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Another slow day at the lake, we managed to finally get out of the hotel today at Eleven. Far enough to reach the Café. We have started a life of shambling from hotel to café to food and back. Interspersed with sitting around reading, and watching the foreign tourists, by foreign I of course do not include us, we are travellers, not holidaymakers. So why is the language so strange, why can we not understand even the smallest words? I have mastered Thank-you, an achievement I think, phonetically kuh-suh-nuhm. So, I have made a start. Though I wonder what they think about a random English couple sitting reading and chatting for hours in their café, while watching all the comings and goings and smiling enthusiastically when spoken to. Really they could say anything – we wouldn’t have a clue, unless they thank us of course but I think that is unlikely. We hardly bring much prosperity to where we place our largess, only make the place look untidy.

Tomorrow, I am off for a walk. Finding a map was interesting, including in our searches, the library, the tourist offices, bookshops, and supermarkets. Finally in a Bucket bookshop in Tesco’s Superstore mall. Hungary – Tesco gets everywhere. But anyway it does mean I will know where I am headed, and have a reasonable chance of returning. I’ll report back later.

Last post was I am told by WordPress, who keep score of this sort of thing, my 50th. A milestone, my half century, since I only signed up for postaweek I am ahead of the game and can rest on my laurels for a while. I hope everyone else on this postaweek trip is doing as well as they would like, or better. It has for me meant sitting and writing on a regular basis. Prose sometimes as well as poetry and I also have many new correspondents that without this I would never have found. Thanks to you all for the support.

A piece of work I have for hotels and strange towns. As we see others, in airports, on boats, in hotels. And all we see is a fleeting glimpse of them. Who are they and why are they here? We will never know.

Touching In Passing

This traveling transient beauty,
human, natural. Individual
in the traditional sense,
and the unusual that lets
human nature free
to roam for a short time.

To see a fraction of a story,
a glance through a door,
opening and closing
as someone passes through.
Touching us finely, touching
others and we are changed.

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