The Wenatchee daily world. [volume] (Wenatchee, Wash.) 1905-1971, 1909-12-27
Former Wenatchee Newspaper Man
Describes How It Seems to Be Trans
ported to the Place Made Famous by
the Author of Arabian Nights---
Riches and Splendor of Fabled Day
Gone and in Its Place Is Poverty,
Squalor and Desolation

3 Bagdad!
1t sounds more like the tabled city
of some good yarns than real place.
didn't more than half believe
there was such a town when they
Cooks" sold me ticket l had a
sneaking suspicion that they mistook
me for some harmless person with
"trip to the moon" delusions, and
merely took my money to get rid of
me.
But the Atlantic liner let me ride
on the ticket all right; and at Naples
they gave me another one, bigger
than the first and printed in four
different languages. This looked
more serious and my spirits fell to
low ebb when | beheld no perforated
return" slip. But I was weeks from
home, had no money-only that pos
terlike ticket saying in four languages
that | had (fOr reasons unknown
paid a through fare to Bagdad-sO
what could | do but go to Bagdad?
So like Mr.. Columbus l turned my
back on the cafes OF Italy-on the
mandolin players and the lusty-lunged
singers of "Funiculee-Funicula" -
and sailed steadily out to sea. That
is, as steadily" as the average Yam
kee tourist sails after a week in gid
dy, blithesome "Napoli'-off to In
dia. to Persia and up the historic
Tigris, past the tomb of the Prophet
Ezra, past the arch of Stesiphan-
and to Bagdad.
In the bright sunshine of a clear
October morning the porcelain dOmes
of the great mosques glittered among
the green date palms, the swift ST
lent Tigris swept softly past mud
walls centuries old, and the city of
striking skyline and stagey-effects
looked more like a Belasco scenic ar
rangement than a real Goth century
mud town in Turkey.
But I had arrived.
saw, | heard. and I-smelled.
So, after all. Cooks had played no
joke on me-at least, | rode 1900
miles on the ticket in two months.
But now | know why a shifty-eyed,
tatOoed sailor whom I saw in Colon
when he caught sight of "Bagdad"
painted on my trunk. He had been
here-and glimpse of me, the con-
demnei one, gave him the creeps.
For this is one place no white man
ever called home. A few venture in,
some escape, but not one ever comes
back If you are credulous and take
seriously the flippant narratives of
certain chrOniclers of the long ago,
it would appear that once upon a
time Bagdad was a decidedly sporty
spot The gay young blades of
Haroun-er-Raschid's time, for in
stance, are reputed to have given
their midnights over to wassail and
debauch, and many possible future
Caliph suffered his sweet young life
to be prematurely snuffed out in
some unseemly brawl. But gone are
those gladstone days-departed for
ever is the grandeur, the pomp and
the magic of Alladin's enchanted age.
Bagdad today is but a suggestion OF
the past The ruined gateways and
mosques, the tombs Of lovely ladies
of the long ago, all hint at the splen-
dor that was. but is not. AS David
Fraser says of it, THE city of Har-
oun-er-Raschii is finished. That
grandson of Ghengis with the i'll
omened name. Nulaga, smashed it,
and Timur the Tartar struck again
when its head was in the dust, and
shahs and sultans hammered at it
without ceasing until its greatness
Ojcu COmDlCbcty Oo thC IpdS-
ia of today is of mushroom growth
and mean appearance, remarkable
only as the capital of a remote prov
ince of the Ottoman empire, where
Trade is greater than Tradition, and
foreign Consuls above the name OF
Caliphs. Truly 'Ichabod" is writ
large below the history of Bagdad.' y
Yet Bagdad is not minus its
charms, for travellers. The odd
Moorish houses, castle-like with great
doors studded with iron bolts and
barred like a fortress, the occasional
glimpse of shady courtyards and
splashing fountains are all "redolent
OF the east, and mean much to those
unsatisfied souls who adore the pic
turesque and ache continually for