of horses for the passage over the rugged passes of
the Elburz mountains leading to the Caspian slope,
or vice versa when going the other way. Locking
the bicycle up in a room of the caravanserai, I take
a strolling peep at the nearest streets; a couple of
lutis or professional buffoons, seeing me strolling
leisurely about, come hurrying up; one is leading
a baboon by a string around the neck, and the other
is carrying a gourd drum. Reaching me, the man
with the baboon commences making the most ludicrous
grimaces and causes the baboon to caper wildly about
by jerking the string, while the drummer proceeds to
belabor the head of his drum, apparently with the
single object of extracting as much noise from it
as possible. Putting my fingers to my ears I
turn away; ten minutes afterward I observe another
similar combination making a bee-line for my person;
waving them off I continue on down the street; soon
afterward yet a third party attempts to secure me for
an audience. It is the custom for these strolling
buffoons to thus present themselves before persons
on the street, and to visit houses whenever there is
occasion for rejoicing, as at a wedding, or the birth
of a son; the lutis are to the Persians what Italian
organ-grinders are among ourselves; I fancy people
give them money chiefly to get rid of their noise and
annoyance, as we do to save ourselves from the soul-harrowing
tones of a wheezy crank organ beneath the window.
Among the novel conveyances observed in the courtyard
of the caravanserai is the takhtrowan, a large sedan
chair provided with shafts at either end, and carried
between two mules or horses; another is the before-mentioned
kajaveh, an arrangement not unlike a pair of canvas-covered
dog kennels strapped across the back of an animal;
these latter contrivances are chiefly used for carrying
women and children. After riding around the courtyard
several different times for crowds continually coming,
I finally conclude that there must be a limit to this
sort of thing anyhow, and refuse to ride again; the
new-comers linger around, however, until evening, in
the hopes that an opportunity of seeing me ride may
present itself. A number of them then contribute
a handful of coppers, which they give to the proprietor
of a tributary tchai-khan to offer me as an inducement
to ride again. The wily Persians know full well
that while a Ferenghi would scorn to accept their
handful of coppers, he would probably be sufficiently
amused at the circumstance to reward their persistence
by riding for nothing; telling the grinning khan-jee
to pocket the coppers, I favor them with “positively
the last entertainment this evening.” An
hour later the khan-jee meets me going toward the
bazaar in search of something for supper; inquiring
the object of my search, he takes me back to his tchai-khan,
points significantly to an iron kettle simmering on
a small charcoal fire, and bids me be seated; after
waiting on a customer or two, and supplying me with