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Updated: May 14, 2025
A sheep has been slaughtered in Jas-chi-khan this morning, and I obtain a nice piece of mutton, which I hand to a bystander, asking him to go somewhere and cook it; in five minutes he returns with the meat burnt black outside and perfectly raw within.
They seem to do these things with impunity in Asia. The grade and the wind are united against me on leaving Jas-chi-khan, but it is ridable, and having made such a dismal failure about getting dinner, I push on toward a green area at the base of a rocky mountain spur, which I observed an hour ago from a point some distance west of the Kizil Irmak, and concluded to be a cluster of vineyards.
Riding into Jas-chi-khan, I dismount at a building which, from the presence of several "do-nothings," I take to be a khan for the accommodation of travellers.
Reaching the expected village about eight o'clock, I breakfast off ekmek and new buffalo milk, and at once continue on my way, meeting nothing particularly interesting, save a lively bout occasionally with goat-herds' dogs the reminiscences of which are doubtless more vividly interesting to myself than they would be to the reader until high noon, when I arrive at another village, larger, but equally wretched- looking, on the Kizil Irmak River, called Jas-chi-khan.
This conjecture turns out quite correct, and, what is more, my experience upon arriving there would seem to indicate that the good genii detailed to arrange the daily programme of my journey had determined to recompense me to-day for having seen nothing of the feminine world of late but yashmaks and shrouds, and momentary monocular evidence; for here again am I thrown into the society of a bevy of maidens, more interesting, if anything, than the nymphs of industry at Jas-chi-khan.
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