These Violent Wind-Storms Have Never Been Satisfactorily Accounted
For.
They continue for a certain number of hours every day, summer
and winter, increasing in force till sunset, when they abate, to rise
again the following dawn.
On some occasions horses, and even camels,
have been blown over, and caravans are sometimes compelled to halt
until the fury of the storm has diminished.
Crossing a ridge of low hills, we descended into the valley of
Roudbar, a quiet and peaceful contrast to the one we had just left.
The wind now ceased as if by magic. Much of the snow had here
disappeared under the warm sunshine, while before us, nestling in
a grove of olive trees, lay the pretty village, with its white
picturesque houses and narrow streets shaded by gaily striped awnings.
It was like a transformation-scene, this sudden change from winter,
with its grey sky and cold icy blast, to the sunny stillness and
repose of an English summer's day. We rode through the bazaar, a busy
and crowded one for so small a place. A large trade is done here in
olives. Most of it is in the hands of two enterprising Frenchmen, who
started business some years ago, and are doing well.
We managed to get a mouthful of food at Menjil while the horses were
being changed.
Colonel S - - had especially warned us against sleeping here, the
Chapar khaneh being infested with the Meana bug, a species of camel
tick, which inflicts a poisonous and sometimes dangerous wound.
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