I stopped off at a tea garden near the village of Hamzali to top off my water supply. The tea garden was attended to by a hyperactive 15-year old named Halil who couldn’t stop talking about how fast his Peugeot scooter was and how rich he’d be after fixing it up and selling it. His parting words to me as I left, yelled at the top of his lungs even though I was within an arm’s length: “Don’t forget me!” Okay Halil, I won’t.
