lesson 48

   In this much-travelled world, there are
still thousands of places which are in-
accessible to tourists. We always assume
that villagers in remote places are friendly
and hospitable. But people who are cut off
not only from foreign tourists, but even
from their own countrymen can be hostile
to travellers. Visits to really remote
villages are seldom enjoyable--as my
wife and I discovered during a tour
through the Balkans.
We had spent several days in a small
town and visited a number of old churches
in the vicinity. These attracted many
visitors for they were not only of great
architectural interest, but contained a
large number of beautifully preserved frescoes as well. On the day before our
departure, several bus loads of tourists descended on the town. This was more
than we could bear,so we decided to spend our last day exploring the country-
side. Taking a path which led out of the town, we crossed a few fields until we
came to a dense wood. We expected the path to end abruptly, but we found that
it traced its way through the trees. We tramped through the wood for over two
hours until we arrived at a deep stream. We could see that the path continued on
the other side, but we had no idea how we could get across the stream. Suddenly
my wife spotted a boat moored to the bank. In it there was a boatman fast asleep.
We gently woke him up and asked him to ferry us to the other side. Though he
was reluctant to do so at first, we eventually persuaded him to take us.
The path led to a tiny village perched on the steep sides of a mountain. The
place consisted of a straggling unmade road which was lined on either side by
small houses. Even under a clear blue sky, the village looked forbidding, as all
the houses were built of grey mud bricks. The village seemed deserted, the only
sign of life being an ugly-looking black goat tied to a tree on a short length of
rope in a field nearby. Sitting down on a dilapidated wooden fence near the
field, we opened a couple of tins of sardines and had a picnic lunch. All at once,
I noticed that my wife seemed to be filled with alarm. Looking up I saw that we
were surrounded by children in rags who were looking at us silently as we ate. We
offered them food and spoke to them kindly, but they remained motionless. I
concluded that they were simply shy of strangers. When we later walked down
the main street of the village, we were followed by a silent procession of children.
The village which had seemed deserted, immediately came to life. Faces ap-
peared at windows. Men in shirt sleeves stood outside their houses and glared
at us. Old women in black shawls peered at us from door-ways. The most
frightening thing of all was that not a sound could be heard. There was no doubt
that we were unwelcome visitors. We needed no further warning. Turning back
down the main street, we quickened our pace and made our way rapidly towards
the stream where we hoped the boatman was waiting.