Nothing favourable can be said of any of the Turkish towns, as they
so much resemble each other in wretchedness, that it is a pleasure
not to be compelled to enter them. The streets are dirty, the
houses built of mud or unburnt bricks, the places of worship
unimportant, miserable stalls and coarse goods constitute the
bazaars, and the people, dirty and disgusting, are of a rather brown
complexion. The women increase their natural ugliness, by dyeing
their hair and nails reddish brown with henna, and by tattooing
their hands and arms. Even at twenty-five years old, they appear
quite faded.
On the 23rd of June, we halted not far from the town of Dus, and
took up our resting-place for the day.
In this place, I was struck by the low entrances of the houses; they
were scarcely three feet high, so that the people were obliged to
crawl rather than walk into them.
On the 25th of June, we came to Daug, where I saw a monument which
resembled that of Queen Zobiede in Baghdad. I could not learn what
great or holy man was buried under it.
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