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I get to sleep on the couch of an empty office of ‘something or other’ in Kavakli. It smells dusty and musty. I would have rather slept in my tent but they didn’t ‘allow’ me to. I am also not ‘allowed’ to pay for my drinks at the teahouse yesterday, where by the way they consume quite some beer after sunset. This morning I’m up early after a bad night on that couch. I quickly cover quite some distance, to my own surprise also. And I get a lift on a tractorcar filled with sunflower seeds. The rest of the day I’m busy trying to get those out of my clothes and bodily crevices. All in all I reach today’s destination before noon, which makes me decide to walk on to Kirkareli, another 24 kilometres but having the whole afternoon to get it done. In the meantime the sun has dissapeared and thick clouds are accumulating. A thunderstorm is brewing and it’s coming my way.

I find (I ‘find’ something again) this really difficult. All the hospitality that’s being offered but which seems to be impossible to negate. It does happen in such a way that saying ‘no’ would look like a insult. Can I say no to the bottle of beer that suddenly appears in front of me? Unless I don’t drink of course. And they don’t ask you, it feels to me like it’s poured out on me. It feels as if I don’t have a say or a choice in the matter. That tractorload of sunflower seeds doesn’t want to move till I get in. How do you say no to that? Oh, it does come in handy at times. Like when it really starts to rain and that man takes me in his car for the last couple of kilometres to Kirkareli. But still, I feel quite uneasy in these situations. As if I had better done something different  (which I haven’t, so I didn’t do well). Swampy territory

Frits is gone. I don’t see him this morning and also later on he doesn’t appear. He did have a lot of fun with another dog last night, maybe that’s it. Or maybe he went home. One of the men at the teahouse wanted him, would he have taken him? I hope Frits is all right. I miss him a bit during my morning walk. It has never been ‘my’ dog of course. How can you miss something you never had? Missing something you never had suddenly feels very, very painful and sad. It’s like the fear I wrote about earlier; if you can’t make it tangible, then it’s everywhere, then everything becomes ‘missing’. Missing something you never had however also means that you have a knowledge of it. With that knowledge it can become desire. That’s my mood right now, swampy feelings. I found this music by Laurie Anderson to be quite fitting to that mood.

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