192 A Sportswoman in India 



in the course of the last month, migrated to serener 

 climes at Srinagar, where the temperature was much 

 higher. Four weeks in camp seemed to have done a 

 good deal in their eyes to weather and to sunburn us. 



The next morning, hiring a small kishty and a 

 couple of natives to paddle us, we went off down 

 the river into the city. Lazily reclining on cushions, 

 it was rather like being in a gondola in Venice once 

 again, and if Srinagar had a little more gorgeous 

 colouring it would be a second Venice. Perhaps the 

 mountain ranges round the vale and the chenars on 

 the banks made up for that. 



The city is supposed to have been built in the 

 sixth century. It is a somewhat confused mass 

 of houses, overhanging either side of the wide river 

 and the smaller canals, which in many places form 

 the only streets. The wooden houses, of rough-hewn 

 timbers, stained and weathered into rich tones of 

 grey and brown, are picturesque to a degree, with 

 balconies and carved lattice windows, and projecting 

 upper stories propped on carved poles. There are no 

 less than seven bridges across the river, built of beams 

 laid on timber and stone piers. There is the Rajah's 

 Palace, and several small Hindu temples in the city, 

 with two chief mosques. Above Srinagar rises its 

 landmark, the hill known as Solomon's Throne, Takht- 

 i-Suliman, with an old Hindu temple at the very top. 

 Because every one told us that we must not miss 

 the violent climb and the view from the summit on 

 any account, we carefully avoided it. 



