Today the night was one of those that stretched out like a cat in the sun. We slept for a while and at one o'clock we got moving. Daddy Edu packed everything up and in about fifteen minutes we were already at Ankara airport. Uncle Joan appeared through the doors looking like he’d had a long journey with a happy ending. A great joy, the kind you notice even without words. I did my bit, wagging my tail as if there were no off switch.

We returned to the same village, but this time we settled in a curious spot, nestled between houses yet at the same time surrounded by nature. We slept very soundly, although quite late because, what with one thing and another, it was past three in the morning.

In the morning we had a leisurely breakfast. Then I went for a walk with Uncle Joan while Daddy Edu finished packing up the camper. In the village, Uncle Joan and I crossed paths with a local man who didn't waste any time striking up a "conversation." I was doing my own thing, exploring, not yet knowing that it was all going to end in tea.

Shortly after, Daddy Edu arrived with the camper and the meeting took final shape. The man, delighted with the situation, invited us directly to his house, to the garden. It was a little universe of its own, full of chickens everywhere and a couple of peacocks strutting about with total authority. At first, I wasn't so sure. Too many feathers, too many stimuli and zero instructions on how to behave in a situation like that. Then the man's wife appeared with the tea. She didn't come to chat; she simply appeared with the tray, handed it to her husband, and returned to the house.

The man didn't speak English or Spanish, and my humans don't speak Turkish, but between the mobile translator, gestures, and patience, the conversation flowed in a surprisingly natural way. Meanwhile, the tea kept arriving non-stop. Our host became the local hero of the day, because everyone passing by on the street asked him who his guests were. In the end, we had to leave, not for a lack of hospitality, but because the day kept pressing on and the tea was starting to pile up more than necessary. We said goodbye with that strange mixture of gratitude and gentle haste that these types of encounters leave behind.

We set off around one o'clock with Turkey unfolding ahead like a perfect road. We stopped in a small village, but it was Sunday and everything was closed except for the supermarket. In Sungurlu, things changed completely. A bigger, livelier city with hustle and bustle and an open restaurant where they treated hospitality as a serious discipline. I stayed in the camper to keep watch while Daddy Edu and Uncle Joan went in to eat. From what they told me, it was a succession of dishes appearing without them asking, waiters attentive to every gesture, and kebabs that arrived as if they had been waiting for their moment forever. Finally, tea of course, and a bill so low it seemed more like a gesture than a price. They came out feeling like they had eaten too well for how little it had cost, and we returned to the road again with full bellies and the day already quite far advanced.

The idea was to find a spot before Boğazkale, but the mud in one place didn't convince us, nor did another, and between doubts and turns, we ended up going back to the first one, already almost at nightfall. It isn't particularly pretty, but it is very quiet, which at the end of the day is what mattered.

There was only one strange moment when a car appeared with two guys inside who approached to ask what we were doing there. Daddy Edu explained the situation with the help of the translator, everything relaxed, and they left without further ado. And here we remain, calm, without too much mud, and with that feeling of a long, varied, and quite human day.