TRIP TO VLADIKAVKAZ AND KARBARDA 219 



patient waved to us, waved and waved, like a Manx 

 tripper on a char-d-banc, until he was lost to sight. 



My thoughts turned to a prosaic subject — food ! It 

 seemed a long time since the last meal. Our driver had 

 been drinking sour milk out of a skin bottle at intervals, 

 and folding up pieces of " bread " of the thickness 

 and appearance of strong brown paper, which he called 

 "Lovasch," into tight wads of a convenient size for 

 swallowing. 



By the time we got to Ananaur it was almost dark. 

 We had made ridiculously slow progress, as a Russian 

 would count it, owing to posting-house delays and Ali 

 Ghirik's collision. The distance covered since early 

 morning totalled seventy versts, all of them more or 

 less up hill. 



We were so jarred by the constant rack and 

 rampage of the woeful conveyance that we decided 

 on halting for the night " right there," as Americans 

 say, whatever the accommodation, and give over 

 trying to sustain the road records which our man told 

 us of scathingly. He said we ought to have accom- 

 plished the whole journey in twenty-four or thirty 

 hours at least, and was very offended because we would 

 not continue on to Mleti, miles away, the proper post- 

 house at which to outspan. 



The specimens of resting-places of the Georgian Road 

 are considered to be the dernier cri of luxury, and 

 certainly contrasted with the prehistoric shelters come 

 upon elsewhere in the wilds. These rather comfortless 

 places are sybaritic in their hang-the-expense extrava- 

 gances. On this most important route through the 



