Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1914-05-12
THE ART OF lDL|NG
1t Is a Part of the Indolent Life
 of the Leisure|y Turk.
WHERE SITTING IS EXERCISE.
In the Orient the Placid Natives Re. i gard What We Would Call Loafing
 as Mark of RespectabiIity-A Trip
 In Caique on the Golden Horn.

as a Mark of RespectabIity-A Trip In a Caique on the Golden Horn.
 One of the first words in the Turkish language that I learned to recognize was kyef or kaif Making kyef was a very common occupation, judging from the number of times that heard the word used. The dictionary definition of kyef is "health," "pleasure." Health and pleasure are not always synony. nous, but they seemed to be in this case for people who said they had been making kyef always looked both happy and healthy.
 To the average American the idea represented by the word kyef is about as foreign as the word itself You could not possibly make kyef at foot ball game or horse race or automo- billing up to the limit of police regula- tions. One thing soon becomes evident 1 to the scientific investigator of kyef. Whatever it may be, kyef is made without haste, without excitement and. above all things, without noise.
 Leisure, idling if you like, has been reduced to fine art in the orient. There is no place in the world where doing nothing is so respectable Able bodied men sit unblushingly at midday in coffee house drinking numberless cups of strong, black coffee, smoking nargile and staring at a chessboard for hours at time. Loafing we call it | in fo1u for niQnta. in Turkey, making kyef.
 The oriental is slow and easy in his amusements. He fingers over his pleas ures, making them last as long as pos sible None too fond of exerting him. self, most of his exercise is taken sit ting still The Turkish verb otur. which means "sit," is much used both in word and in action. They sit over cup of coffee in an out of door cafe, they sit under tree smoking ciga- rette, they sit for four hours making you visit, and they may sit the live long. day out in a grassy field or on the banks of stream doing nothing at all.
 The Turks are fond of outdoors. And one is not surprised. The highest point of Constantinople is Tchamlidja, hill that stands few miles back from the Scutari landing on the Asiatic side. The view from this hill is one whose beauty casts spell that lasts as long as. memory lasts "See Naples and die" runs the old saying, but do not die be- fore you have seen Constantinope from Tchamlidja.
 There are many open fields in and about Constantinople to which the peo- ple resort on high days and holidays, the brilliant colOrs of the native dress standing out against the greenest green and the bluest blue of the natural background. And everywhere the daz- zling sheen of water, the silvecy, calm surface of the Marmora stretching away in the distance and the blue winding Bosporus at our feet There is a hush about Turkish holiday gathering which is always like a Sun day. Caiques glide noiselessly by. peo- pie sit in groups or saunter about on the shore, like the figures in picture, everybody making kyef in his own way.
 One of the popular resorts for great numbers of people is the Sweet Wa water flowing into the upper part of the Golden Horn The best and easiest way to reach this place, the stranger is told, is by rowboat up the Golden Horn. This "best and easiest way is, however, a bit trying to the nerves. Galata bridge, from which the boats leave, is the busiest spot in Constanti- nople You are jostled from before and behind, screamed at in all the Ian guages you ever heard of and frighten- ed nearly to death before you get down the rickety little stairway leading to the landing. Nothing can really hap pen to you, but you do not know that until afterward. If you should fall into the water you would be promptly fshed out by friendly hands amid Mashallahs! in all the tones of the chromatic scale. Down below, you are warned within an inch of your life about all the things you must not do in the caique. A caique is a small rowboat, the daintiest, most graceful little craft in the world, but it was made to tip over.
 If you get away from the landing without being spilled out into the water you breathe one sigh of relief, but not more than one, for the Golden Horn is very narrow and very busy, and any moment you may look up at the prov of a steamer bearing down upon you at full speed. Behind you. and to the right of you. and to the left of you, are clumsy freight boats man. aged by scolding boatmen. And just here one of your oarsmen does what he has forbidden you to do-stands up in his place. Wildly gesticulating, he scolds back in picturesque Turkish at a careless steersman who has nearly tipped you over. After you have had this experience few times and have escaped with your life you cease to mind it.
 Quiet comes at last, and long, smooth stretches of shining water The motion