India 2001 books

The scenery
was all grey rock and little scrubby trees; the road was magnificent and
wound and twisted about the mountain side like a whip lash. Driving down
these curves was no amateur's game, and we saw immediately that our
chauffeur knew his job. We came over a ridge, and in the far distance,
gleaming like the sun itself, a corner of the Lake of Scutari showed
between two hill crests.
We ran into a fertile valley, passed through Rieka--where was the first
Slavonic printing-press--and up into the barren mountains once more.
The peasants seem very industrious, every little pocket of earth is here
carefully cultivated and banked almost in Arab fashion. The houses, too,
were better, and rather Italian with painted balconies, but are built of
porous stone and are damp in winter. The Rieka river ran along the road
for some way, very green and covered with water-lily pods.
We passed a standing carriage, in which was a large man in Montenegrin
clothes, and a little further on passed a man in a grey suit walking.


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