PERSIAN CARAVAN SKETCHES 



425 



ics, which fact added zest to the scenery 

 of successive mountains and rolling val- 

 leys. On one day, out of thirteen cars 

 (blessed Fords), one turned turtle, one 

 burned up, one broke its steering gear on 

 a steep pass, and one ran over a Kurd ! 



The following outline of a combined 

 two days' journey is quite typical of the 

 scenery : First, along the wide Kangavar 

 Valley, past a small village w T ith fine pop- 

 lars and deliciously scented sweet brier. 

 Over a three-arched brick bridge, which, 

 though built some hundreds of years ago 

 and of little more than a foot's thickness 

 at the top of the arch, was so well con- 

 structed that loaded two-ton motor lor- 

 ries could cross with safety (see Color 

 Plate XII). Then up through the nar- 

 row defile of a pass, leaving a magnificent 

 view of a snow range behind us, onto an 

 undulating plain, where brown and white 

 oxen were pulling crude wooden plows. 

 Skirting another insignificant village with 

 a picturesque ruined "chateau" perched 

 on the top of a steep crag. Down to the 

 side of a swift-flowing stream, with 

 witch-elm, wild almond, and clusters of 

 fruit trees — apricots, peaches, and cher- 

 ries — where we camped. 



With the dawn, out again onto the bar- 

 ren plateau, up and down a second pass 

 to a deserted valley with shimmering salt 

 deposits. Around a promontory of the 

 range we were encircling, and, from the 

 height of a bluff, there lay the village of 

 Huseinabad below us. A characteristic 

 heat or dust haze turned the clouds shell- 

 pink, the clouds that browsed on the tow- 

 ering snow form of Alt. Elwend, which 

 shouldered out the northern sky. 



THE KURDISH HORSEMEN 



The Kurds are racially quite distinct 

 from the Persians and have rarely been 

 submissive to the central government. 

 They are in reality semi-barbaric, no- 

 madic tribes that live on their flocks and 

 by hunting in these wild mountain val- 

 leys. They have their own national cos- 

 tume, which is perhaps the most pictur- 

 esque in all Persia. 



Almost always armed to the teeth, 

 these tribesmen look particularly roman- 

 tic when dashing down a boulder-strewn 

 hillside on their sure-footed ponies : the 

 gleam of a rifle slung over a shoulder ; 



flowing purple turban loosely bound 

 around a huge black felt hat ; broad, col- 

 orful scarf about the waist, half hiding 

 two or even three bandoleers and above 

 which projects hilts of a knife and a lo- 

 cally made revolver or perhaps a German 

 automatic Mauser ; baggy trousers, gaily 

 tasseled and embroidered saddle-cloths, 

 and a certain air of bravado withal that 

 vividly recalls an Oriental, a more bril- 

 liant Velasquez, or those gallantly attired 

 heroes so naively shown in old Persian 

 miniatures. 



A KURDISH WEDDING CELEBRATION 



The Kurdish women are generally 

 somber in dress, but do not hide the 

 beauty of their faces under veils as 

 strictly as the Persian women. We were, 

 however, lucky in seeing a gathering all 

 decked out in their Sunday best. The 

 occasion was a wedding. 



It was evening. I was seated on a 

 grave-stone, painting the dilapidated 

 town of Kasr-i-Shirin, sprawled out over 

 the brow of the opposite hill, ending in 

 the ruins of a third-century castle. I 

 could look into a courtyard over the en- 

 closing walls and see a noisy wedding 

 crowd. 



"Hi, ya, ya, ya, ya," the women cried, 

 emphasizing the first and last syllables, 

 to the accompaniment of a big drum. 

 There was an orchestra, too, consisting 

 of four weird instruments — a guitar- 

 violin, a piccolo-flute, a six-foot brass 

 trombo-horn, and kettledrums — which 

 were being played apparently at random 

 and intermittently. Now and then one or 

 more of the players would stop for re- 

 freshments, and then resume hastily and 

 with much added gusto, catching up, I 

 suppose, the part of the unwritten score 

 that he had missed ! 



The men and women had formed in 

 separate lines, and with locked arms were 

 swaying backward and forward in a sort 

 of folk-dance. 



Finally a group of men guests left the 

 wedding, trotting down the hill, still keep- 

 ing in step and singing in unison that 

 monotonous refrain of the Kurdish wed- 

 ding march. They were going to a pile 

 of merchandise under some willows by 

 the banks of the river. Soon they would 

 call their camels from where they were 



