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Cake for breakfast in Albania.
“First time in Albania?” the border guard asks me, while he looks at my passport. “Yes.” I answer. After he figured out my name and tipped a few things in his computer he hands me back my document and asks: “Last time?” “No!” I say, smile and walk away.
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Questioning my Goldfish brain. (thoughts after cycling 5’052 kilometres)
Did I arrive? Where did I intend to go then? After cycling 5’052 kilometres to the south of Turkey I find myself in a sudden moment of calmness. I can’t help but wonder if I arrived at my destination. But I have never had one. If there is no destination how do you know, when…
kesityu. 