The year is getting old, but the sun still manages to burn. I remember the middle of October in 2016. I was walking through Kazakhstan when it suddenly started to snow. Back then I ended up buying gloves and a wool hat – along with my beloved pink Blankie – in a bazaar. I wonder when I will have to do the same this year.
Now I am just sweating in my t-shirt. The road is endless, and sometimes it feels as if I am walking through the exact same place over and over again. Akcaabat is another Sürmene. Görele (or is it Vakfikebir?) is another Arakli. It’s as if I’m walking in a loop.
And maybe I am.
One time I take a rest under an apple tree laden with fruits, and for a moment I am back in my childhood. Those small apples in the trees of our town were always a lot more sour than those from the store. We ate them anyway.
Hassan from Görele invites me to tea (it is so strong that I feel a bit dizzy after two glasses). Paola and Miguel from Mexico stop their bikes and tell me about tunnels on the way (there are many, and some of them are quite long).
At some point the sun sets and takes most of the warmth with it. I put my jacket on. I walk through Tirebolu, which looks beautiful in the darkness. There is an öretmenevi on top of a hill, but no safe place for the Caboose.
I keep walking. I keep walking. And as my hands get a bit cold I find myself wondering when I am going to have to buy a hat and some gloves.