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voice was gone and collapsed in my tent sometime before dawn.
Every morning at seven, fireworks cracked the sky, blasting away any hope of rest. By the third day, still dazed and ragged, I knew it was time to go.
A strange emptiness crept in— the quiet sense that soon I’ d be truly alone. I took down my tent reluctantly, watching the others emerge like zombies from theirs, faces puffy from celebration and no sleep. I smiled; I saw myself in them.
As I rolled out of camp, the traditional farewell began— the sound of trumpets and car horns chasing me into the mist. I turned toward the woods, heading for Istanbul.
Europe passed quietly beneath my wheels— Bulgaria, friendly and green, its borders easy. The road soothed me. I began to think of visas, routes, the fact that I still had
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