We should have turned off to the left towards St. Hilarion, but, without
a guide, we overshot the path, and having ridden about three miles
through the gorge, always ascending, we suddenly burst upon the
magnificent view of the northern side. At this moment a few heavy drops
of rain fell from inky clouds which had been gathering among the
mountains, and I thought it advisable to forego the excursion to St.
Hilarion, and to push on towards Kyrenia, three miles distant, though
apparently almost at our feet.
The dark clouds above us added to the beauty of the scenery. We looked
down upon the blue sea, and the snow-covered mountains of Caramania in
the northern distance, with the beautiful foreground of perpendicular
green cliffs upon our right, up to nearly 3000 feet, and the abrupt
mountain sides upon the left, which formed the entrance to the gorge.
The narrow strip of three miles between the sea margin and the point
upon which we stood was a green forest of caroub-trees, almost to the
water's edge. The town, and its striking feature the Venetian fort,
stood out in clear relief against the background of the sea. To the
right and left, farther than the eye could reach, were trees of caroubs,
varied by almonds, mulberries, and occasional date-palms, interspersed
with highly irrigated fields of emerald green. The beautiful old
monastery of Bellapais, erected by the Templars, although in reality
half ruined, appeared from this distance like some noble ancestral
mansion, surrounded by all that could make a landscape perfect: trees,
water, mountains, precipices; above which towered the castle of
Buffavento upon the craggy sky-line; while to the left, cutting with
keen edges the dark cloud that hovered over it, were the walls and
towers of St.
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