had we known what a desolate spot Novi was, we should not have attempted to alight; but unfortunately we could not get on till evening, as there was no train. To anyone wishing to travel in these parts, I recommend them to wait till June. At Agram I dismissed my guide, and so ends my trip through these unfrequented parts.
One or two little remarks I must make before I close, one is on the honesty of the people. My umbrella, which is a valuable one, not only in keeping off the constant rain, but because it has a gold duck on the stick, which I value very much, I suddenly missed one day at Saràjevo while sketching; getting a sudden shock as to what had become of my umbrella when I had been deep in my paint box, I appealed to Karabaich, who had been keeping off a crowd of urchins. “It is all right, lady,” he explained, in Italian, “I put it by that fence behind,” and sure enough it was still there, though the fence was twenty yards behind me and a large crowd in between. My luggage, too, was often left for ages on a table in the waiting-room quite unguarded, it was all there on our return. I am afraid I should not have such confidence in my native land!
A word in praise, too, I must add of my guide Karabaich. Should any of my readers want a guide, I can certainly recommend him as being most attentive, of very nice appearance and manners, and thoroughly honest. He is a native of Pola and is a pilot by trade, he also has a boat trading in wine; his name and the town will always find him, as he is well known there. He speaks German, Italian, and Slav, and possibly other languages, but I did not require them.