he ride from here to Kolasin was nearly perfection. We skirted
rushing mountain torrents, through woodland glades and soft green
swards; the air was glorious and cool, for though the sun was powerful
there was an abundance of shade. One drawback, however, a drawback
sufficient to mar our happiness, was not denied us. Every mile or so
we had to plunge through a quagmire, equal to the worst South African
mudhole, which is saying a great deal. Much care had to be exercised
to prevent the horses getting fairly bogged or breaking their legs,
but all passed without an accident, though our condition at the end of
the day was awful. We were bespattered from head to foot.

Several halts at hans were made during the day for rest, food, and
milk, and about three p.m. we struck the River Tara, and had crossed
the water-shed of the Adria and the Black Sea. We followed the Tara
till Kolasin, where we arrived about seven o'clock.

Montenegrins have no idea of judging time and distance, which is
curious. There is another favourite way of describing a distance: by
cigar (cigarette) smoking. You will be informed that the distance is
one cigarette, which means that the traveller has time to smoke one
cigarette on the way. As an ordinary smoker consumes a cigarette in
about ten minutes, the distance would seem small, but it is not so. It
is better to reckon two hours. Quarters of hours and cigarette-smoking
measurements take a lot of learning, and cause much vexation to the
spirit before they are mastered. When the stranger has mastered them,
he ceases to ask, and patiently waits. One word of warning to
intending travellers. If you are told that the next village is _two_
hours away, then rest awhile and eat and drink, for two hours means
"X."

About seven p.m. we clattered up the little street of Kolasin, which
is the capital of the same-named district.

It is a beautiful mountainous tract of country, as unlike to
Montenegro proper as is the sun to the moon, richly wooded with dense
primeval beech forests, full of rushing streams and rich pasturages.
The little town itself is rather uninteresting; it has about 1,500
inhabitants, all Montenegrin, for the Turk has almost entirely
disappeared. Only in a ruined mosque and one or two dilapidated
Turkish houses is the traveller reminded that once the Unspeakable was
master here. The houses are all built with the afore-mentioned high
conical roof and of substantial aspect.

Our inn was a cu