Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 173, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 August 1918 — Mere East Meets West [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Mere East Meets West

SALONIKI Is one of those extraordinary spots where East meets West, w’here man’s Idlest inventions are seen side by side with the simple Implements of centuries ago, a land of many people and quaint customs. War has brought Saloniki Into the limelight, and in years to come many of those who soldiered there will feel that they have added a strange experience to their lives. It has alway's been the fashion to criticize military administration; still, however slow war office machinery may be, it usually gets you somewhere in the end. It may not, of course, be the place you particularly wanted; but you get there just the same and make the best of it, writes a British officer in the Christian Science Monitor. I never thought of going to Saloniki, but one fine morning orders came for my dispatch, and in due course to the Orient I came. Of the country I was bound for I knew little or nothing. It was a part of the Levant, most of the European powers had a post office there, and I had heard something of the wily Levantine and his ways, that was all. I was quickly to absorb a good deal’ more information, for the moment you land in Saloniki it thrusts itself upon you with a joyous shout and many smells. * Pearl of the Orient. It was midday when we entered the harbor, perhaps one of the finest in the world, and, taking into account its natural possibilities, little wonder that Saloniki is the Pearl of the Orient. The first impression is good, nothing could be finer or more picturesque than the general appearance of the town. Countless minarets rise above the houses, and an occasional group of tall, stately poplars give the necessary tone of green to relieve the white mass of .buildings. The town slopes up from the sea front, the old citadel In the Turkish quarter behind making a good background and helping to remind one that this, until recently, Was a part of the Ottoman empire. Behind the town again stretch the seemingly endless ranges of hills, tier on tier, devoid of frees and with signs of habitation few and far between. The harbor itself is a fine picture and affords an excellent setting to the whole panoramic effect. Few types of craft are not represented there, from the modern battleship flying the tricolor of Fiance, to the quaint, gaudily painted vessel, rigged with a single triangular shaped sail, high out of the water at. the prow and stern, a relic of the days when the hardy Phoenician mariner made Saloniki his port of call. There are British, American, Italian and Russian traders lying side by side, and a little way out a white hospital ship, whiclj, in mqre peaceful times, flew the house flag of the Union Castle line. Picture all this under a turquoise sky, and the result is not unpleasing. The military landing officer is soon on board and after a few words with the O. C. troops, we commence the disembarkation ceremony. Yes, the best impression of Saloniki Is to be had from the deck of a transport—and for choice the boat should be outward bound. Groups Talk on Street. As we land we get a closer and better view of the nearest buildings and the strange crowds of people.. At Saloniki the quayside belongs to everybody; just as the boat? of all nations come to anchor- in harbor, so do men of every race, caste and station come to rest on the waterside. Along the front are shops of all kinds, one or two of the chief hotels, and the continental style trf case is present in force. The shops are mostly of the open kind; that is, you are expected to do business through an open window while you stand on the pavement. You will, of course, be in the way of all pedestrians, especially as there will be sure to be one or two Interested spectators of your deal; but then, to stop the traffic, either on the king’s highway or on the sidewalk, is quite permissible in Saloniki. Two friends meet in the street, they stop, exchange salutations, and an animated conversation ensues. They take up a great deal of room; but every one respects the unwritten law of the Orient and our two worthies continue their discourse, heedless of time and place, as only your true Oriental can

be. This sort of thing would be entirely out of place in a western land. Should we attempt it, our fellow men would resent it, and we should become exceedingly unpopular. All this may seem rather a small matter to dwell upon; but it is really one of those peculiarities which make a great impression on the r pew arrival. In course of time we grow accustomed to it, and usually find ourselves respecting the law of the East. .Later on we, too, will indulge in the same promiscuous habits of conversation. People of Many Races. As we pass from the landing stage on our road to. the base camps it is borne home to us that the inhabitants are of many and varied races, and if further proof were wanting the clamor of many tongues would at once confirm it. Bearded, sun-tanned fishermen, fine fellows, who would add luster to any stage production of “Sinbad,” spruce, well-dressed clerks and merchants and hosts of ragged, nondescript rascals mingle together on all sides. Turkish women with yashmak and quaint trouserings, all complete, move side by side with Greek ladies, arrayed in the very latest vogue, and heedless of the passing throng strides a tall Greek priest, umbrella in hand, with his flowing black robes and his ample locks crowned by the quaint headdress of his creed —not unlike an inverted tall hat. Crowds of soldiers of course are there, khaki-clad English and Serbs, Frenchmen, prominent in their new blue uniforms, sage-coated Italians and Russians in their tightly-belted blouse tunics. Add to all this motley crowd swarms of partially clad children, whose never ceasing cry is “penny, Johnny,” and you have some idea of what a Saloniki crowd is like. Include the noise, smell and indescribable dirt and you have Saloniki complete. Familiar Traffic Officer. The roadway is packed with traffic, too. Slow moving bullock carts hold up the flying motor lorries and the horse and mule transport of the allies comes and goes in a never-ending stream. Leaving the English quay, we come to a large open space, the junction of four of the principal thoroughfares, and here the press is worse than ever. This is Piccadilly circus, for wherever the English soldier goes he dearly loves to christen places after familiar spots in the home country. It may be a communication trench or it may be a road or street, it is all one to him and a name it has. In the middle of all this is a tall khaki-clad military policeman. With a wave of his arm he holds up the stream of traffic to allow our column to pass. There is something very familiar in that majestic action, it i»done so naturally, there is no shadow of doubt in his expression as to the signal being Instantly obeyed. Our Soldier policeman is in his element, his present job is not new, it is child’s play for him, this handling of a few lorries and a swarm of noisy . Orientals after the traffic in Piccadilly over the sea—or it may have been the Marble arch —for his name and number wiH be found in the roll of honor of the London police force. He has done a bit of soldiering since he left England and now he is once again the guardian of the public, a power to be reckoned with. wle gladly received him as an old friend, a link with home, and later we appreciate his full worth when, as a wanderer on pass, we inquire the way to the Bank of Athens or the field cashier. His sphere of usefulness does not end there, for he it is who knows when and where the “busses” go, for the motor lorry is your only means of transport to and from the town. He has a paragraph all to himself here and he deserves it, for he is one of the happy recollections of a wanderer in the East.

View of Saloniki Harbor.