I had the depressed feeling that I spent my life doing this sort of thing and might well end my days here. This is the traveler’s deep dark night of the soul and can happen anywhere at any hour. I was reduced to a contemptible muck heap outside Kastelli. The future loomed coal black; nowhere to go that was worth going to. I might as well stop traveling. And then: Stop Traveling? Come, come. That was carrying despair to preposterous lengths. I’d been in much worse places than Kastelli. Furthermore, millions of other travelers set forth with high hopes and land symbolically between a water-logged shoe and a rusted potty. I was not unique, not singled out for special misfortune.