Upon arriving in Chita it is the correct thing to stand' at the door of the car and shout '"Nasheelshik at the top of one's lungs, a shaggy-haired individual wearing a white apron will appear in due course and, after much unintelligible muttering, possess himself of one's luggage and make off with it. It pays to follow him closely and see to it that all one's property is deposited safely in a diminutive cab, driven by the time-honoured—and worn—ssvostchtk. The asheelshik receives from one to two silver roubles for his services, depending upon the amount of luggage he carries. (A silver rouble is one-third of a gold rouble, or about 33 cents Mexican.)
Neither of the hotels is more than four minutes by carriage from the station, and the fare, including luggage, should not be more than 2.50 silver roubles. The isvostchik will, however, try to charge you as much as he can, and five or six silver roubles is generally the fare demanded of the opulent foreigner. If one suggests, mildly, that three roubles should be ample, ¢svostchtk flourishes his whip, says: "May Heaven bear witness to my having made you a preferential price, my darling!' and starts hotel-ward with a rush, but without his fare. So the fare, in a natural desire to stay with his luggage to the end, scrambles aboard as best he can and pays the price originally demanded, plus a tip for having the luggage thrown on the sidewalk when the hotel door is reached.
Having arrived this far, the next problem for the traveller is to unearth some one belonging to the hotel. This is not easy, for an air of extreme indifference surrounds all persons even remotely connected with the local hostelries. In the meantime one's luggage remains alone on the sidewalk, at the mercy of every passer-by. At last, however, the schwitzar, or hotel porter, emerges from the cubbyhole that passes with him for bedroom and office and consents to summon a chamber maid, who arrives in a few minutes and rescues the Inggage from the sidewalk.
In the meantime schwitzar opens the parley for rooms by saying that the hotel is full and that there won't be a room vacant for three days. Yow inform him that you have telegraphed in advance; and he, after much searching among his papers, finds your message, admits having received it and says that your room is reserved, but that you can't have it for several hours, as it is now being occupied by an official. Three silver roubles placed on the table when the schwitzay' isn't looking get the room for you, and you and your language are moyed in. Tre room itself contains ona bed, two chairs, a table and, if you are lucky, a washstand. The bed is just an iron cot, with boards for springs and a mattress that has been stuffed with hay until it is harder than the boards; pillow and bedding are not in evidence, but may be had for a consideration, although it is better to use one's own, if one has any. The bath-room in these hotels is either a missing quantity or in use as a store-room for wood and extra (sic) furniture. Thus the traveller in pursuit of cleanliness is thrown back on the wash-stand in his room—if he is lucky enough to find one there—or the city bath-house. The washstand has generally been used by past inhabitants of the room as a receptacle for cigarette butts and
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.