From the Saturday storm, which I survived at Hasan's house, until yesterday morning, the north-eastern part of Turkey was in a deep low, making walking a dubious pleasure. It wasn't until yesterday, around noon, that the clouds started to rise (and I to subsequently lose altitude, but it's kind of the same), thanks to which the slow drying process of both mine and the entire contents of the backpack began.

Just yesterday, shortly before noon, I stopped at a roadside tap when a happy crew from Trabzon did the same, pausing for lunch. As always in such situations, the Turks gladly invited me for a meal, and since it was my feeding time, I happily agreed. Delicious fresh bread, onions, tomatoes, olives, halva and grapes for a traveler subsisting on packed lunches and cans are simply delicacies! By the way, Aziz (next to me) and Osman (in the middle) taught me some Turkish words. Unfortunately, none of them are suitable for publication here ... What was the name of the third colleague, I don't really know, because they called him differently several times, and each time it turned out to be some mocking phrase, in line with the convention of what they taught me. Of course, Aziz added that they've been great buddies for years, so that's why they let each other to have that much fun of each other.

Later, Omer, visible in the last photo, accompanied me on the march for some time and also turned out to be a very communicative and joyful individual. Since he used to work in Paris, he spoke a little French. That didn't help much, but he also understood basic English phrases, thankfully. We just walked and talked about whatever we could talk about. I asked:

- President Erdoğan good?

- Good, good - replies Omer.

A slight off-topic here. The opinions of the Turks I have met so far are quite divided. Young people from Istanbul in the Kaçkar Peak camp believed that Recep Tayyip Erdoğan was the worst evil in the world, or at least in their country. A slightly older guy in the same mountains also blamed the president for inflation and the death of tourism in the region, which made him stop earning as a bus driver. Hasan was somewhere in the middle. Aware of economic problems, however, he paid attention to the numerous infrastructural investments that were made during his rule.

Meanwhile, Omer asks me the same thing.

- Polonia president, who?

- Andrzej Duda - I answer.

- Hmm, Andrei Duda, Andrei Duda ... - Omer repeats the name of the Polish president several times during the march, scratching his head, but you can see that the name doesn't bring a slightest idea into his head.

After a while, we sit down on a bench in a bus shelter, where Omer, with my consent, starts playing with my phone. I am honestly surprised by his familiarity with electronic equipment, because he has no problems using the interface in Polish, finds the option of calling and to enter his data into my phone book. After a while he is already in the photo gallery, where he asks me about more photos in it. Soon the time comes to say goodbye. He goes up to his village and I continue to the sea town of Araklı.

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