32 THE GATEWAY OF THE EAST. 



that the train was clue to leave at 1.30 was correct, we 

 were due to start almost immediately. But it was not 

 — which fact reminded me that I was in the East. 

 Making my way through the deserted station, dimly 

 lit by a flickering oil -lamp, I knocked up a sleepy 

 official, who indignantly informed me that the train 

 would leave at 2.30 (7 a.m.). He was quite wrong; 

 it did not leave until 3.30 (8 a.m.), though this was 

 admittedly an hour after the advertised time. Punc- 

 tuality is at a discount when the world of Islam keeps 

 high fast. 



For the first four hours the train steams gaily along 

 the coast to Ismid, after which it plunges desperately 

 into a labyrinth of mountain glens and sullen defiles, 

 to emerge panting later on, 3000 feet higher than when 

 it started, on the edge of a highland plateau. The 

 remaining distance to Konia lies across as uninteresting 

 an expanse as you can well wish to see, which presents 

 no greater feature in Anatolia than barren plateaux do 

 in any other part of the world — Tibet for instance. 

 Little need be said of the existing arrangements on 

 the line except that consideration for the comfort of 

 passengers played no part in determining them. The 

 first day of about twelve hours is occupied in a struggle 

 to reach Eski Sher, where one is permitted to rest in 

 such comfort as the accommodation afforded by the 

 hotel allows until 4 a.m., when the remaining journey 

 of fifteen hours over a monotonous table-land is begun. 

 By 7.30 P.M. Konia will be reached, and the weary 

 traveller will find a welcome at the Greek inn, a few 

 minutes' walk from the station, which he will probably 

 sum up as even less inviting than the hotel at Eski 

 Sher. Luncheon on the first day can be obtained at 

 Ismid, and on the second at Afium Kara Hissar, five 

 and three-quarter hours beyond Eski Sher. This ser- 



