And soon we were in the outskirts of Novi Bazar, the most
ordinary town of the Sanjak, combining the dull parts of Plevlie with
the dull parts of Ipek. There was a stream down the middle of the road,
in which some of the inhabitants were washing, while one sat on his
haunches holding up a small looking-glass with one hand and shaving
himself.
We bustled off to the mayor's office. Found him as usual in a back
street in a shabby office up shaky wooden stairs. The mayor knew nothing
of any road to Berane; so baffled, we again found the street. We went
to the shabby Turkish shops of the bazaar and inquired.
"Certainly," said the shopkeepers, "a good path to Berane, and not high.
No; not so high as that by Ipek."
We returned to the mayor's office. He seemed little inclined to consent,
and demanded to see our pass. Jo again made her little--but so
useful--speech. The mayor called in an Albanian. After a long
consultation the mayor said that he had no horses.
"Then we will take our carriage horses," said we.
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