The cliff and the beach, the road and the sea, they are all very quiet. A few dogs are walking around. A few ducks are following them. They seem very interested in the tent.
Still, everything is wet. Once I get to the ögretmenevi in Giresun, I am going to have to take the tent, the mat, and the sleeping bag and hang them out to dry. Hopefully the room won’t be too small.
The road stays quiet for a while, then it gets absorbed by the highway. It’s like pouring a bottle of clear water into a cess pool. But the side of the highway is nice. Or rather: it has the potential to be nice. Sometimes there are cliffs and little beaches, but they are usually littered with bottles and other trash.
I know exactly how this happens. When I walk on these roads at night, there is hardly a quiet spot near the sea where you won’t find at least one or two cars full of men getting drunk. Once a gentleman explained to me that drinking was generally being frowned upon by society, so people (i.e. “men”) would seek out these quiet places and get hammered here.
Hence the bottles, hence the trash. Hence also a lot of drunk driving.
I try not to think about all of this as I play with a lost dog that reminds me of Nang, the Turkmen stray. I also try not to think about it as I go through one final tunnel before Giresun. It’s only a few hundred meters long, but the sidewalk has no ramps, and I end up cursing the day and the drivers and every Turkish tunnel engineer that has ever lived.
I get my revenge right after the tunnel, though. For there, under the cover of the night, I find the grille logos of a Citroen and a Dodge truck.
Yes, I find them.