Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Odyssey of an Immigrant American 4, Louis Adamic

 We walked through the ancient, sun-flooded, and shadowy street of Dubrovnik, whose history reaches back to the fifth century. Many of the streets were not streets at all, but twisty stairways running from the main thorough-fares up the steep grades. Some of the people we saw were obviously foreigners--visitors or tourists from Austria, Czechoslovakia, Germany, France, and England--but the majority were native Dalmatians of all ages, many in colorful homespun costumes, and Serbo-Moslem laborers from near-by Bosnia and Herzegovina, wearing opanke, Serb sandals, with upturned toes and baggy Turkish breeches, close-fitting jackets, and red fezes. On one street we saw two veiled Mohammedan women walking on one side; on the other side were two Catholic nuns. In the doorways sat mothers, giving their breasts to infants. There were swarms of children everywhere.
 "Such faces!" exclaimed Stella every minutes. "Even the homely ones are beautiful, they're so healthy and brown."
In Dubrovnik--unlike in Lisbon, Gibraltar, Naples, and Palermo,--no one forced hmself upon us to sell us sometthing. Here no guides were offering their services; there were no shifty-eyed peddlers of obscene phoyographs. In the little bazaars, where business evidently was poor, the men and women in charge of the stores seemingly did not care whether the passers-by stopped to look at and buy their handmade peasant embroidery, jewelry, and earthenware or not. They talked and laughed among themselves, or sat still and dozed inthe warm sun.

Odyssey of an Immigrant American 2, Louis Adamic
Copyright(c) Shouzou Tahara
Odyssey of an Immigrant American 5, Louis Adamic

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