When travelling on foot there is one thing you will never lack - experiences. So much happens in the course of a day that you will have lost the chronology of events within hours and you are never sure if something happened this morning, yesterday or a week ago. This held true for Thailand and Laos and surely does so for England and Wales too. One may have thought that Western Europe is easier to walk but I would have to disagree. Yes, the language barrier is not there and yes, the is a lot more common ground concerning culture and customs etc., etc. But there is also a set of whole new challenges here which do not exactly facilitate the vagabond life.
Vagabond on his own...
Finding your way on England's footpaths can be an adventure in itself. As many may know, fields are generally separated by hedges in this part of the world. (Note: this is hardly ever the case in Switzerland) It is a great habitat for wildlife and charming to see - until you have to get across them. Gates tell the walker where he can overcome these unbreachable obstacles and, on a sunny day with high visibility, the loop hole on the other side of the field tells him where to slip through the next. But as we all know the sun is not exactly a regular in good old Britain. It is more like the stranger who shyly steps into the village pub, orders a pint and hastily drinks it down to quickly leave again for fear of disturbing anyone. Therefore, most of the time, you leap into a grey soup of mist, visibility zero, and the only directional clue is on a OS Landranger map: A dotted line which, due to its width, is maximally accurate to 10 metres. Needless to say that a precision landing is near impossible. Instead you stumble across a rough meadow until crashing into a thorny hedge. Bramble in the scrotum, rose hip around the neck and a quickthorn up the left nostril. Freeing yourself from this misery takes a series of highly risky escape artist manoeuvres. With safe ground under the feet it is then the flip of a coin whether to look left or right for the next gate. After which the struggle starts all over again. If you are lucky. If not, you could also find yourself having to bushwhack straight through the middle of a 10 foot, wet maize field. Why the path does not follow the edge of it is beyond me - if anyone can enlighten me, please do so.
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Left: what path? Right: view of Offa's Dyke
But this is nothing compared to jumping into a herd of feisty, even toed ungulates (aka cows). I was roughly three metres into the field when the first cow lowered her head and started running towards me at full speed. Running away is the worst option because a) you are unlikely to get away with a heavy backpack and b) it motivates them to have a go at you. So I stood still and rose my arms above my head. Normally that is enough. But this one was not having any of it and picked up even more speed. So I made a split second decision to outright charge her. She was not expecting that and fled as quickly as she could. Whew. Sadly, this prompted the cows behind me to start an attack of their own because they thought I was running away from them. Spun on my heel and repeated what was successful before. With the same result. Including that the first cow was now animated to chase after me again. This could have gone on forever so I decided to change tactics unfolded the map to make me seem bigger and uttered the most archaic cries I could. I took advantage of the so created moment of general confusion to get out of the cow sandwich to higher ground. Before they knew it I was out of reach...
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Wales, magical Wales. Even a bit of Angkor Wat (bottom right)
Maybe I was a bit unfair to the sun in the second paragraph. Surprisingly enough I did see her on at least 50 % of the days. But that was compensated with some heavy rain storms just when I was crossing Hay Bluff. Gusts up to 60 mph, thick mist and heavy rain just when I reached the highest point had me soaked to my underwear in minutes. And I am glad it did because you cannot get wetter than drenched so the rain and wind stopped bothering me. I marveled at the power of nature, singingly waded down the knee deep torrent, which is usually a path, I greeted every blast with a cry of joy. Being out there irrespective of the conditions is, at least for me, one of the true wonders of long distance hiking.
Before it started really coming down...
But probably the even bigger wonder are the loveable and genuinely nice people you meet along the way. I have to admit that I did not expect much from Western Europe after having experienced the Thai and Laos hospitality. Egoism and mistrust just seemed too large for that. Especially towards a smelly, scruffy foreigner who is technically homeless and does not have a "real" job. But I was so wrong. And I would like to apologize for being so prejudiced because total strangers have been extremely generous to me. Examples? There was Phil who was a great chat and accompanied me for a while. There was the Aussie (sorry mate, forgot your name...!) at the hostel in Manchester and people spending a day on a narrow boat donating 10 pounds. There were Jeff and Liz who did not have space on their field for me to camp but went to ask their neighbour if I could pitch there and offered me food and water. There were Nikki and Will who invited me to sleep in their spare room for free and even cooked me breakfast after I had spent two days camped out in the rain. Only once have I been turned down (for my own safety) when asking to set up the tent somewhere. But was still invited for food and tea. There were many other encounters but mentioning them all would just take up too much space.
The lovely spare room I got...
It doesn't seem long ago when, with a bit of a heavy heart, I left Elly to complete our journey for a future in safety and prosperity for people less fortunate than us. And I already have to start saying my goodbyes to England, which I still consider my second home. I am currently staying at Matt's house in Bath, enjoying the comforts of a kitchen, a bathroom and a roof. Giving my feet a day without walking. Roughly 500 km, including the Offa's Dyke walk, lay behind me. In four days I will probably be on a ferry from Poole to Cherbourg, returning to mainland Europe. Where a new country awaits me with a whole set of new challenges but priceless experiences. Until then I shall enjoy the last days on the green island.
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Bath and dramatic landscape
