When is seems that nothing is happening, there is nothing to write. However, it is not quite true.
Yesterday I had a walk along the shore with the same Dutch guys, who wanted “to see the scale of the lake,” i.e., place from which in some direction the opposite side of the lake will be unseen.
Forgot to say (in not-yet-translated articles) about the road signs. On the road Khankh – Hatgal they were one of the most amazing things. All of a sudden you can find a ban (!) road sign nailed to a tree, or a milestone standing in the larch forest, looking as though it was always there, before the larch trees, before the lake and the mountains, an artifact left over from the previous turn of the Wheel.
I dream something completely impossible these days.
Yesterday, I fervently excused in front of someone for that I am such a loser, today was trying to get on to some, (I think) railway official Belov, and before that very comically tortured one of his subordinates for some microscopic fault. Strange. The mattress is as hard as I like, though there is no cushion. But such a surprise how much shit I have in my head.