I sat on the roadside for two hours. If I was wise I would’ve worn gloves and tights but… Who is wise??? I mean really?? Who thinks twelve hours ahead. So I’m sitting there watching Lithuanians and Germans and Russians and etcs walk past.
This is a nation of cute lovers. Every couple I have seen here, physically take on a shape of togetherness. A shape of belonging. A shape of “twitter pated”ness. I like it.
I also met two street people that I have met before. One had really warm hands and a friendly conversation. One was just as manipulative as last time. Using the same story. The same blackmail. Before I got to ask too many questions he walked off.
I watched a troupe busk in English for a while. When I returned they had moved on to Lithuanian and it was beautiful.
I visited the genocide museum and my physical exhaustion shielded me from the full force of sadness and grief that I felt at the Cambodian equivalent. But. Humans can be real dousche canoes. This was a concentrated well organised effort to destroy people. The more I read the more fascinated I got at the tenacity of this land. They have been oppressed by so many, but so victorious at so much. Fighting a guerrilla war for decades to reclaim their independence. This land is not Russian. It is not Latvian. It is Lithuanian. Loud and proud.
Everyone here is severely pretty. And strangely friendly. Germanically direct. But African cozy.
When I return to my keyboard you may get some more coherent thought but… Someone snored in my room. So I ain’t so well rested.
Tomorrow I return to my Lone Ranger ways as my giant Norwegian friends return home.