In the bazaar of Scutari representatives of every clan in Albania can be seen, and each tribe has his distinctive dress, so that the variety of national costumes to be seen there can be imagined.  The Scutarines are of course very much in evidence, clad in a jaunty sleeveless and magnificently-embroidered jacket, silk shirt, and enormous baggy breeches of black, and heavily pleated.  How heavily pleated they are can be gathered when twenty to twenty-five yards of a kind of black alpaca are used for one pair of knee-breeches.  White stockings and a red skull-cap—­not the high Turkish fez—­with a huge blue silk tassel reaching to the waist, complete the attire.  Their women-folk look picturesque in a large scarlet cloak, with a hood half covering the face.

The student of Albanian costumes can make a complete study of the subject in Scutari, rendering a journey into the vast country beyond almost unnecessary.

We always took a camera with us, but with very poor results.  It is against the Mahometan religion to be photographed, neither are photographers looked upon with pleasure.  We did once plant our camera in the main street of the bazaar, to the great anger of a policeman who ordered us off, luckily after we had secured a picture.

When we were quite new to Scutari, it happened we were waiting for a boat to take us off to the steamer, when we were struck with a particularly fine old Scutariner in red fez and long flowing skirt.  Through the medium of an interpreter, I politely asked the permission to take his picture.  He solemnly nodded his head backwards, and I, rejoiced at so good a subject, hurriedly erected the stand.  When I next glanced at him, his face was purple with rage, and he made a threatening movement.  For a moment I was quite at a loss to understand the why and wherefore, until our interpreter hastily explained that it was against the old man’s religion.

“But he said ‘yes,’” I expostulated.  “At least he nodded.”

“That means ‘no,’” said the interpreter.

“What does?” I demanded.  “Saying ‘yes,’ or nodding it.”

Then the man explained to me at some length, as I repacked my camera, that in the Orient to shake the head means “yes,” and a nod—­a quick elevation of the chin accompanied by a click of the tongue—­is negative.  This custom is largely adopted in Montenegro, particularly amongst the peasants, but even then we never quite knew if a shake of the head was meant in the Turkish or European sense.  It is a confusing and irritating habit, and takes months to get accustomed to.