In this much-travelled world, there are still thousands of places which are
inaccessible to tourists. We always assume that villagers in remote places are
friendly 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 churches
in the vicinity. These attracted many visitors, for they were not only of
great architectural interest, but contained a large number of beautifully
preserved frescoes as well. On the day before our departure, several 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
expected 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 it 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 looked 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 nearby. 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 seemed 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 street 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 visitors. We needed
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.&