Of Apples, Jam, and the Call of the Coast

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The train rattled at a steady pace through the green landscape, while rays of sunlight streamed through the large windows, warming the red upholstery of the compartment. Waldemar, the raccoon with the worn but faithful backpack, sat relaxed, turning a shiny apple in his paws. Paddington Bear crouched opposite him, careful not to lose too many crumbs from his jam sandwich. The scent of sweet orange marmalade mingled with the wooden smell of the train compartment—a mixture that somehow tasted of adventure. "You know, Paddington," Waldemar began, holding up the apple, "this time I'm drawn to the coast. They say none other than Captain Bluebear hangs out there." Paddington raised his eyebrows in surprise. "The famous sea dog? The one they say has more stories about him than there are stars in the sky?" Waldemar nodded seriously, but a mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes. "Exactly. I hope to meet him. Maybe he'll tell me about stormy nights on the high seas or mysterious islands that aren't on any map. But that's not the only thing I'm looking forward to. They say there are little houses on the beach owned by dwarves who live in old coffee pots or teapots. Imagine that: tiny doors in the spouts of the pots, little ladders made of seashells, and chimneys protruding from porcelain handles." Paddington laughed softly, almost reverently. "That sounds wonderful. I hope they'll invite you for tea. They might even have jam." "Or apple pie," Waldemar murmured contentedly, taking a hearty bite of his apple. Then, remembering something, he leaned forward a bit. "By the way, I recently met someone you'd definitely love too: Mollie the Mole." "A mole?" Paddington tilted his head. "Yes," Waldemar replied, "but not just any mole. Mollie wears jeans with suspenders, sunglasses, and a small backpack. He's always on the move, digging through the stories of the Earth, you could say. We met by chance as I was wandering through a patch of woodland. A clever fellow, and full of curiosity—a real underground globetrotter." Paddington beamed. "He sounds like someone who could help you find the dwarf houses on the beach." "Maybe," Waldemar thought, "and if not, I'm sure I'll run into him again sometime. With Mollie, it's a bit like the Earth itself bumps into you every now and then to show you that it's full of surprises." The train turned a long curve, and the distant shimmer of the sea flashed on the horizon. Both friends looked out, and for a moment the compartment was completely silent. The only sound was the constant rattling of the wheels and the rush of the wind through the cracks in the windows. "You know, Paddington," Waldemar finally said quietly, "sometimes I wonder if we really travel to see places—or if we travel so that places can see us.