Hopefully it would hold me over until December. My sleeping bag was thin plastic and left a little to be desired, but it was autumn yet, and I had thermals and fleece for when winter arrived. I also brought a lightweight hammock for dry nights, as well as a raincoat for less dry ones. For food I had with me a simple pot cooker – sans lighter. I had with me a small one that weighed a little over a kilo and was, in the name of blending in – wild camping was not technicallylegal – bright fucking red! It stayed strapped to my bag, along with my sleeping mat and towel. I would attempt to sleep in gîtes at least twice a week – enough to be able to wash my clothes every three days – the rest of the time I would camp. These were essentially subsidised hostel rooms that averaged between €10 and €20 a night, made especially for pilgrims to stay in a maximum of one night. For pilgrims, ‘normal’ accomodation refers to gîtes (French) or alberques (Spanish). To add to the adventure (and save a bit of money), I’d long since made the decision to split my nights between standard accomodation and camping. I was not entirelyhelpless, just maybe a little blinded by excitement. Now, it wasn’t exactly fair to say I’d done z e r opreperation whatsoever I’d grown up camping and hiking – granted, never for four months at a time – but there’s a first time for everything! I had experience with First Aid, and I knew how to cook. I’d be averaging around 20-30km a day, from now till Christmas – how would I manage ? Well, only an absolute moron would undertake a trek of this magnitude with this much sustained effort without any form of training, without so much as doing a practice hike with the very bag he’d be walking with. I would be gone four months, alone in the urban wilderness with only one supermarket a day (gasp!). From Finisterre I would walk back to Santiago, where I would then fly back to Germany. This would emotionally be the end of my Camino (although I haven’t made it yet so we’ll see), but not quitephysically. I would complete the loop while I was at it – from Santiago to Muxia, then Muxia to Finisterre. I wanted to reach what was once called ‘the end of the world’ Finisterre. I was finally decided.īut this would not be the last of my adventure! Santiago was not my final goal – at least not the first time. It was a mismatch of Caminos, paper-mached together, and it was perfect. After a week of deliberation I would land on a 2200km hike that diverted away from the crowds, into the quiet I so desperately craved. Out came the notes again as I poured over my new potentials. Now all that was left was to figure out gear and – wait what do you mean there’s alternative variants to the routes ? I would follow the GR65 from Geneva, Switzerland across the entirety of France and Spain, ending at the ‘end of the world’ in Finisterre. A month turned to two, two to four.įinally, I had my route down. Two birds with one stone – both ends of my walk extended. I stumbled across a blog detailing one mans’ travels from Geneva to Finisterre. Gradually, my route grew, creeping steadily past Saint-Jean-Pied de Port to Le Puy. Gone were thoughts of Italy and Greece, replaced instead by the concept of walking for months at a time. The further my ‘research’ went, the longer my plans became. I was falling in love with lands I had never entered. Every spare minute was spent reading about the history, the why. So from that afternoon on, I became obsessed. What he did not think about was the fact that I am stubborn to the point of stupidity and have a habit of becoming extremely focused on certain ideas then deliberately making things harder for myself. Now, to give him credit, he was merely bringing up – as an example – a trek he had heard of from just beyond the Pyrenees to Santiago de Compostela. The key problem with this is that my father and I are far more alike than any of my younger selves could have ever imagined, so when he leans on the kitchen counter and says something along the lines of ,”that’s all well and good, but if you’re planning to diverge so much why not try a longer walk like say – the Camino ?”, I never stood a chance. Then my father made the mistake of Mentioning something. I would begin in the west of France and diverge from the route every other week in order to hike trails that were open year round – backpacking the rest of the way, finally ending in Montenegro three months later. Around six months ago, in early February, I was planning a trip (mostly) throughout the Mediterranean I had figured out a route that spanned around fifteen countries, and was almost entirely sure I could make enough money before I left to make it reality.
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