The water they yield is not really
fit for drinking, and people who can afford it purchase water which
comes from a distance in earthenware jars. One of these jars I had
found in my bedroom; its secure corking much puzzled me until I made
inquiries. The river Esaro is all but useless for any purpose, and
as no other stream flows in the neighbourhood, Cotrone's washerwomen
take their work down to the beach; even during the gale I saw them
washing there in pools which they had made to hold the sea water;
now and then one of them ventured into the surf, wading with legs of
limitless nudity and plunging linen as the waves broke about her.
It was unfortunate that I brought no letter of introduction to
Cotrone; I should much have liked to visit one of the better houses.
Well-to-do people live here, and I was told that, in fine weather,
"at least half a dozen" private carriages might be seen making the
fashionable drive on the Strada Regina Margherita. But it is not
easy to imagine luxury or refinement in these dreary, close-packed
streets. Judging from our table at the Concordia, the town is
miserably provisioned; the dishes were poor and monotonous and
infamously cooked. Almost the only palatable thing offered was an
enormous radish. Such radishes I never saw: they were from six to
eight inches long, and more than an inch thick, at the same time
thoroughly crisp and sweet.
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