DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4593#0058
THE IONIAN ISLES 41
" Whether Gastouri ran down to the valley or strug-
gled up the hill, it matters not, for now it is just half
way. Our angel-faced guide swung himself out of
the carriage in front of a rose-wreathed cottage, and
smilingly said,—
" ' This is my home; down there is Gastouri.'
" We went down afoot, for the cobble-paved alleys
were so steep that even mules are of little use in
Gastouri. Each house looks down on the roof of the
one below; so the doings of every household are
carefully supervised. The highest building was a
real country store, with the usual post-office, tobacco,
candy, and loungers. A few of the houses had court-
yards, where women sat combing one another's hair,
and wreathing it about their heads, while the children
and the cats played around. Where the houses
opened directly on the alley, the women were spin-
ning in the open doorway. They all had a pleasant
word for us, especially if we noticed their children —
the dear roly-poly little things! At Gastouri more
than elsewhere in Corfu one sees the traces of Italian
blood, and the mixture of the languages from the
time of the Venetian supremacy. The women have
the beauty and grace of both nations, and some of
them are the grandest creatures I have seen.
" In the valley, in the shade of a colossal plane-
tree, was a covered well. The earthen roof was
arched, and looked centuries old. Here the girls of
the village were drawing water and washing in the
rough stone troughs on the bank. We begged a
drink from one pretty creature who was filling her
jug from a tin pail. Then, while we stood talking
with the girls who were treading the clothes and
" Whether Gastouri ran down to the valley or strug-
gled up the hill, it matters not, for now it is just half
way. Our angel-faced guide swung himself out of
the carriage in front of a rose-wreathed cottage, and
smilingly said,—
" ' This is my home; down there is Gastouri.'
" We went down afoot, for the cobble-paved alleys
were so steep that even mules are of little use in
Gastouri. Each house looks down on the roof of the
one below; so the doings of every household are
carefully supervised. The highest building was a
real country store, with the usual post-office, tobacco,
candy, and loungers. A few of the houses had court-
yards, where women sat combing one another's hair,
and wreathing it about their heads, while the children
and the cats played around. Where the houses
opened directly on the alley, the women were spin-
ning in the open doorway. They all had a pleasant
word for us, especially if we noticed their children —
the dear roly-poly little things! At Gastouri more
than elsewhere in Corfu one sees the traces of Italian
blood, and the mixture of the languages from the
time of the Venetian supremacy. The women have
the beauty and grace of both nations, and some of
them are the grandest creatures I have seen.
" In the valley, in the shade of a colossal plane-
tree, was a covered well. The earthen roof was
arched, and looked centuries old. Here the girls of
the village were drawing water and washing in the
rough stone troughs on the bank. We begged a
drink from one pretty creature who was filling her
jug from a tin pail. Then, while we stood talking
with the girls who were treading the clothes and