Starting off the trip to head off to Jēkaba graveyard, where Kristjan Jaak Peterson is buried.
Lauma: How do you think, which Way did Kristjan go?
Ilze: He certainly did not go to graveyard. That's where Eduards might have gone, though...
Buying the flowers to leave at Kristjan's gravestone not being able to persuade the old salesman to sell us four blooms of rukkilill/rudzupuķe only, we decided to buy whole bunch of them mixed with daisies.
- Ah, but look, how Estonian it looks - there is blue, there is white... And oh well, you can allways mentally add the black color, when you are in graveyard.
At the gravestone:
- So here we are, having come along Krišjānis Valdemārs street, with Eduards Veidenbaums poetry in our heads and with Kristjan at our feet. How theme-related...
(for Estonians - this is another Latvian who studied in Tartu, but he was the first Latvian to put a sign "Latvian" on door of his dormroom.)
- I don't remember if I have seen an empty graveyard as lively as this one.
A verbalized thougt after a longer break and pause of silence in a nice shadow somewhere in Garkalne's forests without any visible context or continuation:
- Now I understand, why those guys were dying...
(Just to be clear, the "guys" this time meant three lads who did their Jelgava-Riga tour some time ago and whose adventures can be seen here.)
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