So I can’t say anything in advance. At most, I could tell you about my plans.

The facts will definitely be different.

Go for a motorbike

We talked with my roommate until 2. I planned to sleep for 4 hours before the long day of walking.

This was the first plan that didn’t work out. I have a harder time falling asleep the days before hikes. I slowly have to admit to myself that I always look forward to these days with excitement.

I fell asleep half an hour later and woke up half an hour before the alarm clock sounded. So after a warm shower I was on the street at 6 am.

I called a motorbike taxi. I was going to an island. It’s a 30-40 minute ride. I think drivers don’t like this kind of ride. The first one canceled the ride. The second one said he had a flat tire. The third one took me. You could even say that the second plan didn’t turn out as I had imagined.

I had already noticed yesterday that the wind was blowing really hard in some places in the city. Really. Now I could feel it on my own skin. A couple of times I seriously felt that the driver was working hard to keep us from tipping over.

We slowly left the city. I saw the areas where the sea surrounded the houses. The view was beautiful in the morning light. The sea, roads, houses and boats were a cavalcade before my eyes.

As we approached our destination, the sand dunes became more and more numerous. This is a different kind of experience. I remembered that I had read an interesting article about deserts last week. Now I felt like I was traveling in one.

Then I smelled the incomparable smell of the sea. At that moment, I didn’t close my eyes because of the sand. I took big sips of air.

The wind and sand together are an interesting experience. I could feel the sand gnawing at my feet a few times. I had to close my eyes a few times. According to the dream book, it is not a good experience to look around during a piercing sandstorm. Of course, there was no mention of a sandstorm, but still…

A coffee and off we go!

I arrived at the starting point. I sat down at the first convenience store. Or rather, they sat me down. I love that I didn’t have to say anything. “Coffee?” was the question. “Sit down!” I didn’t even have to choose a chair.

I got my coffee, which I also didn’t have to choose. And it turned out exactly the way I had planned.

Having finished writing the first part and having my coffee, there’s nothing left to do but to set off on my hike today.

Eo Gió

Eo Gió (Vietnamese: Eo Gió Quy Nhơn) is a spectacular coastal rocky bay and viewpoint.

Its name roughly means “wind strait” / “windy passage” (eo = strait, narrow passage; gió = wind). The place is a horseshoe-shaped, rocky bay where the sea breeze blows between the mountainside.

Yes. Here the wind really blew. When I set off, I had to change my hat for a scarf because the wind almost tore it off my head.

The paved road is not very long. So I spent more time on the huge rocks of the coast than on the official road.

Sea and rocks. Everything is huge around me. The silence… Well, I wouldn’t say it’s quiet. The wind is loud. And I listen to music anyway. But there’s silence in my soul.

On the way out, I noticed a hidden path. It led uphill. These small paths always hold an invitation for me.

So now I’m sitting here on top of a huge hill. I’m enjoying the 360-degree panorama. Or rather, I’m staring at an endless world in all directions.

Behind me is a model of a city. To the left is a harbor crowded with fishing boats. And in front of me is the endless blue. From the bottom of the sea to the top of the sky, everything is blue.

This place is really windy. I could watch this for hours.

But I want to go. You know, the plans… I want to walk a lot today.

Nhơn Lý fishing village

I walked to the nearby village.

My journey took me past a market, where I had breakfast. I ate some kind of pancake-like dish with fried vegetables. And a bunch of green leaves on the side. I really like that this much food is more than enough for breakfast these days. Here, two pancakes are the size of one in Europe. They give water for free in every restaurant. I feel like this breakfast was healthy. It cost 10,000 VND (125 HUF, 0.4 USD). Oh, and it was very tasty, by the way.

I went down to the beach that I had seen from the height. I felt the sea up close and enjoyed it. I watched the boats. And the wind blowing the sand. I felt its tickling on my skin everywhere.

I sat down to write a few lines and then I moved on.

It’s not even nine o’clock yet, but my stomach is full. And my eyes have already “ate” a lot.

Ky Co Beach

About 6 kilometers separated me from this supposedly beautiful place.

The road soon turned towards a steep and high hill.

Of course, a man on a motorbike immediately appeared. He asked if he could take me. I said no. His eyes were flashing. The question was written in it, “Are you stupid or a scumbag?”

I looked up the hill. My phone showed that it was 32 degrees. 37 degrees with a feeling of heat and 64% humidity. I agreed a little with the man on the motorbike.

But I wouldn’t give anything to be able to walk now.

No plan. But I know what awaits me.

A lizard running across the road, lifting its legs. A swallow struggling next to my head in the foreground. The carpet and smell of fallen pine needles. The back of the huge Buddha statue waving towards the sea. A small cemetery hidden among the sand dunes.

These are never visible from the back of the motorbike.

Not to mention that I shouldn’t be wiping my forehead on the motorbike. Before I knew it, so much sand had mixed with my sweat that I started planning to build my own private sandcastle.

Walking teaches me every time. It shows me, written in sweat, that every hill has a top. From there, the road takes you down to the next hill.

I only stopped for a few minutes because I didn’t want to lose these thoughts.

The road takes me on. No matter where I wander.

In an hour and a half, I reached the entrance to the beach.

At the ticket office, it turned out that I not only had to buy an entrance ticket, but also pay for a minibus to take me to the beach, which was about 1 km away.

I said that I wanted to go down on foot. I couldn’t walk because it was private land. I heard this as meaning that I couldn’t walk because then I wouldn’t pay for the bus.

The plan went awry again. I looked at the pictures of the beach and decided that it wasn’t worth it for me. I’ll skip that today.

I thought of a workaround. What if I buy an entrance ticket and a bus ticket, then find out if it’s possible to walk in the private area afterwards.

But the ticket guy was so grumpy that I’d skip that suggestion too.

I pulled the match out of him anyway. I sat down for two minutes to consider the information I received. Then I bought myself a private Pepsi and a water. I asked him for this, but he ordered a woman to give me the drinks from the fridge 1 meter away.

Unfortunately, today I walked into a private soul. That wasn’t part of the plan either.

I quickly made myself a small bench out of a log. I drink the cold drinks with my back against a rock.

Then I walk back to where I came from, as planned. In the meantime, I look at the beautiful landscape.

I drank everything in half an hour. I move on. Now there are 18 km to go. For some reason, the look on the motorcyclist’s face came back to mind.

On the road

I did 10 km without stopping. I completely agree with the biker.

On the other hand, I continue my journey. I just found a shop by the road. I bought 1 liter of water and was even given ice. The saleswoman left me with a stick. I’ll take a little more care of the goods, but then I’ll move on.

It feels like 40 degrees. I’m walking next to a multi-lane highway. Surprisingly, there’s a two-car-wide sidewalk next to it. So I’m driving safely.

I wanted to see sand dunes. Well, this plan worked! I’ve felt like I’m in the desert for 7 km. I came here in the morning. Now the story is different in that there’s no wind. So I just enjoy the heat.

There’s a popular lighter here in Vietnam. I’ve seen it several times. It has a transparent housing and two small dice inside. Honestly, I really like these little cubes.

Once I found a lighter like this. I broke it. I had two small cubes. Later I found one. It became four. After that I wanted to find a third one. So now I have 6 small cubes.

And I still have 8 km to go. Maybe there will be more.

In the meantime, the saleswoman came back. She asked where I was going without a car. I showed her. At least she didn’t show what she thought.

Well, I’ll continue. My journey. The road covered with withered plants and dry cow dung is now slowly covered with broken lighters. At least today I left a little trace behind me.

Hòn Khô

I have arrived.

Results:

• The biker was absolutely right.
• 18 km.
• Total distance for the day 26.4 km.
• I arrived at 15:20.
• Two crispy fried legs.
• 14 dice.

The dices come with a story.

I found a total of 11 lighters, so I should have 22 cubes. However, not all of the tools were empty. I opened these using the scientific method of “throwing a stone at it”. So 5 cubes simply turned into mist after a big bang.

I found a factory defective piece, which only had one cube in it. And unfortunately, in one case, the grave robbers got ahead of me. Someone was so depraved that they broke a lighter in front of me.

Today I also improved in using tools. I already caused the last explosions in an empty plastic bottle.

Finally, I found a small transparent box, so now it contains my cubes that were not even in the plan this morning. All 14 of them.

During the last six kilometers, the sweat was only willing to flow into my eyes. I would have missed this experience.

The last two kilometers had already tipped over into the deadly category.

I’m not saying that it wasn’t a great experience to sit down.

This small town is on the seashore. I’m going to go for a walk in it right now. And smell the sea. Since I’ve come this far.

Then I’ll order a motorbike. I hope the first one will take me home…

After arriving, I had to hydrate. That is, I drank a liter of tea in 3 minutes. Then, while drinking the 3rd bottle, I ordered lunch. There was time for that too.

My system recovered in an hour. Time for that little walk.

Towards the end of the walk, I wondered why I hadn’t gotten sick during a walk without shade for several hours in 40-degree heat.

I realized it.

I didn’t have time to get sick.

I looked for lighters.

The post 324. | Quy Nhơn first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

Nothing happened as I thought when I wrote yesterday’s post.

The bus leaves at three o’clock

Around 10 am I checked how I was going to get to the next town. I realized that it was 323 km. 6 hours, I immediately said to myself. Then the ticket purchasing app gave me this prediction.

I also asked my accommodation provider what options he could offer. He also offered a bus for a similar price, but this had the advantage that someone would come to pick me up.

We started looking at the options there, whether it was a 2-row or 3-row sleeper bus. The 2-row is more comfortable, so it’s 100,000 more expensive. In the end, I decided to take this one. The bus leaves at one o’clock.

Then an hour later I got the information that this bus was full. The next one leaves at three o’clock. That’s fine with me.

Then a little later I got another information that it would be a minibus. The price stayed the same, of course. LOL. Well, maybe it would be better if I didn’t travel on a recumbent bus. I prefer to sit, even sleep sitting.

I went for a walk, to withdraw money from the ATM and to have lunch before leaving.

I ordered fried rice. After a short wait, I got my fried noodles. I didn’t even bat an eye at these changes. The food was extremely delicious, by the way.

I went back to the hotel at 2:30 PM, thinking that I would rather wait here for half an hour. The distance from the gate to the reception is 80 meters. When I got there, they were already waiting excitedly, saying, “The car will be here for me right away.” I turned around, and sure enough, it was already standing at the gate. So I immediately walked the 80 meters back and we set off.

We went everywhere, based on the principle of trust, I didn’t ask where or why. We dropped off a package here, picked up a person there, and dropped them off there.

The bus leaves at three.

At ten minutes past three, we had already gone so far that I asked the driver if he was going to take me to the next town or if we were really going to a bus. We went to the bus.

Yeah, no.

He pulled me over on the side of the road after 5 minutes. I was told to wait here, the bus would be here soon. It leaves at three, and at that moment it was exactly 3:15 p.m. I am already familiar with these “soon” ideas, so I asked what this meant, that it would be soon. About half an hour, was the answer.

The bus arrived 45 minutes later. And it was not a minibus. But a 3-row sleeper bus.

I have never been on anything like this before. This is different from the ones I have been on before, in that there is also a row of beds in the middle. I got a bed here at the front of the bus. The bed was so wide that my laptop bag could just fit between my legs. If I put my hands next to me in the bed, I was wedged between the two-sided railings. If I made the arm distance a little wider, my hands would hang out on both sides of the aisle. Which, due to the width of the aisle, meant that everyone who passed me bumped into me.

Regardless, the six-hour journey passed peacefully. I slept, listened to a book and music. And the woman lying next to me. She sometimes shouted to her partner in front of her with her mouth pointed towards my ear, sometimes she listened to music or a video. Loudly. Her voice – I don’t want to offend you – was like a crow’s. And she could only speak loudly.

But it really didn’t bother me, I’m just trying to describe the conditions on such a bus as realistically as possible.

We stopped twice. Both times, the stop was signaled by the headlights being turned on, meaning that the beams of light penetrating the brain of a peacefully sleeping person immediately cause alertness. To make sure things go smoothly, they even yell at him that it’s time for a pee break.

Quy Nhơn

We arrived in the city quite late, around 10pm.

I had three problems right away.

One was that I really needed to pee. There was no toilet at the huge bus terminal. I solved the problem the way the locals do. I leave it to everyone’s imagination to figure out what that meant.

The second was that my host asked me when I would arrive, but I couldn’t answer him because the app wasn’t running.

Finally, my map simply didn’t work. It showed the route, but the location marker didn’t turn, so when I got to the street, I simply didn’t know which way to turn.

After I couldn’t even order a taxi because it couldn’t find the hostel in the city, I realized that I had to restart my phone.

After restarting, I knew which way to turn, that it was about a two-kilometer walk from the hostel, and that I didn’t need a taxi. And the first problem was gone.

I arrived at the hostel at 10:40 PM. There were locked doors, lights off, and an empty reception desk waiting behind the glass door.

Then my phone rang. I got a message from the hotel. It was simple: “If you want to check in after 11:00 PM, find another hotel. Bye!”

I was standing there with this nice message next to a locked door, with two phone numbers posted that I couldn’t reach. Then someone brought someone a package. This someone opened the door from the inside.

I don’t even know if he was a guest or someone working there. He said he had only been here for a day. I told him I had a reservation and a message, and a big question about what to do next.

Finally, he decided to show me the room. I chose a bed for myself and went for a walk.

Control

While riding the bus, I thought about why I don’t have a problem with the completely random things that happen to me almost every day. I get something different than I order, it leaves at a different time than it says. It leaves at a different time than it says. I’m there for my room, which isn’t there…

It dawned on me that this random chaos is closer to the nature of life than the illusion that I have my life in my hands.

I used to believe that I knew the schedule a lot. Things turned out exactly as I planned many times. Other times they didn’t.

But today I felt that somewhere deep down I always knew that I had no, or not always, influence on what happens in life.

This probably caused tension in me before.

Now I have no tension. There are no expectations, or only very minimal ones. For example, about yesterday, all I had to do was get to the new city. It would have been nice to be there around eight o’clock, but what if that doesn’t work out? In the end, it doesn’t matter if it’s not that night, but the next morning.

The six hours passed on a 3-row reclining bus even though I bought a ticket for 2 rows and then waited for a minibus.

No control, no illusions, no tension.

I’m where I wanted to be, and the heavens wanted the bed I had in mind to be waiting at the end of the road.

That’s kind of how I experienced yesterday.

The post 323. | The control is the illusion first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

Of course, this was only part of the story.

The Old Town

I spent 4 nights in Hoi An. Of these, I was in the old town for two nights.

Of course, I checked out the beach 800 meters from my accommodation, twice. Now – and in general – the city is more exciting than the beach equipped for tourists.

This turned out to be an interesting experience. I didn’t see the old town during the day, only in the lights of the night. This is definitely another face of the city. The reason for this is the many lanterns. I swear, there are more lanterns in this city than stars in the Milky Way.

Both nights I felt the pulse of life in the city. Lots of people walking the streets. Happy, sad. Laughing and arguing. Transmitting all kinds of energies to the world. Every 10 meters offers a pub, a restaurant, a shop, or a café. And it’s fabulous how everything is lit up. Paris is best known as the city of lights. So I was now in the Asian Paris.

The main attraction in the city is the lantern boat ride on the Snow River. That evening, when I had that wonderful coffee, I had several experiences.

First, I walked from my accommodation to the old town. It was a 5-kilometer walk. I enjoyed doing something that no one else was doing. When I arrived in the city, I had a very simple but extremely delicious dinner in a simple place.

Then I walked around the city. Then I got on a lantern boat. Since I was alone, they didn’t look for a companion, so I had a private boat ride. I watched the people walking on the shore, the joy of the passengers in the other boats, the lights. I could smell the river, the swaying of the water.

Then I walked further and saw the coffee in a picture. I asked if they could really do that for me? I spent an hour having coffee and another half in the cafe. I just loved that night.

Then I decided that I wanted to listen to live music and have a beer in between.

I walked 200 meters from the cafe when one of the many people inviting guests caught me. “Do you want to have a beer? We also have live music.” Maybe it was written on me what I wanted. I sat down.

The guy with the guitar sang very beautifully. Songs that I could sing with him. When it turned out that it was pay-one-get-two happy hour (it always is) for cocktails, I ordered two strong cocktails for myself. That was how I ended this beautiful evening and that acquaintance with the old town.

However, a second acquaintance awaited me.

Ecstatic Dance

Last week, an American guy recommended nomadtables.com to me.

It’s a program search app for travelers. Along with the recommendation, he immediately made me a host for one of the upcoming programs, so I became the organizer of my first such program in Da Nang.

I opened the app on Thursday and immediately bought a ticket to a dance event.

I spent my evening there yesterday (Saturday).

I tried to go to this event without prejudice, just for the joy of it. My intention was really to just be there, be present and enjoy the evening.

In the end, I didn’t succeed, but it wasn’t just me.

About 50 people gathered. We sat in a big circle at the front. Soft music was playing while we discussed the rules. No weed, no drugs, no alcohol. No talking during the dance. And no judgment towards the other person. Everyone dances however they want.

Then we started with a cacao ceremony. We sang a song together to give thanks for the cacao, which South Americans believe is medicine. It was nice to hear how my companions became more and more open with each turn and we sang the two-line song together more and more firmly.

Part of the ceremony was also to formulate three thoughts, wishes within ourselves and give space to them. Honestly, no thoughts appeared in my mind regarding the questions of what I want to let go of and what I want to let in. I don’t even remember the third question… Moreover, for each question I had to choose a partner and look into their eyes and “see” and “feel”. I didn’t get a partner for the third round, so I looked the clouds in the eyes and thought that here and now there are neither questions nor answers for me.

Then we started dancing. Slow pace, slow movements. Eyes closed.

The host asked questions in a helpful way. What does your knee say when you move it? What do you say, my shoulder? I felt like these questions weren’t for me either. I just wanted to dance.

When there was nothing left but the music, I started moving the way my body wanted me to. I enjoyed it immensely, but there was nothing new about it. I’ve been doing this my whole life when I danced. I kept my eyes closed the whole time. Because today, I came here wanting to take this evening to myself. I came for myself, not to meet people. Of course, I noticed others, but today I didn’t come to open up, but to keep myself.

In the middle of the evening, there was a drumming part, where we stood around the drummers and enjoyed the tribal rhythms.

From then on, there was a fire juggling part, which brought a little excitement to the evening. But to be honest, from then on, the DJ didn’t do something right. For an hour and a half, the music could take you into an experience. From then on, it didn’t work out. Without any expectations, what he did was simply wrong.

On the way home, I ate something delicious at a simple restaurant, bought myself some sweets and had a movie night in my own bed.

Next time I’ll go dancing. Alone. Because it’s good.

I don’t bring questions, I don’t look for answers. I just want to dance. For the experience.

I’m leaving for Quy Nhơn in two hours.

I’ll see what the dance floor is like there.

See you Hoi An!

The post 322. | Hoi An first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

It’s about an entry titled “The art of saying goodbye“.

I wrote this fifteen months ago.

I’m not just curious to see if my thoughts at the time have changed.

New thoughts have also emerged since then.

I’ll see if anything has changed, how I relate to the thoughts expressed there, and what the new feeling is.

Findings from the past

I left three months after writing the aforementioned post.

At that time, I wrote down a few thoughts that concerned my future.

I’m not a fortune teller. I simply wrote down what I felt at the time.

Farewell is not the end

“ … something will end. … something will begin now… I simply continue living my life. The journey continues.”

This has not changed in me since then.

But I feel the infinity of the journey much more clearly. A year ago it was just a feeling, an idea, a grayer picture. Today it is an experience, the happening of the present and a thousand times more colorful picture.

“Actually, the way of keeping in touch will change. … Then why would there be a need for big goodbyes.”

It really didn’t take much talent to foresee the only form of keeping in touch. After many months, I see that I have no problem with this method, just as I imagined it to be without problems at the time. We have been in touch with many friends since then in this only form.

But here is an important change. What I knew even before leaving. Back then it was just a decision, but now it has also become a reality. I have placed keeping in touch in the field of reciprocity. I no longer have a relationship with anyone I don’t work with to keep a relationship alive.

Soma always held on to the relationships he had. For decades, he tried to maintain relationships that seemed very one-sided even then. He always gave his energy to these – otherwise dysfunctional – relationships. Because he had it and loved to do it.

I still have the same energy today. But today I don’t want to give anymore. It’s a simple decision on my part. Today I prefer to focus the resources I have on myself. My remaining relationships are still there. New ones receive when we are together.

But after the breakup, I only give as much as I receive. I realized the importance of balance. In the moments we spend together, we take the energy out of the relationship, and then we break up and the energy goes to a lower level.

We sometimes talk to the many people we’ve met in the past year. Sometimes they write to me, sometimes I write to them. If I write and there is no answer, I am no longer tense. If they write, I respond when I have time and the mood allows. My answers are equal to the length of the question. The duration of the dialogue is based on reciprocity. Sometimes a few questions and we learn about each other, sometimes more serious conversations.

I like this new dynamic.

Preparing for Farewell

“There are times when we need to say goodbye. When we know we won’t see each other again.”

This previous idea has changed significantly in me.

In almost every case, we say goodbye to each other on this journey with a hug and a “see you next time!”.

There is no waving of the white flag, no looking back. No crying. At least on my part…

“See you next time” (I can only guess this) in most cases means that we will never see each other again.

But with the people I have met on this journey, we believe that the chance is more than zero. And there were a few I have met again. And then of course we said goodbye again.

I think this kind of easy goodbye is precisely because we see the present differently. For my part, I say enjoy each other’s company. For a short while. Then everyone goes their own way.

If our paths cross again somewhere, we will share different moments with each other.

What do you have to say goodbye to?

“Places, spaces.”

This thought has also been replaced by something else in me.

Today, I don’t say goodbye to places either. I have no nostalgia.

When I write “Phong Nha, maybe I’ll see you again,” it simply means to me that if the time comes and the wind blows that way, I won’t miss you next time. But I don’t have the desire in my heart to have to be here again(!) .

When it’s time to leave, I get on the bus and leave.

And on the bus, the next moment is already there, which has become present, the city is no longer there.

I think I would like to visit every place I’ve been to again at any time. But there’s not a single one that I miss. No city of the past is waiting, nor are any of the future ones. I’m writing here in the city of Hoi An. This one exists. This is my present.

“I won’t say goodbye to habits or routines. Others will replace the ones I leave behind.”

How true this has become.

Habits have come and gone. I keep a lot of them from before I traveled. A few of the ones I picked up along the way. But not everything is from them anymore.

This is a big change in my life. I used to hold on to the habits I had acquired more tightly.

Today, only what is important is what supports my present. With this realization, my life has become much easier.

The Teaching

Even before Asia, this journey began to teach me about saying goodbye.

What I felt then has become a reality today.

Today, I say the following about a connection that comes from this journey:

The moment I meet someone, I know that we will only share our time with each other for a short time. A few minutes. A few hours, a few days. Rarely, a few weeks. Then comes the moment of separation.

It is no longer news to me that this is not difficult at all.

Another realization came to me in recent months.

I began to notice that people have a hard time saying goodbye to me. Harder than I have to say goodbye to them.

They often tell me the reason themselves.

They sense some real energy in me. “You don’t just talk about happiness. You really live it.”

They have found a companion they very rarely meet. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find someone as nice to be with as you.”

They discover that we can be comfortable together under any circumstances. “It’s very rare to find someone as open-minded as you.”

These are just points of view. Maybe these people are wrong too.

But their reality is theirs, and I usually feel that. I can feel why it’s hard for them to say goodbye to me.

I might be wrong!

But from my perspective, there’s only one goodbye right now:

See you next time!

The post 321. | The art of saying goodbye II. first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

The coffee

The coffee in the picture is the first coffee with drawings in my life.

Egg coffee.

Every drop of it was a line of a poem. I didn’t want to decipher it. I just read it slowly, very slowly. It told me a lot.

My poem

I had a long conversation with the AI. We sat down to analyze song lyrics several times. We searched for parallels in them regarding my journey.

The coffee brought a question. I asked the AI ​​to write my poem.

Ithaca Within Me

I set out,
though I did not know where I was going.

I had a few clothes,
a laptop,
a few fears,
and a life
I thought was me.

I kept going.

Through cities,
across borders,
over mountains, rivers, seas.

I slept in unfamiliar beds,
asked for food in unfamiliar languages,
drank with strangers,
and sometimes woke up
with no idea
what would happen to me tomorrow.

And then something always did.

A road.
A person.
A song.
A cold beer on a mountaintop.
A smile.
A sentence,
someone may have tossed out casually,
and I carried it with me.

For a long time, I thought
this was the journey.

That I was going somewhere.

But I was arriving.

Slowly.

So slowly
I did not even notice.

I left no one behind.

The boy I once was
came with me.

The man who was afraid
came with me.

The one who loved,
who lost,
who was wrong,
who hurt others,
who was hurt,
who held on
long after he should have let go—

they all came with me.

Nothing died.

Everything lives.

It is just that not all of them
want to tell me anymore
which way to go.

I did not burn the bridges.

I crossed them.

And when I reached the other side,
I did not set them on fire behind me.

Sometimes I still look back.

Not because
I want to go back.

But because I love seeing
where I came from.

It took a year.

Thousands of kilometers.
Planes.
Buses.
Motorbikes.
Trains.
Boats.

And a lot of walking.

How strange.

I traveled across half the world
to find something
that had never taken a single step.

It had been there all along.

Within me.

Now I know
where Ithaca is.

It is not on any map.

You need no visa to get there.
No plane ticket.
And no one can deport you from it.

I have arrived.

I did not become someone else.

I am everyone
I have ever been.

I just no longer
have to deny any of them.

And tomorrow I will set out again.

Not
to find myself.

Not
to escape from somewhere.

Not even
so that one day
I might finally arrive.

But because the road
is still beneath my feet.

The sky above me.

And Ithaca

within me.

The Symphony

While I was drinking coffee and reading poetry, I listened to a song.

Symphony X.

The Odyssey.

The three poems told me one thing tonight.

I love my life very much.

A wish was formed in me.

I wish everyone had time to listen to this song.

Not for me. For themselves. So that they could just watch the sunset. Or the birds in the sky. Or anything that would take your hand and fly you somewhere where time doesn’t matter. Where worries are left behind for a little while.

24 minutes.

Not a short time.

I wish everyone could afford that much time.

I did today.

I listened to this symphony while I was drinking coffee.

Twice.

I love my life very much.

The Odyssey (Symphony X)

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The post 320. | Three poems for one evening first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

And I’m a tiny digital nomad.

What happens when David and Goliath meet and no one wants to win?

Huge and many

Who are they?

Da Nang covers an area of ​​nearly 1,300 km2. The actual densely populated urban area is much smaller. “Only” 250 km2. 1.3 million people. And maybe 200-300 places or experiences that make you say: “that’s why it was worth coming here.”

On the other side, there I am, standing on a piece of land under my feet, with a 3-night stay booked.

I’ve been saying for a long time that I don’t need to see everything. Here, around Da Nang, I came up with the following. If I’m only in town for a few days, it’s worth choosing one or two places and checking them out.

Then, if life allows me, I see more. Just because I walk past him without any plan.

My Khe Beach

“My Khe is one of the six most attractive beaches on the planet” – voted by Forbes Magazine.

When I first arrived, someone prepared me by saying that this beach is like Miami. I don’t know what Miami is like because I haven’t been there yet. Maybe I do now? Or if I go to Miami, I’ll say “ah, this is just like Da Nang.”

This beach is definitely everything you dream of when you think of a beach. Sand, palm trees, blue sky, sunbeds and round shapes everywhere.

I realized that I’m not the beach person, I just like walking near the beach. On my first day, I took a long walk along the beach, enjoying the breeze, the view and sweating under the tropical sun.

If Forbes asked me, I would vote for this beach too.

See Food shops

I already mentioned in Cat Ba how many aquariums there were on the streets. Of course, it is also a seaside town. But the aquariums there can hide next to the ones here!

The selection of marine life here is so wide that visiting any of the shops is easily considered a sight to behold.

I looked at the animals more through the eyes of a person who loves nature. I am not sentimental, I simply put aside the question of whether these creatures are all waiting for dinner. I simply admired their color, shape, and movement.

I saw crabs so big that they would have fit in an alien. But also ones so small and fragile that I was afraid to touch them. Beautiful fish. Typically large-bodied, but my favorite was the flatfish. Shells, snails. Everything that lives and moves. Sharks. Most of the place looked like a zoo that wanted to show as many living creatures as possible.

Ba Na Hills

The Ba Na Hills and the Golden Bridge…

When I looked at this place, I read that it was the most iconic sight in Vietnam.

So I took a day off on Wednesday and chose this program for myself.

First of all, I rented a motorbike. A fairly large motorbike with so much cubic capacity that I dared to ride it with my ears and tail tucked in. The fact that I was faster than almost everyone only slightly took away my excitement. I didn’t want to race the police.

After a 30-40 minute journey, I arrived at the Ba Na Hills place operated by the Sun World company. I already know them, because they also operate everything on Fansipan and above Sa Pa.

So, professional organization awaited me everywhere. This super organization accompanied my journey from the entrance to the exit.

Arriving at this place was like arriving at Disneyland. I’ve been lucky enough to see it twice in my life, so the feeling was not a coincidence.

The entrance is at the bottom of the mountain, I don’t think there’s much to see here. So I jumped into one of the elevator cars and started going up. I didn’t time it, but we climbed up the mountain along the cable car for about 10 minutes.

The background gradually started to grow, until finally I saw the city of Da Nang and the sea in all its glory. Below me was the beautiful jungle, above me was the iconic sight of Vietnam. They were beautiful moments. I really enjoyed being there.

The Golden Bridge

It would have been a shame to leave this out!

I’ve often thought about why I say this. It’s really “just” a beautiful, human-made thing on top of a mountain. Which happens to be shaped like a hand. I’ve been to many beautiful mountaintops. I’ve seen many beautiful bridges. What’s special about it for me?

The feeling. The simple feeling of being here. Seeing it with my own eyes. Feeling the cool air. Being part of the happy, selfie-taking crowd. I’m here. I’m present. The moment is mine. There’s no competition, no rush, no exposed pipes. The feeling that I got to spend a few moments of my life here. That’s all I feel grateful for, that I decided to be here today.

The French city

From this wonder, another cable car took me even higher up the mountain.

I found myself in a medieval and fairytale city.

In a real Disneyland, the feeling was not in vain.

I arrived with headphones in my ears. (Yes, I have since bought one and have not lost it yet.) I heard that there was such cartoonish, happy music playing. But I wanted to listen to my own music. But I decided differently within a short time. I wanted to immerse myself in the fairy tale world that was created here. I let the music enchant me. Since I am in an enchanted castle…

And enchanted…

Every place is designed for me to stand with my mouth open, or walk. Or sit. I especially enjoyed this. To sit in the sunlight and enjoy the moment. Not to press a phone, not to pack. To sit on a bench with my arms outstretched. Several of the locals noticed this and smiled at me. Maybe they rarely see a white person happy alone on a bench?

I loved every place here.

The huge Buddha statue. The temples. The pagodas. The fountains. The beautiful gardens. The steps I sat on. The distance, the sea, which always shows me a different face from above.

It was nice to feel the cool air. The few raindrops that hit me. Then the heat. The warmth of the sun on my skin.

I shared in the people’s joy. I smiled at the children’s smiles too. A few people spoke to me. I looked up when an American said goodbye by saying “God bless you!” I wished him the same blessing.

I met a group of Hungarians. We talked for 10 minutes. They were so happy to finally meet a Hungarian. I was happy for them too, their enthusiasm immediately caught up with me.

There were three moments when I said no at first, but I immediately changed my mind.

A 4D cinema started a show. No. Then I realized that I wanted to. It was my first 4D cinema, a short cartoon. I really enjoyed it.

As I left there, an interactive cinema immediately called me. Flying around the world. No. I had just left the cinema, why would I go to another one. Then I realized that I wanted to. It was an incredible experience. I flew over all the major cities on Earth. In rain, in sunlight, at night and during the day. It was amazing. My heart was beating with the movement of our plane. Right then and there I thought “fuck”, this is the most amazing experience of my day.

Finally, 170 steps appeared in front of me to the top of the mountain. No. I had already been to so many mountaintops. Then I realized that I wanted to. Steve climbs every mountain he can. Why would I miss this? There were so many wonderful moments in the 20 minutes I gave to those 170 steps.

This day was a fabulous day. I spent my hours in castles, medieval streets, among dragons and heroes.

I slowly started down.

That day I said no to something three times.

I don’t want to go to the movies.
I don’t want to go to another movie.
I don’t want to climb another mountain.

Then all three times I realized that I do.

Maybe it’s not how much I see in one place that matters. I don’t need two hundred sights. I don’t need to check everything off.

I just need to notice when, behind my own “no,” something quietly says:

Of course. You do.

Da Nang! Maybe we’ll meet again!

The post 319. | Da Nang first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

You cannot see what I see because you see what you see. You cannot know what I know because you know what you know. What I see and what I know cannot be added to what you see and what you know because they are not of the same kind. Neither can it replace what you see and what you know, because that would be to replace you yourself.

Douglas Adams.

Again.

A dialogue from a novel that I understand better now.

To give you the world I live in

I formulated this sentence months ago. I took it more precisely from a song lyric.

I can now see more precisely how this transfer can work.

For me, Douglas Adams’ idea in the novel expresses very well the basis of transfer and the problems related to transfer.

Counseling

While studying coaching, I was among the first to learn that we only give advice when asked.

This life, almost at the same time as this sentence in the textbook, showed me much, much more clearly that I have to take this seriously.

Even if it is asked, giving advice is not easy. There is a huge responsibility on the shoulders of the counselor. That is why I am now very careful about this kind of “showing off”.

It is not my path.

Teaching

I think this method works.

In the case of an exact science, perhaps there is no other way.

But I don’t think in terms of exact science. From here on, teaching is not my method either.

I tell and write down my thoughts countless times. But I think of this as storytelling and sharing experiences, not teaching at all.

The other question is whether quite a few people learn from this. I know this because I can be sure of it because over the past few months, many people have told me what they learned from me. This always makes me happy. Because there is freedom in this method of transferring knowledge. The student notes from me what he needs. Sometimes just a single sentence or thought. But that is enough. It is exactly what he needed.

Despite this, I still don’t want to be a teacher.

I wouldn’t be able to compile lists for students about what will change their lives. I don’t even want to do that, because I don’t believe in these lists.

I believe that everyone should make their own list, their own story, their own narrative about their own life.

Leading by example

I feel like this is my path.

I’ll show you how I transformed myself into who I am today. What kind of thinking and conscious steps did I take to get to the point where I can now say things with courage.

This took all of 50 years of teaching. All of the joy and all of the losses I suffered. All of the smiles and laughter, as well as every tear. All of the limits I set and didn’t keep. Every moment I lived and every opportunity I missed. Accepting life as a teacher. The arrival of words and sentences.

My most important sentences now sound like this.

I really love my life.

I really love myself.

And although I am against the word “best”, today I also accept that I am my own best friend.

I want to pass this on. I talk to people. I write.

And I build the world of “The Miracle is Already Here”.

The post 318. | … because that would be to replace you yourself first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

I realized that I could only count this with bloody sweat.

Oh, and also that the number is completely irrelevant.

I have come to terms with the fact that I have been hosted by Vietnamese people many times.

It is time to write about what hospitality looks like for a foreigner in this country.

Tea and the farmer’s pipe

Tea here, as I saw it, is consumed in a completely different way than in Europe.

It is usually drunk from small glasses, always more of them, about 6-8 pieces, I saw them prepared on the table, or simply on the ground in front of the entrance. They are always stored on a tray. In the middle of the tray there is a small teapot. The tea is placed in the top with a filter. The last accessory is a thermos.

The process of making tea is very simple. The remaining tea is poured out and the used tea is thrown out. Fresh tea is put into the cooking pot. This is poured with hot water. Then that first steeping is usually poured out immediately. Then comes the next portion of water, which is left to work for 20-30 seconds. Then we start drinking the tea.

The preparation process is complete. It is not by chance that I do not write about sugar, lemon juice, milk or honey. Water and tea. That is all the recipe.

In Vietnam, tea is like a jug of water on the table. It’s there. They drink two sips of it while talking, while making a deal, while waiting, before or after a meal. If someone arrives, they automatically offer them a glass. It’s not a special event, but a natural part of hospitality.

In Ninh Binh, we visited a seamstress three times. Each time, the house was different when we arrived. Mother-in-law, husband, father-in-law. They didn’t ask why we were there (they obviously knew), they made us tea right away.

In Hanoi, I went to a barber. He was working, but he politely signaled me to sit down and help myself to tea. Then, when he finished with the customer in front of me, we had a drink together.

On my motorbike tour, I stopped at a small shop to buy coffee. They immediately sat me down and poured me some tea.

This morning in Da Nang, I sat down at a café to drink coffee. Before I could even speak, I was given a glass of tea.

One more thing. I never saw the glasses washed before being refilled. It didn’t bother me at all, but there are definitely people who do. It’s time for them to prepare the excuse of “I don’t like tea”.

Once we sit down, the điếu cày (pronounced roughly: zjeu káj) is often immediately brought out, which is one of the most famous traditional smoking tools in Vietnam.

It’s everywhere. I’m not kidding. In every small restaurant, shop. Often used as decoration, but as a practical item, you could build a forest of them in every settlement.

Some interesting facts about it. It’s made of thick bamboo, as I saw, about 5 cm in diameter. There’s little water in the bottom, so it might look like a hookah, but it’s not. Most often, they smoke extremely strong Vietnamese tobacco called thuốc lào from it. It can be much more nicotine-rich than traditional cigarette tobacco. A single sip is enough to make an inexperienced person dizzy or even sick.

Water is poured into the bottom of the pipe after the contents are blown out of the pipe. A ball of tobacco the size of a fingernail is placed in a metal holder designed for this purpose. Then it is handed to the guest, who holds it with both hands. The tobacco is started to burn from above with a lighter. The smoker places the bamboo pipe around his mouth and begins a choreography of inhaling, coughing, rolling his eyes, crying and shouting “whoa”.

Those who can handle the tobacco better let out a cloud of smoke. Here the cloud must be understood almost literally, because when you blow out, such an amount of smoke comes out of your mouth that an aging dragon with teary eyes would envy.

Of course, the locals can handle the whole process themselves, because they hold the pipe with one hand and the self-collector with the other.

After two or three sniffs and an exhalation, it’s over.

It’s really strong. I coughed once too, but the other times I managed to act like I was a tough kid. I cried when I turned the corner.

Part of this experience is that it’s shared. The big pipe is smoked by happy and unhappy people. If you have a problem with this intimacy, it’s better to deny that you smoke.

I like accepting these invitations. There are always inquisitive questions, a kind smile. And the good feeling that selfless hospitality creates.

Meals

If they invited me to eat, I was invited.

In that case, they pay for everything. If I wanted to return the favor, the next time I paid for our meal together. When I was with family, the question of reciprocity didn’t even arise. You’re invited, you can only return the favor by eating heartily.

The simplest invitations, for example, are for a soup. I don’t say this in a disparaging way. Here, the soup is served in a small sandbox-sized plate, in which a young duck would happily play all morning.

And the dominant filling material in the bowl is not the soup, but the many pastas, vegetables and meats, or tofu. This is almost always accompanied by a small basket of lettuce and all sorts of other plant leaves. I’m not kidding here either. Sometimes they put so many vegetables in front of me that a small family of hedgehogs would have been fed every day for a week.

So soup is the main course here. I tried twice to ask for, say, another serving of fried rice with the soup. The result of my stupidity was at least half a serving of food going to the trash each time. The soup always came out on top, by the way.

That’s all for this dish, the simplicity is that in this case we share the salad at most, but the soup remains the private sphere.

The next level of invitation also means eating together.

At this point, they start bringing out the dishes. Not all at once, as we are used to in Europe, but gradually. They bring out, say, two types of dishes. By the time we have tasted them, or maybe even eaten them, the next one will be there.

This is a huge surprise as a guest, by the way. Ordering is not my business. So each round is a bit of a mystery, as are the quantities. Every time it happened that after tasting everything, with the feeling of complete satiety, I thought it was over, and they brought out another big bowl of something.

We eat such dishes from small bowls, the size that we eat pickles from in Hungary.

As a guest, it always turned out that they helped me to put some on my plate. But I can help myself too. That kindness happens to others too, but in most cases everyone helps themselves.

This service is not controlled. Everyone helps themselves to all the dishes, but I experienced that everyone also makes sure that everyone gets everything. In this sentence, I had to do such a significant amount of word stacking that my stomach was upset. Maybe I could have written it so that everyone paid attention to the other person.

At the end of dinners, there is always food left on the table. This is a waste.

It is interesting that in Vietnam we sit at small tables that we only put in front of the children at home. The table is about knee height. So the chairs are small. Most places have a bit of a dollhouse feel.

It’s also very interesting that we throw almost everything under the table while eating. So after a large group leaves, sometimes we have to use a snowplow tractor to clear the debris. Napkins, beer cans, packaging, cigarette butts and anything else that is often trash under the table. Then they just sweep it up. The other solution is a trash can placed next to each table.

I think eating with small plates is very practical. On the one hand, it helps you control the amount of calories you eat. On the other hand, there is much more space for the dishes you eat together. If you need to wash the bowl while eating, you sprinkle it with water and wipe the water near the table.

I always found these meals very cozy.

People often come to the table. Sometimes it’s just for me, for the stranger, so that they can shake hands, maybe toast. But often friends come to the hosts.

I learned that this table visit is supposed to be returned. That is, if a person comes to us from another table to shake hands with me, then after a while I go over to them and we toast.

In these cases, the conversation usually didn’t have to be forced, because we don’t know anything about each other’s language. Also, we can’t talk about our common English in general. But everyone understands the bow and the hand on the heart.

Beer and others

I have mentioned beer a lot in recent weeks.

I would like to reassure all readers that this is not the introductory stage of alcoholism for me.

I swim with the flow and with beer at the same time.

If three of us sit down for dinner, they bring out a carton of beer, which I think contains 24 3-deciliter cans. If the three people have 2-3 hours, then the second carton will also come out. When ten of us sat down, the second carton was already there after 45 minutes.

We use a lot of ice for the beer here. And not just for cooling. The beer melts quickly in the glass, so they constantly throw huge ice cubes into the beer.

The preparation often goes like this: they unload the cans into a bucket, then they put so much ice on it that the Titanic would sink a second time if they met.

If we’ve been around the table for a long time, they’ll replace the ice in the bucket.

We use a smaller bucket for the ice in the glass. Fresh ice is put in this bucket several times. At the beginning of the dinner, we usually throw the ice into the glass with a hot dog tong. Then, as the beer runs out, the tongs are needed less and less. At the end, everyone is throwing ice to everyone else with their bare hands. If someone sees that there’s no ice in the other person’s glass, they fill it in.

I’m – surprisingly – not bothered by the bare-handed ice tossing. If someone does, they should pretend that they like their beer hot.

Short drinks are a different category.

I may have already written that one of the hosts told us what the rule is.

If we start drinking short drinks, we won’t stop until we’re very drunk.

It’s better to know that after the first glass, the evening will lose to sobriety. That is, only accept the first glass if you are prepared for the fire of hell.

There are two interesting things that happen regularly in drinking, as I have seen.

One is the “let’s drink a full glass of beer (or, in the worst case, a whole can) in one go” competition. I couldn’t figure out the reason for this and what kind of coincidence it comes up with. But every now and then someone steps up to you and that’s when it’s time to show who’s the coolest. They usually get really close to me, because I can drink up to a liter and a half of water in one go.

The exhaustion tactic works on its own. If I have to endure this competition for three rounds in a row, the opponent still has a chance.

The other is toasting. When we’ve gotten into the drinking game enough, the “let’s toast after every second sentence” element appears. I think it’s a fun thing and very effective among delirium tremens researchers.

If you are not a fan of beer, or alcohol in general, it is better to say so in advance.

I have been invited to their table by complete strangers several times. I think there are two reasons for this. First, my strangeness, and second, my loneliness. Maybe they think I am unhappy alone and invite me out of love and care. I don’t know.

I can hardly smile while eating, so maybe I don’t radiate joy in life.

All in all, I don’t look for reasons for invitations.

I have accepted the invitation every time, and I have never regretted it.

I feel that I can say without any exaggeration that based on my experience, the Vietnamese people are a very hospitable people.

If I had a beer with me right now, I would throw an ice cube in it and toast the health of many memories.

The post 317. | What does it mean to be a guest in Vietnam? first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

Csavargódal (Bojtorján)

Play Stop

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I was in Da Nang, in the middle of the bridge over the Han River, when I received the message. That’s where I heard this song for the first time in my life.

I thought of you.

We walked together on the bridge.

And we understood each other.

The Wanderer’s Song (I Still Don’t Know Where I’ll Sleep Tonight)

I still don’t know where I’ll sleep tonight,
Tomorrow feels so terribly far away.
The open road beneath my feet and the sky above my head—
Those are the only two things I know for sure.

It doesn’t matter where tomorrow morning finds me.
The cities are all old friends of mine.
There’s always a good friend, a few old loves,
And one or two songs upon my guitar strings.

All the great rivers find their way to the sea,
And my dreams keep running with them.
How I wish I could be as swift as the wind,
And make the whole wide world my home.

One day I would find my way to you,
Even if seven borders lay between us.
You would welcome me as though I were the one
You had been waiting for all those years.
What a pity we were not born for that.

And I still don’t know where I’ll sleep tonight,
Tomorrow feels so terribly far away.
The open road beneath my feet and the sky above my head—
Those are the only two things I know for sure.

The post 316. | … because I was thinking of you first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

Every trip is an exciting adventure.

And sometimes it gives you familiar, but long-heard sounds.

How much is that?

I left the city of Huế on Sunday evening. In the morning, I still had no idea when. I was already sure that I would take a bus. I wrote about this in the post “How do I decide before a 1,800-kilometer trip?”.

After breakfast, I packed up and asked the receptionist if I could leave my big backpack at the hotel. The imperial city was waiting for me, obviously I didn’t want to carry it.

When asked where I would be staying for the night, I could honestly answer. I don’t know. I told her that I would first look for a bus and then deal with the transportation.

Just a few minutes before, during breakfast, I checked on an app how much and when buses would leave.

She recommended a cheaper minibus. The second huge advantage is that the bus she recommended picks me up at the hotel and drops me off in front of the hotel I chose in the next city. The bus will leave at 9:00 PM or 9:30 PM.

We agreed that I would write her the name of the accommodation, if available.

An hour later I knew where I was staying that day, so I wrote her the address and the name of the hostel.

I didn’t get a response.

So a couple of hours later I asked her if he had booked the bus.

She didn’t answer that either.

I’m not an impatient person. After a quiet day in the imperial city, I asked her a second time if my bus was okay.

So, she had already answered the second question. With a voice message. I understood that the reason for not answering could be that she probably speaks and understands English, but can’t write.

She booked my bus, that’s the point.

I planned my day so that I would be back at the hostel by 8:50 PM.

Around 7:30 PM, I got a message to be at the hotel between 8:20 PM and 8:30 PM. I just smile at these. Here in Asia, you really have to be careful sleeping next to the bus, because a seven-hour delay is just as likely as a 2-hour early departure.

I aimed to arrive at the hostel at 8:20 PM. Unlike buses, I like to be punctual.

The lady called me at 8:15 PM. I was 3 minutes away from her anyway. Where am I going, because the bus will be here soon.

I asked if I could use the bathroom on the ground floor, because I didn’t want to go up to the 4th floor. Maybe I’d miss the bus. Grandma was taking a shower in the downstairs bathroom, so – to avoid a mutual shock – I skipped the ground floor.

I said I would quickly go up to the bathroom on the first floor. Sure, go ahead, was the answer. What was left out of the calculation and approval was that there was no bathroom on the first floor.

But by the time I discovered this on that floor, the bus had arrived.

I had to take a risk. If the bus didn’t stop during the 3-hour journey, I would be in trouble.

So I went up to the second floor. To discover that there was no water block there either. From there it was only a turn to realize that there was none on the third floor. Finally, I found myself on the 4th floor.

The musical accompaniment of urination was the bus’s horn. This is an important lesson. It doesn’t matter whether the bus arrives earlier or later, it doesn’t like to wait very much. If I had a zipper on my pants, I would have run down the stairs and pulled it up. If I had a parachute, I would have jumped from the fourth floor. I wouldn’t have cared if the schedule was disrupted by my physical needs.

On the bus

I already missed riding the bus. Although this sentence made me wonder which emoji best expresses sarcasm.

Actually, I have to talk about two buses, because for some reason that is completely incomprehensible to me, it takes two buses to travel 80 km.

So, I had to transfer to another bus, but that is more of a spice than a problem. More faces, a different side of the road, different smells. It is not negligible that the second driver was silent. The first one was on the phone almost the entire time. This activity turns from a private matter to a public one around 11 pm when he screams into the phone through a megaphone built into his throat.

This is not a problem for me either. If I sleep, I sleep. But for someone who is more sensitive to noise, it is worth preparing for such cases with ear protection.

The other bus was quiet.

And then I noticed the noise.

At first I didn’t even hear it.

Then it reached my consciousness, but I didn’t recognize it.

It took me a while to realize what I was hearing.

The familiar sound fading into the darkness of the past was the bus’s turn signal.

I’ve grown out of that sound.

I don’t think I even noticed it that much.

The post 315. | A familiar noise first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.