Kilometer 5971: on the failed attempts to get hungry and cold

This must be a land of long-distance, nay! ultra marathon runners, indefatigable hikers.

People in the first, second, fifth and seventh village asked us where we came from and if peshkom.

Gosh, Piotrek, check what peshkom means, ‘coz it most certainly can’t mean on foot! They must be insane to actually think we’ve walked all the way from Poland!

Peshkom does mean on foot, indeed. The concept of hitchhiking, although it works ridiculously well, is unknown and exotic to the extent that more people will believe we came from Poland powered by our own personal legs than that strangers brought us here for free.

Even though we did our best to explain that we’re not that ambitious and most definitely not that tireless, we hugely impressed the locals. I don’t think that we actually deserved all the cookies, fruit, cups of tea and wide recognition.

But the inflow of cookies, fruit, cups of tea and wide recognition was ubiquitous and never‑ending. Almost every encountered person invited us over, exchanged phone numbers, wanted to share a meal, volunteered to show us around. Asking someone to recommend a place for setting the tent would always have the same result:

But it’s cold tonight! Devushka sleeping in the street? That’s uncalled for! There’s enough space for all of us in my flat, you’ll be warm there.

Did anybody manage to get cold or hungry in Azerbaijan? Let me know!

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