Time loosens its grip in Dörtdivan — this is potato-field country, pine-scented slopes, streets that stay empty most hours. There's no such thing as a crowded itinerary here, and you weren't building one anyway. A walk in mountain air, sitting somewhere and doing absolutely nothing, or killing time in the village square — all three roads lead to the same place. When you can't pick, the fix is simple: let the dice hand you a number, you handle the direction.