I woke up and I continued to walk.
There was not much to see on the way. Mainly because of the fog.
It was a misty day that made buildings look like submarine boats.
MY FEET WERE OKAY, but it was just too regrettable I didn’t have my beloved wide-angle lens.
I missed her.
It felt like being amputated in a visual way.
But hey, did you know that there is a place that tries to make all the buses come and go on time?
They rumble along the way, then they stop in the middle of nowhere next to this house and they punch in.
I asked the people there:
“Is there any way to cheat on the clock?”
They said no.
I smiled, too.
Today’s lunch was austere but very pleasing.
I don’t know why, but it’s just a very nice feeling to be sitting outside on a crossroads, having crackers or whatever, with all this space stretched out in front.
Sometimes, when I am resting, I get to thinking:
in just a bit, when this moment is over, you’ll be over there walking into that space, cutting a line into the green, and your silhouette will get smaller and smaller…
I like that thought.
Oh, and I fell into a hole today!
Well, I didn’t exactly fall into the hole.
I kind of just walked in there voluntarily, because it was so big and because I thought there would have to be a way out on the other side.
But there wasn’t, so I had to do some free climbing in order to get out.
That is if I didn’t want to walk all the way back and then around the damned thing.
Guess what I did.
You can see the hole on the map above – it’s right at the end of the track, where I make a sudden turn north, then west and then back south.
That was the hole.
Climbing out of the whole, I ran into this farmer.
He thought it was hilarious that there was a huge foreigner with this humongous backpack appearing basically out of nowhere (out of the hole, that is) to suddenly stand in front of him on his field, asking for the way to a hotel.
He was a friendly guy, and he gave me a very good impression of the place.
The last bit of the way I walked light-heartedly.
When I got to a place with a guesthouse, I went and got food from a small truck stop restaurant.
I was allowed to shoot in the kitchen.
Notice la cigarette?
Okay, it was my food that was being prepared there, but I still!
I just loved the visual impression of the chef’s nonchalance.
This must be what the Lonely Planet keeps calling “hanging with the locals”…