In this much-travelled world, there are still thousands of places which are inaccessible to
tourists. We always assume that villagers in remote places are friendly and hospitable. But people
who are cut off not only from foreign tourists, but even from their own countrymen can be hostile
to travellers. Visits to really remote villages are seldom enjoyable -- as my wife and I discovered
during a tour through the Balkans.
We had spent several days in a small town and visited a number of old churches in the
vicinity. These attracted many visitors, for they were not only of great architectural interest,
but contained a large number of beautifully preserved frescoes as well. On the day before our
departure, several bus loads of tourists descended on the town. This was more than we could bear,
so we decided to spend our last day exploring the countryside. Taking a path which led out of the
town, we crossed a few fields until we came to a dense wood. We expected the path to end
abruptly, but we found that it traced its way through the trees. We tramped through the wood for
over two hours until we arrived at a deep stream. We could see that the path continued on the other
side, but we had no idea how we could get across the stream. Suddenly my wife spotted a boat
moored to the bank. In it there was a boatman fast asleep. We gently woke him up and asked him
to ferry us to the other side. Though he was reluctant to do so at first, we eventually persuaded
him to take us.
The path led to a tiny village perched on the steep sides of a mountain. The place consisted of
a straggling unmade road which was lined on either side by small houses. Even under a clear blue
sky, the village looked forbidding, as all the houses were built of grey mud bricks. The village
seemed deserted, the only sign of life being an ugly-looking black goat on a short length of rope
tied to a tree in a field nearby. Sitting down on a dilapidated wooden fence near the field, we
opened a couple of tins of sardines and had a picnic lunch. All at once, I noticed that my wife
seemed to be filled with alarm. Looking up I saw that we were surrounded by children in rags who
were looking at us silently as we ate. We offered them food and spoke to them kindly, but they
remained motionless. I concluded that they were simply shy of strangers. When we later walked
down the main street of the villager, we were followed by a silent procession of children. The
village which had seemed deserted, immediately came to life. Faces appeared at windows. Men in
shirt sleeves stood outside their houses and glared at us. Old women in black shawls peered at us
from doorways. The most frightening thing of all was that not a sound could be heard. There was
no doubt that we were unwelcome visitors. We needed no further warning. Turning back down the
main street, we quickened our pace and made our way rapidly towards the stream where we hoped
the boatman was waiting.