Fifth Journey Day 75: The Table Remembered More Than Me

Date: July 22, 2025
Location: Lankaran, Azerbaijan

I spent most of the day getting used to the new softness of this place. Lankaran feels heavier in the air, but not heavy. It feels more like a warm towel on your shoulders. After I arrived, I walked just enough to get to a shaded tea house. It had wooden benches and small curved glasses that caught the light like amber.

The black tea was strong, poured from a samovar with expert skill. I let it cool as I listened to the steady flow of conversation around me — slow Azerbaijani words rising and dipping, punctuated now and then by the sound of chairs scraping or teaspoons clinking. I wasn't trying to understand the words. It felt more honest to just listen to the sound and feel of them.

Outside, the sky changed a little, going from white to pale blue. I watched shadows move across the leaves of a fig tree near the entrance. The table in front of me had faint stains in its grain — rings from glasses, maybe something once spilled and wiped quickly. It reminded me of hands.

I didn't draw much. Just one loose outline — the shape of a teapot lid, the empty space between two chairs. I wasn't focused on recording. It was on receiving, which felt just as necessary.

There is a gentleness here that I didn't expect. Things have a round shape — like the tea glasses, the language, and the fruit stacked in wooden crates by the roadside. There is no urgency or pressure. Just breathe.

I think I needed today to feel calm, not inspired.