Not long before my arrival, Bulgarian revolutionaries had tried to help their friends in Macedonia by blowing up a bridge on the railway line to Constantinople. Now, the Turks were on high alert, watching closely.
I was expected in Adrianople. The train barely slowed down when I was greeted by a man with a black beard and a red fez. “Sir,” he said, “I am the dragoman to the Consulate of His Britannic Majesty.” Behind him stood the Consulate kavass, a tall and fair Circassian, wearing a blue uniform with a gold-strapped sword and the British arms on his fez A Diverse Population in Adrianople.
There was some confusion among the Turkish officials over passports and baggage. They thought I was an important person. They saluted me and showed great respect. I offered my passport, but they didn’t even look at it. They had received a telegram from the frontier saying that I was “a great English lord” and should be treated with courtesy. They didn’t want to open my baggage. Instead, they sent soldiers to handle it, and a carriage and pair were waiting for me.
A Quiet Night in Adrianople
Adrianople was two miles from the station. It was pitch dark when I arrived. The only people around were the guards, who eyed the carriage, but as soon as they saw the kavass, they stood at attention. We rattled through the quiet streets, with no lights except for faint flickers in the guardhouses Mystical Bulgaria Tours.
The next morning, when the air still smelled fresh, I wandered through the narrow, crowded streets of Adrianople. Despite their roughness, the city was made beautiful by the grand domes of the mosques and the tall, delicate minarets reaching up into the blue sky.
