In this much-travelled world,there are still thousands of places
which are inaccessible to tourists.We always assume the villagers
in remote places are friendlly and hospitable.But people who are
cut off not only from foreign tourists,but even from their own
countrymen can be hostile to travellers.Visits to really remote
villages are seldom enjoyable-as my wife and I discovered during
a tour through the Balkans.
We had spent several days in a small town and visited a number of
old chruches in the vicinity.These atttracted many visitors,for the were
not only of great architectural interest,but contained a large number
of beautifully preserved frescoes as well.On the day before our departure,
serveral bus loads of tourists descended on the town.This was more than
we could bear,so we decided to spend our last day exploring the countryside.
Taking a path which led out of the town,we crossed a few fields until we
came to a dense wood.We expercted the path to end abruptly,but we
found that it traced its way through the trees.We tramped through the
wood for over two hours until we arrived at a deep stream.We could see
that the path continued on the other side,but we had no idea how we
could get across the stream.Suddenly my wife spotted a boat moored
to the bank.In ti there was a boatman fast asleep.We gently woke him up
and asked him to ferry us to the other side.Though he was reluctant to do
so at first,we eventually persuaded him to take us.
The path led to a tiny village perched on the steep sides of a mountain.The
place consisted of a straggling unmade road which was lined on either side
by small houses.Even under a clear blue sky,the village lookedd forbidding,
as all the houses were built of grey mud bricks.The village seemed deserted,
the only sign of life being an ugly-looking black goat on a short length of
rope tied to a tree in a field nearly.Sitting down on a dilapidated wooden
fence near the field,we opened a couple of tins of sardines and had a picnic
lunch.All at once,I noticed that my wife seemd to be filled with alarm.Looking
up I saw that we were surrounded by children in rags who were looking at us
silently as we ate.We offered them food and spoke to them kindly,but they
remained motionless.I concluded that they were simply shy of strangers.When
we later walked down the main steet of the village,we were followed by a silent
procession of children.The village which had seemed deserted,immediately came
to life.Faces appeared at windows.Men in shirt sleeves stood outside their houses
and glared at us.Old women in black shawls peered at us from doorways.The most
frightening thing of all was that not a sound could be heard.There was no doubt
that we were unwelcome.We needed to no further warning.Turning back down the
main street,we quickened our pace and made our way rapidly towards the stream
where we hoped the boatman was waiting.