Before explaining the reason for this latest silence, we present to you an Azeri pearl regarding the previous silence.
(Consider it a silent compliment to Italian wifi)

"Half an update: if today the internet deigns to make its presence known, this is the quarNO quintNO sestNO settimo day of our stay at the Hotel five stars Port of Alat. Reserved for the well-meaning inept, the Port of Alat is one of the infernal circles never mentioned, likely due to the brutality of its tortures.
The Port of Alat is essentially composed of two large parking lots of gray asphalt corroded by sand and salt. In what we shall call zone 1, there are about fifteen containers dedicated to various uses. There's the container market, the container café, the customs office container, the port office container, the toilet container, the shower container, the container of despair, the container of containers, and so on.
Life here begins at 7:30 in the morning (local time) with the transformation of the nighttime shelter from tent to sauna. This Domus is indeed exposed to direct sunlight (let's remember, it's a parking lot) which hits the shelter and the asphalt, turning the latter into bubbling pitch. Some writings report an average external temperature of 35 degrees Celsius by 9 in the morning.
The strength accumulated during the night’s rest is largely consumed by dragging one’s own corpse outside the shelter. The remaining strength is distributed throughout the day for the unique necessities of survival: eating, drinking, defecating. Daily activities can vary greatly but are always for contemplative purposes.
The Grand Port of Alat indeed allows one to reflect on all the mistakes made in life to arrive at this point, permits the observation of the phenomenon of Earth's rotation, and the contemplation of the mechanics related to freight trains that pass continuously 24/7 on four different lines amidst the expansiveness of the parking lots. It also allows for mocking those poor souls who, in their frantic rush, are convinced they can catch the ferry on the very day they arrive at the port.
We cannot move the car. Due to an error by the Magnificent Port of Alat, our car has already been "exported" from the country. We cannot drive on the road, and the authorities cannot resolve the problem. The parking lots, comparable in size to the maximum expansion of the Eastern Roman Empire, are fenced with barbed wire and cheerful little soldiers. The Sublime Port of Alat indeed gives access to various other countries such as Kazzakistan, Russistan, and Turchistan. The atmosphere is cheerful and carefree. Here, people speak to you in Azeri just to hear you reply in Italian. Nobody understands anything and they return to their own business. A bit like when you go to the beach in Puglia and ask for directions. The sea, ah the sea! That can be seen.