I got all philosophical over breakfast this morning and started writing about searching for contentment and a few other things, but mysteriously the draft has disappeared, so I’ll have to save these thoughts for another day. There’s been a few strange occurrences today that have tested my patience like deleting all my favourite PCT videos and a host of others off my phone by mistake this morning, spending two hours trying to add data to my phone which ended with me making the purchase, only to discover that I may have accidentally bought a new SIM card that will be shipped to an old address in Australia, and being rained on so heavily I couldn’t even get my phone out to film because of the latex gloves I needed to wear over my fleece gloves and freezing cold hands.

The day was short (maybe less than 15km from Ortuella), and flat, so I’m counting this day as a nero (near zero kilometres). I was in a strange head space for a while, which made the endless walking on a cycling path a little arduous. There were also so many conflicting arrows pointing in three different directions at times that I started losing my mind and became verbally abusive at the trail, ranting out loud and stamping my poles in disgust. Luckily a kind man who may have seen my outburst walked just ahead of me and got me back on track. He even waited at the top of a steep climb for me to catch up so he could point me in the right direction.

Everyone I’ve met has raved about Pobena, so when I arrived as the sun came out I had high hopes about finding a cute little cafe I could drink a hot chocolate and relax in. Because it was Sunday, the town was absolutely bustling, and all the bars were spilling out onto the pavement which meant there was little space for a dripping wet backpacker. I felt self conscious the whole time, and hid away in the corner of one bar with my chocolate a la taza.

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When I left Pobena the trail wound around the cliffs of the Cantabrian Sea once again with breathtaking views. The powerful crashing sound of the waves was so rhythmic I fell deep into thought, and despite the bitter cold wind, the rain held off making the whole experience magical. I passed many people taking a leisurely stroll plus a Shetland pony I mistook for a large dog.

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The trail continued along the cliffs until it swung into Kobaron, where as stated in the notes, there was no accommodation. I ended up having to cross over the provincial border into Cantabria to El Haya where I found a hotel with wifi and rooms for 35 euros. Not only that, this room has a bathtub which I’ve already soaked my legs and back in for a couple of hours. Now I’m waiting until 8:30pm to eat a proper meal downstairs for dinner.

It rained heavily all night, and all I could think of was how lucky I was to be safe inside my little tent. I felt so at home that it got me thinking about the fact that I actually lived in my tent for 6 months. That’s longer than I’ve stayed in some apartments. I automatically put all my items in the same places they used to live: phone and watch in the top side pocket, water bottle to the far side of the door, rain jacket under my dry sack pillow, and draw string bag for tent behind the lower mesh pockets (although I moved it because it was getting wet), pack, shoes and poles outside under the awning. I set my alarm for 6am this morning but snoozed for 30 mins when I saw how completely dark it was outside.

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It was an absolutely stunning and peaceful morning, except for one car blaring house music with the engine still running. There were actually lots of cars parked with people in them as I walked down the hill into Bilbao – they all seemed a little suspect to me.

I ate a banana on my way down the hill and a mini croissant I grabbed on the way before finding a cute little cafe/bar for a coffee. I began studying my notes for the day ahead and saw that I’d already walked 147.5km. I’ve now added 20km to that which means I’ve crossed the 100 mile mark. Sadly there was no 100 written with stones, sticks or pine cones to mark the occasion, but it did get me thinking about those stinking hot miles to Warner Springs on the PCT and the state of my feet when I arrived. I’m not sure how I ever made it.

I was told I had to visit the Guggenheim Museum, so on the way I was on the lookout for a gear store as my hiking pole ends had worn out already after 6 days. I found two fit looking joggers who were able to point me in the right direction to Decathlon. I spent an hour in this store drooling over incredible gear at ridiculously low prices. If I didn’t have to carry it I would had stocked up on absolutely everything a hiker could ever want. What I did end up purchasing were two new rubber ends for my poles, a pair of fleece gloves, a down vest, sofsole gel insoles for my shoes, chocolate cookies, cereal bars and Gatorade all for 60 euros. Insane! My friend Murad said I could donate the vest he had lent me, so I gave it to a sweet old man who was probably the worst clarinet busker, though one of the most entertaining I’ve seen, as I checked out the Guggenheim.

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I knew there was no justifying any short cuts to this journey, so I begrudgingly took the red route and immediately regretted it when I was greeted with a jungle of concrete and an incredibly steep, never ending climb in the rain.

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I took a rest with my entire body sprawled out on a park bench not long after, and still had a ways to climb to make it to the top. Once I stopped producing heat from all the climbing, the wind and rain picked up which left me freezing on the way down and in great need of a coffee and cosy little bar to thaw out in.

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After finding one of my favourite bars in a town called Cruces, the trail was blocked off behind a football stadium with huge fencing and a bulldozer. After using a couple who were just visiting the area to translate what one of the construction guys was telling me, I discovered some temporary arrows along the way. At one point I thought I was really lost, then magically saw the original yellow arrows appear again. I must have built up some good trail karma as I haven’t made many wrong turns throughout this trip.

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Then suddenly things went pair shaped. One simple decision on which way to go caused me to somehow miss Portugalete altogether. An old man spoke to me on the way for at least 10 minutes while I nodded and smiled and pretended to understand because I was tired of fighting it. He probably told me exactly which way to go, but instead I must have followed the arrows on the outskirts of Portugalete which should have been tomorrow’s route. When I discovered this my mood turned very dark indeed.

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Then it got worse before it got better…

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The group of kids literally dragged me to a hotel close by, but I was a little unnerved by some of their gestures and bursts of laughter that at one point I thought they might be taking me to a brothel. They brought me to the Ortuella Hotel, who to my dismay charge 50 euros a night. I asked if the price included any food, but the guy laughed so I assume that means no. As a result I made myself at home as any thru-hiker tends to do by hanging my tent to dry in the shower, then bought a very cheap and nutritious dinner of chocolate milk, cheese and popcorn.

Decisions, decisions…

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As I lay here in the clouds at the peak of Iturritxualde (382m) I’m thinking this may be my first and last night camping. Not because I’m concerned I’ll freeze to death as the clouds begin to engulf me, but rather the level of anxiety about being caught illegally camping just doesn’t seem worth it. Despite the fact I climbed well off the trail and am hidden when lying down, a man who saw me from below started heading up and then went down again, and another man walking the track looked up as I was brushing my teeth. There’s no way I’d get away with putting a tent up so I’m lying here in my sleeping bag with all my clothes on hoping I’ll get some enjoyment out of this experience.

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I had an excellent start to the day, setting off early, finding the perfect little cafe for my morning coffee, and moving less stiffly than the last few days especially on the uphills.

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The first half of the day flew by and I started to feel the body adjust to walking with a pack again. I stopped in two very sweet towns, Goikolexalde, where I had my second caffe con leche and an ice cream sandwich, and Larrabetzu, where I stopped for pinchos in one of the local bars. I could tell people were talking about me, but I’ve finally become comfortable rocking into towns smelling like sweat and looking like a pilgrim.

As the day progressed there was more and more road walking, and as suggested by the trail notes, once outside of the cute rural towns the more industrial areas leading into Bilbao started to emerge.

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As the towns got bigger, so did the roads, and the 7+ kilometres on asphalt from Larrabetzu to Zamudio got me thinking about the huge stretch of road walking tomorrow out of Bilbao. It’s honestly more painful than any hiking I experienced on the PCT (apart from the road walk into Seiad Valley).

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I listened to music for the first time the whole trail for the 3km road walk and then beyond up the mountain I’m now sleeping on. Since I started writing this the rain has completely set in and I was just quick enough to get my tent up without anything getting too wet. It’s gotten heavier and heavier, but my only real concern is drying everything out in the morning and the mud on the trail tomorrow. For now I’m snuggled up and toasty warm in my sleeping bag ready to have an early night.

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Buenas noches!

25 kilometres today felt like about 25 miles in the 25 degree heat. It was unusually hot, which made the steep uphill climbs a little tougher. I’m told the temperature will drop by about 10 degrees over the next few days and the rain could start up again. With the amount of mud on the trail today I hope it doesn’t rain too much, otherwise there’s going to be some ugly sections along the way.

I was tired this morning and slept through Ali getting up, showering and making breakfast. I finally stirred, threw on my 5 day old t-shirt and had a very satisfying breakfast of cereal, banana, yoghurt, tea, and a baguette with cheese, avocado and tomato. Ali left while I was still packing my things, but we were sure we would either bump into one another at the monastery a few kilometres up the trail or at the hostel this evening.

I ended up stopping in the next town for a coffee, and even had the courage to tell the girl who served me ‘bueno caffe gracias’, then asked how much it cost in Spanish. She giggled, and I think the two older men sitting at the bar were also amused. When I hit the trail again I reached a junction with no yellow arrows. I looked at the ground as a habit from the PCT and someone had actually created an arrow from sticks. The simple pleasures of trail life.

There’s so many little occurrences that remind me of my former trail life. Having to tuck my hiking poles under my armpits like I’m skiing to go through narrow sections, tip toeing on rocks and logs over flooded or muddy parts of the trail, navigating over or under fallen trees, and hearing the sound of running water from a mile away.

There was no lack of farm animals along the trail today. Some friendly donkeys, some curious cows and goats that seem to be chained up in the most obscure places to eat away the overgrown vegetation. There was one part of the trail where there were arrows and crosses in the direction the sign told me to go, so I headed that direction anyway only to be run at by a growling dog and stopped by a herd of cattle who didn’t seem to want me to pass.

I took a quick break at the monastery and bought a postcard from a lovely man who either said he’d been to Sydney or possibly lived there. We had a five minute conversation in two different languages, and in the end we both laughed realising neither of us had understood a single word. Ali wasn’t there, and I figured she was way ahead after my unscheduled coffee stop. Unfortunately our paths didn’t cross the entire rest of the day nor this evening.

My legs were ready to call it a day at about 4pm, and I was devastate when I saw a sign that said I still had 7.9km to go. Luckily most of these last kilometres went through some beautiful scenery and well cut trail, but the last 2km were along the road which was a painful end to a tiring day.

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When I finally reached town and found the Albergue was closed I laid down on a bench with my pack still attached and groaned. I called two hotels I had numbers for but both were over my 20 euro limit, which left me out of options. I willed myself back to standing to venture into town to find a tourist info centre and on the way passed a bar which had a sign that said ‘Peregrinos / Pilgrims’, then some other words and 5 euros. I ventured inside and the bar man who spoke English told me where to find the cheap hotels and said he’d cook me dinner for 5 euros anytime before 9:30pm.

I found a 15 euro room and went back to the bar for a two course meal, glass of wine and a special liquor the bar tender Raol gave me for being the first Pilgrim of the season, all for 6.50 euros. Not bad at all. Over dinner I debated how to tackle the next two stages as tomorrow is 30km into the big city of Bilbao, then the next day is only 19km. The question is where to stay in between. In some respects the PCT was easier at the end of the day as you could stop almost anywhere right on trail, you wouldn’t have to search for a place to eat and you wouldn’t have to worry about finding a place to stay in a language you can’t speak or understand.

After 3 days of solitude I thought the likelihood of bumping into another pilgrim was becoming less and less, but since last night I’ve come across three other Peregrinos both cycling and walking the Northern trail. It began last night when I reached the Albergue and noticed the lights were on. I was sure I had turned them off which meant there must be someone else in there. My quiet early night or so I expected transformed as soon as I opened the door to find one man using the 300 year old spin dryer and another man setting up the table ready to cook a feast of frozen french fries, eggs and chorizo. There room was suddenly full of bags, clothes and mountain bikes and it took me a minute to get my bearings.

I went from slight dismay to joy when I discovered they spoke English and I could finally communicate with another human being. After a few minutes I realised just how much I missed the camaraderie of the trail and enjoyed getting to know my two new Portuguese friends Henrique and Samuel. One who’s ex-army and one who’s a cop, so at least I felt incredibly safe. They cooked me an entire two course meal starting with soup and then the french fry/egg/chorizo dish which had a special name I’ve since forgotten. It was by far my best meal on trail!

To top it all off this morning the boys made me scrambled eggs and hot chocolate before I said goodbye around 8:30am. The trail climbed immediately today and I was impressed and equally disheartened by the local elderly folk whizzing past me up the hill. Just after a small dog snapped at my heels and actually grabbed the bottom of my pants in its mouth, I went the wrong way up a steep hill and had to come all the way back down, only to go the wrong way again down hill and eventually come back up again. The reasoning for this was that someone had actually painted over all the yellow arrows in black paint, and until I noticed the black blobs I had no idea where the trail went.

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Luckily a fit woman who had to be in her early 70’s came jogging past. When I pointed at the black arrows she scowled and motioned to me that some grumpy person had painted over them. I’m sure there’s a lot more to the story than that but at least she was able to communicate I was still on the right track which put my mind at ease.

Despite the confusion of the morning the day became filled with little moments of magic along the way. I was startled by two huge geese bathing in an old bathtub, splashing water at one another with their wings, wild horses galloping down the pathway towards me and two very sweet lambs who scampered away from me underneath their mother with their two little tails waving furiously.

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In the 6 months I hiked the PCT I hoped that the answers to what I want to do in life and where I want to be would all come clear. Miraculously today my mind was filled with incredible clarity after having one of those ‘what is the meaning of life?’ moments. I realised life is about growth, change, understanding and community. What I’m missing from my nomadic lifestyle is community. A few of my friends recently have stressed how important it is to have a base and I do believe this concept is true. I’m starting to also believe I can have a base but still be free enough to move around because that to me is fundamental.

Today there were no towns in between so I was forced to stop and eat my sardines and two day old bread for lunch. I also ate some of the giant cookie I bought yesterday. I felt the lack of caffeine all day but my body was benefitting from the huge dinner and breakfast I’d eaten which meant I was able to power through with only a couple of kit kats and gummy bears throughout the day.

When my two Portuguese friends passed me today they told me there was a British woman solo hiking on the trail about 2km back. Every time I stopped today I expected her to catch up, but it wasn’t until later this evening that I bumped into her in the second Albergue I visited. I spoke to the first one on the phone to see if they were open. I had a very amusing conversation spitting out any Spanish words I knew and ended up just saying ‘see you soon’. I had to walk almost 1km out of town to reach it, and when I got there the whole place was being renovated. I called out to the man working inside who shook his head and sighed. He signalled to me that I must have been the one on the phone and that he’d tried to tell me they weren’t open. He told me to wait, grabbed his keys, then kindly drove me back to town and dropped me at another Albergue where a bossy but very sweet woman named Maria showed me the ropes. There was a place for my hiking poles, a place for my shoes, another 300 year old spin dryer and a room with 6 beds. A few minutes after settling in Ali, the English lady, arrived speaking perfect Spanish to Maria. I was immediately envious. It was so nice to have company again and have someone to talk to about the day and previous stages with. She also enlightened me that Maria had invited us for dinner at her restaurant which meant another hot meal and good company. I can see myself getting used to this kind of Camino!

I’m eating my first warm meal since the plane trip from Dubai to Madrid outside a tiny Taberna in Zumaia, listening to the Greece mega mix and a group of men chatting eagerly at the bar. Despite listening to my Spanish lessons this morning I’m no more confident in ordering food and simply walked into the bar and said ‘paella?’ to the bar man. He pointed to his watch to indicate it’s too early, so I pointed at something that looked like quiche and a baguette with egg inside. He popped them in the microwave and whola, a hot meal!

Today was a long day, so when I finally hobbled into Deba, all I felt like doing was falling into bed. My body was not prepared to go a step further. The day started with a long stretch along the coast between Zarautz and Getaria. Looking at the map it seems that the trail went into the mountains, but the yellow arrows kept me on the pavement, which certainly isn’t the first time I’ve experienced conflicting arrows. I used the time on flat ground to listen to the Spanish lessons I downloaded this morning. The cyclists riding past me must have grabbed little bits of my random Spanish ramblings: no tengo dinero – I’ve no money, me encanta este vino – I love this wine, or no he terminado – I haven’t finished.

The footpath was under construction in a few sections which meant I had to hurdle the barrier with my pack and walk on the shoulder-less road in parts. This was just the start of another day of predominantly road walking, although when the path did eventually turn into trail it was worth it! I stopped briefly in Getaria for a second cup of coffee and another danish to compliment the croissant I had for breakfast. All I can find to eat in these towns are either pastries or baguettes. I’m simply not on the same food schedule as everyone else. I’m currently sitting in a cafe in Deba at 7pm having just eaten yet another baguette and quiche because they don’t serve anything else until 8pm. I’m planning to be in bed by then!

My legs are officially in serious pain and I’m wondering if it’s the lack of training, kilometres of road walking, or a mixture of both. I honestly walked so stiffly today I would have fallen over without the support of my hiking poles. I managed to find a comfortable way to continue shuffling forward with the only relief coming on the uphills which brought my legs back to their youthful age of 31!

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I walked through some gorgeous farmland today and came across a herd of sheep being moved up the road and a couple of other walkers who were just heading to Deba with their two dogs. They stared at the size of my pack which makes less and less sense the more I stay indoors. I had intentions of hiking through Deba up to the mountains which are meant to be full of pine forests, but when my body needed to be horizontal for at least 10 minutes just after lunch in Zumaia I knew the likelihood was low.

The brief rest gave my legs enough juice to get me up to Itziar, 260m above sea level. It felt like the trail was taking me in a giant circle as I crossed the highway 30 minutes later in what felt like the same spot. A guy stopped his car to offer me a ride but I said ‘Camino’ and he nodded with understanding. Itziar was a cute town surrounded by farmland where I came across two men fixing a fence in a very heated discussion I couldn’t understand. They didn’t even turn to look at the giant smurf with an oversized backpack hobbling past.

The road to Deba was all downhill which was hell on the legs and bad for the feet which were sliding on the wet surface of the steep road. When I arrived in Deba I questioned whether I’d even make it to the hostel, if I could find it. Thankfully part of the trail took a lift down to the town centre, what a blessing! The tourist info centre was closed so I hobbled to the Albergue hoping it would be open. When I arrived I saw a note on the door, this is when my next adventure begun…

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I soon discovered the bathroom actually had a strong smell of urine and the beds looked much more creepy than sleeping on the ground. I covered one of the bottom bunks with my tarp and hope no one else shows up tonight as it’s going to crumple every time I roll over in my sleeping bag.

This morning I had breakfast with Fuller around 8am and chatted to one of the community members whose name I can neither pronounce or actually remember at this point. He was a very interesting fellow who told me about his experiences at the Glastonbury festival where the community runs a stall serving coffee. He made me laugh describing the difference between Spanish and Englishmen, mainly with actions although his English was extremely good in comparison to my Spanish.

I bid farewell to Fuller who headed off in the opposite direction back to Irun while I carried onto San Sebastián. There was a cute trail that took me to the edge of the sea, then a very steep road down to the city and the beach. I wore my knee braces today and was glad considering how stiff my poor legs were already feeling after Day 1.

San Sebastián is one of the bigger cities I pass through on the north coast of the trail. As such I decided this morning was my best chance at picking up some half decent trail food for the day. I got a little carried away at Carrefour buying at least 2kg worth of snacks, but at least I’d have the freedom to stop anywhere on trail and not depend on passing through towns on the Way.

I had two cups of coffee this morning but felt quite lethargic walking along the promenade in the late morning sunshine. Motivation came in waves today and I thought back to how I was feeling on Day 2 of the PCT. I don’t remember my body hurting as much as it did already today, then again I did have a little too much Wild Turkey with Pac Man that night and remember wondering how I was going to make the climb over to Lake Morena!

Once circling the entire beach the trail started to climb. This actually got the body out of first gear and I could feel my mood lifting the further we got from the city. The feeling of being a complete outcast was slightly less today, but unfortunately when someone does decide to speak to me we can’t understand one another. It’s become so awkward I’m going to have to start studying the phrase book Fuller gave me, but until then I’m more comfortable surrounded by the goats and donkeys along the trail.

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There was A LOT of road walking today. I felt like I was getting shin splints and my poor joints were starting to complain more than normal. I used my arnica rub which seemed to help a little, but it’s going to be hard to avoid the impact the hard surfaces will have on the body. Hopefully today was an exceptional case and not the norm. I think I also need to adopt a new strategy of starting much earlier and taking more breaks. The only time I really stopped today was a quick break to take off my shoes, put on some arnica cream and eat a few peanut M&M’s while talking to the huge white dog that was staring at me through the fence.

I stumbled across two people day hiking today, one of which was going to the bathroom when I rounded the corner. I have to say the whole going to the toilet thing is a bit weird on this trail. Generally you can find a random bar or hotel somewhere along the way, however if you do need to squat you have to be quick as there ain’t a great deal of privacy out here. They let me walk by and asked ‘Camino?’ as they pointed at my pack. I responded ‘si’, which is the only word that comes to me naturally. Another man stopped me today and asked the same question, then added ‘solo?’ He winced and shook his head when I said yes, which was the exact same response I got from another older man later in the day who asked if I was travelling solo.

One thing I do miss on this trail is the feeling of community. I haven’t met another Peregrino (Pilgrim) yet, and although I purposefully took a less trodden path for this exact reason, I do feel very isolated by both language and my appearance when I enter into towns.

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I was so excited at the prospect of camping that I was bitterly disappointed when the trail remained on a road that led up the mountain past some beautiful vineyards, and then straight back down to the city. By this time I could feel a blister coming on, my legs were crying out from the bitumen beating, and there were so many people walking the same road finding a quiet place to camp was completely out of the question. I stopped saying ‘hola’ to people as my irritations grew, but the excited people who ambushed me when they saw I was on the Way made me smile, and I finally gave into a 20 euro room and warm shower when I got to the centre of Zarautz. I walked about 26km today with at least 20km on roads, so I have a serious hiker hobble this evening. I didn’t even go out for a meal and chose instead to eat my cheese and ham baguette in my quaint little room. I’m curious to see how I’ll pull up tomorrow!

I didn’t quite make it into San Sebastián this evening as I didn’t start the trail until after midday and ran out of food and energy about 3km from town. There have already been a number of odd and coincidental occurrences take place since I arrived which begun yesterday once I landed at San Sebastián airport.

Firstly when the luggage carousel starting circulating without bags I asked the man if there were anymore coming. He simply shook his head so I spoke to Iberia airlines and discovered my pack didn’t make it on the flight. Meanwhile on a whimsical last minute decision, Fuller (who I haven’t seen since the border of California and Oregon on the PCT) was already in Europe, and decided to fly to Spain to experience part of the El Camino himself. So instead of my luggage, a friendly face greeted me at San Sebastián airport when I touched down. I decided to stay close to the airport incase my pack arrived on the next flight, and in the mean time reminisced with Fuller about trail life, sampled some of the local cuisine, then 3 hours later got a call that my pack had arrived on the last flight. It was like a forgotten child sitting all alone at the airport waiting to be collected.

Fuller joined me this morning to collect my Camino passport then walked me to the start point to bid me farewell. I was adamant about needing to start the trail solo, and didn’t expect to see him again as he flies back to the US on Wednesday and is planning to section hike parts of the trail in between.

The start of the trail is a bit weird and random at the end of the bridge that crosses the border to France. It didn’t quite have the same feeling as standing at the southern terminus of the PCT all alone in the desert in Southern California, but once I got moving the excitement of being completely free for the next month really started to sink in.

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It would be so helpful to speak just a little Spanish but I’m managing to get by with the pathetic amount I know at this point. I have to say getting out of the city and away from other pedestrians made all the difference and finally felt like I was starting the ‘trail’ as opposed to looking like a misplaced hiker cruising the sidewalks.

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I was a little video happy today which I credit to the fact it’s Day 1 and everything is new and terribly exciting. I was flying high until hunger hit me around 3:30pm when I realised how poorly I’d prepped snacks for the day, and the fact I haven’t actually done any training for this walk dawned on me which is why my muscles started to complain about 15km in.

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The trail climbed just over 500m before dropping all the way back down to sea level into a small town called Lezo where I planned to grab a late lunch. I’m not sure the Spanish do late lunches, and on Sundays I’m not sure they do lunch at all as most bars looked shut. There were a lot of young kids in the street and I couldn’t help but feel completely alien walking through town, especially once the yellow arrows stopped appearing and I realised I was lost.

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I ended up following the main road to the next town which may have been The Way because yellow arrows started appearing again. Pasajes de San Juan was incredibly cute, with narrow cobble stoned streets and the little marina on the left. I needed to take a boat to Pasajes de San Pedro on the other side which cost all of 70 euro cents, then started the 200m climb up a narrow staircase that led all the way to the top of the cliffs overlooking the Cantabrian Sea.

I still had 5km to walk to San Sebastián and the sun was already starting to go down, so I began looking for places to camp. I was going to sleep up on the cliffs until a man I asked for food led me about 100m up the hill to a large house where he introduced me to a woman. He tried to make conversation on the way there but all he understood was that I was a pilgrim looking for food. He dropped me off at the door and spoke to the woman in Spanish before she led me inside, offered me a bed, shower and food, and introduced me to the others in the room. The woman told me the house belongs to their community called the Twelve Tribes, with about 25 people who live there. I panicked a little at the word ‘community’ and the brochures one of the ladies started to show me, but after a warm shower I walked into the dining room to see Fuller sitting there talking to a couple of the men. ‘What are you doing here?’ I said in complete surprise. Fuller simply looked up, and although as bewildered as me just shrugged his shoulders. I should no longer be shocked by the odd occurrences which are either related to trail life or that happen when you leave your life completely open to chance. Either way, the journey of the trail and the unique experiences that come with it have certainly begun.