The rhythm of days is slow for us here – sleeping late after a latish night, a little typing until the need to go to the toilet (behind the gallery and some distance away) overwhelms all other thoughts, picnic breakfast and maybe a cup of peppermint tea (purchased at the bar), sitting around chatting, a major walk in a new direction, late lunch and wondering where Boro is and whether the tasks around the place we had volunteered to help with would happen today, more sitting and chatting, some reading and typing or photo sorting, perhaps another walk – a lazy routine in a beautiful place.
Today’s walk was behind the camp and up the mountains. The higher we went the less undergrowth there was until, at the top of a hill, we were able to walk easily between the trees, bouncing on the sponge-like accumulation of years of autumn leaves. We are back to photographing flowers – there are so many we haven’t seen or are astounded to see growing wild.
Boro had gone to town so, since our labour was not needed, we extended our walk down the road past the cemetery. When I was a child I had a book called ‘The Little Green Road To Fairyland’. Here it was in reality, a shaded tunnel of trees and flowers with the distance never visible because of all the bends. Moss and fungi grew on the banks, with mushrooms popping up like tiny homes near shiny black tree trunks. Water seeped out of the leaves covering the earth. A final bend revealed a paddock of flowers to walk through and then the (for us) endlessly fascinating vista of vegetable gardens as we approached the village. The village is spread out along a few roads, with one part lining the main road and another further up the mountain, beyond the Christian church that unites the two main masses of houses. In between crops flourish, hay is being baled and a few animals graze.
We have noted a lack of eye contact and interest in us, more of a neutral stance, and it continued here in the shops. If we could work out what we wanted and find it, we were fine, with the amount needed shown to us on the cash register. If we needed help, it was not very forthcoming. Language is a big problem for us, and although we thought we learnt no Turkish, we could understand a bit and read some signs and also speak a little. With no words at all, we can’t even begin to set a friendly tone. We discussed language and lack of language with the Clare and T and we all feel that it is more to do with the will to communicate than with actual vocabulary. A lot can be said with gestures and body language but you have to want to go out of your way to put in the effort for it to be successful. Still, we were able to buy supplies for dinner and breakfast and some treats as well so the actual shopping part was achieved.
We found the cook and borrowed the key to use the little kitchen. He never seems to use it around our idea of meal times, which works out well for our cooking. We made lentil and vegetable soup for the four of us, expecting Clare to return from
Clare did not return, so we ate anyway and later T heard that she had had to stay over in 
The squirrels must have been having a party, or perhaps for the first time I was not tired enough to sleep through the racket. At one stage I was sure that a small creature was walking on my back and after that it was difficult not to anticipate a repeat. In the morning I realised that I probably dreamt it all, but in the dark I had certainly been convinced and lost some sleep.
Above: an old mill wheel sits where the stream used to be carried to it by a timber race. The wheel would be turned by water power and inside the millhouse the mill machinery would grind grain into flour.
More buildings close to the camp.
A farm house on the way to the village from the camp. In the background is the church tower.
The main road in the village two kilometres from the Zelenkovac camp.
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