Having proved that any further progress west was quite impracticable by
vans, I returned to the new main road from Larnaca, and carefully
avoiding it, we kept upon the natural surface by the side drain, and
travelled towards Dali, the ancient Idalium.
The thermometer at 8 A.M. showed 37 degrees, and the wind was keen. The
road lay through a most desolate country of chalk hills completely
barren, diversified occasionally by the ice-like crystals of gypsum
cropping out in huge masses. In one of the most dreary spots that can be
imagined the eye was relieved by a little flat-topped hut on the right
hand, which exhibited a sign, "The Dewdrop Inn." The name was hardly
appropriate, as the earth appeared as though neither dew nor rain had
blessed the surface; but I believe that whisky was represented by the
"Dewdrop," and that the word was intended to imply an invitation,
"Do-drop-in." Of course we dropped in, being about an hour in advance of
our vans, and I found the landlord most obliging, and a bottle of Bass's
pale ale most refreshing in this horrible-looking desert of chalk and
thistles that had become a quasi-British colony. This unfortunate man
and one or two partners were among those deluded victims who had
sacrificed themselves to the impulse of our first occupation, upon the
principle that "the early bird gets the worm." Instead of getting on,
the partners went off, and left the representative of the "Dewdrop" in a
physical state of weakness from attacks of fever, and the good
industrious man with little hope of a golden future.
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