We had recorded some music on cassette
for in the car. Wolfgang loved jazz. Dexter
Gordon, Sonny Rollins and others. I had
tapes with reggae music, varying from
loud dub to melodic Dadawah, very
suitable on the waterfront at night.
The music often played in the canteen,
made us realize that we had to move on.
The favorite music of the camping owner:
Billie Holiday. An overdose of sadness.
And instead of traveling on, we better
start the return, especially given the
finances. Back to Istanbul by bus, then
to Plovdiv by train. From there on we
would try to hitchhike. Unexpectedly
that went very well, only in Yugoslavia
we had gotten off the Autoput and ended
up in Kraljevo. To save money we slept
in the waiting room of the train station.
Myself on three chairs. Wolfgang on four.
He was almost six-foot five. In Turkey,
a sensation, but in Yugoslavia you saw
basketball player types more frequently.
