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But the horses are saddled, and Francois tells me it is time to put up my pen. We are off, over the mountains, to the Greek city of OEzani, in the valley of the Rhyndacus. Kiutahya and the Ruins of OEzani.
We took the wrong road, but were set aright by a herdsman, and after threading a lane between thriving grain-fields, were cheered by the sight of the Temple of OEzani, lifted on its acropolis above the orchards of Chavduer, and standing out sharp and clear against the purple of the hills.
Instead of taking the direct road to Brousa, we decided to make a detour of two days, in order to visit the ruins of the old Greek city of OEzani, which are thirty-six miles south of Kiutahya.
This, I suspect, is owing to the great size of the hewn blocks, especially of the pillars, cornices, and entablatures, nearly all of which are from twelve to fifteen feet long. It is from the size and number of these scattered blocks, rather than from the buildings which still partially exist, that one obtains an idea of the size and splendor of the ancient OEzani.
Entrance into Kiutahya The New Khan An Unpleasant Discovery Kiutahya The Citadel Panorama from the Walls The Gorge of the Mountains Camp in a Meadow The Valley of the Rhyndacus Chavduer The Ruins of OEzani The Acropolis and Temple The Theatre and Stadium Ride down the Valley Camp at Daghje Koei
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