About two months into the walk I began to realize life would be much easier if I stopped caring what people thought about the walk, and just did it.
Before I stopped caring, life was complicated by the fact different people respond differently to the walk when they hear about it.
For example, today I ran into a young man, a shepherd named Şahin. He walked with me for about a kilometer, which is unusual, because shepherds are usually busy managing their flocks.
Şahin asked me what I was doing. I told him I was walking across Turkey. I told him I had been on the road 6 months. I told him I was walking towards Diyarbakir.
Şahin’s face lit up. “That’s great,” he said, “what a grand adventure! I will probably live my entire life right here, just a few kilometers from my village, watching these sheep every day. I wish I could do something like that.”
A few kilometers later, I ran into another young man on the side of the road. He was waiting for a bus. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was walking across Turkey. I told him I had been on the road 6 months. I told him I was walking towards Diyarbakir.
“That’s impossible,” he said, “you can’t do that.”
“I have been walking for six months,” I repeated.
“That’s impossible, you can’t do that,” he repeated.
“Okay, thank you,” I said, as I waved goodbye and continued walking.
A few kilometers later, I stopped at a gasoline station for a bag of potato chips and a candy bar. A group of farmers invited me to join them for tea.
“What are you doing?” they asked.
“I’m walking across Turkey. I’ve been on the road for six months.”
“Where do you sleep at night?” they asked.
“Sometimes I stay with friends,” I said. “Sometimes I camp on the side of the road.”
“Like a spy,” said one of the farmers.
“Yes,” I replied, “like a spy.”