Over the door was written OLD
SERB CAFE JANSIE HAN. After sketching there we entered the inn for
coffee, and sat at tables made of thick blocks of marble smoothed only
at the top. The innkeeper said it was built in the days of the Czar
Duchan. If this were true, one would say that never had the interior
been whitewashed since then. But there was an air of cosiness about it,
and we visited it several times after. Near by was a little church with
a wonderful carved screen and a picture of Elijah going to heaven in a
chariot drawn by a pink horse, with the charioteer bumping along on a
separate cloud, which served as the box. We watched the sun set from one
of the tipsy-cake hills, sitting on a gravestone with an old Turkish
shepherd, who seemed to derive great comfort from our company.
The mountains around reflected the rosy lights of the sun in great flat
masses.
The muezzin sounded from the many minarets, and twilight was on us.
Uskub, romantic, dirty, unhealthy Uskub, was soon shrouded in mist; a
vision of unusual beauty.
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