|||
Today, 21 March 2017, marks the start of the continuous stretch of the walk across the entire continent of Europe. I wasn’t just nervous; I was filled with a gnawing terror about what the coming days would hold in store. I knew I had no idea what I was really doing. My notes show I just focused on the practical trivialities which would get me to the next step.
07:18 Up and out of bed with some trepidation.
07:42 Washed, drying. Stomach still a bit unsettled. No surprise there. I peeled a disk of dead skin off one of my blisters last night. They’re all toughening up and look good.
08:10 Bag mostly packed, apart from food. The day is bright with high cirrus.
08:34 Visited the breakfast room and decided against taking my breakfast roll. I’ll buy one as I need one. Now waiting for the kitchen to open. Inspecting the map to kill time.
09:43 Breakfasted, bag packed with food. Checkout time and walk south!1
09:51 On the road.
10:37:06
10:39 Navigation with map and GPS going well. First view of open country.
10:44 First farm gate. A brown and white cow lifted its head to look at me. The sun is shining through 50% broken cloud. I can do this. My mood is ebullient.
10:54:38 
11:03:18 
11:03:28 
11:09:33
11:18 Stopped for a break at the top of a hill. The little back roads marked in white on the map really are the tiniest boreens. Mandarins and maybe a biscuit or two for elevenses.
11:36 Moving again.
11:56:52 
12:00:01 
12:05:34 
12:05:43
12:24 Decided to go to Tollevast to buy some bread. The day is beautiful. There are some insects.
13:06 Stopped in Tollevast. There’s no town centre to speak of, and the bread is dispensed from a vending machine near the church at €1.20 a pop. Sitting on a bench now eating a cheese, salad and scallion sandwich. 2
13:08 Despite the sun, it’s cold if I stop for any length of time. The thermometer on my bag indicates 12°C.
13:17:05 
13:31:46
13:41 It’s clouding over and the cold is really affecting me. Time to move on.
14:31:11
15:26 Stopped for a chocky break. It’s the bar of Bournville I bought in the pound shop in Wexford where I got the gaffer tape and the Paddy’s day wig. I’m sitting beside a stream running alongside a railway track. The villages here are tidy, stone-built affairs with an affluent look about them. That’s half the 100-gram Bournville gone. A three-carriage train just turboed quietly by. OK, onwards.
15:25:46
15:35 Moving again.
16:15 Stopped to drop off a terracotta sculpture in a field. No sign of queasiness now that I’m on the road and not hovering about. Great to have the alcohol rub to hand.
16:34:08 
17:00:31
17:31 Bricquebec town limit.
17:34:33 
17:34:46
17:53 Got a two-litre refill at a bar. Most friendly and helpful.
19:36 Basha pitched on a hill in a deciduous wood. Light is fading. Quick dinner, then into bed. The weather is fine and dry. The wind is still.
Shortly after I’d found my campsite for the night, I crouched in terror among the bare trees after I’d spotted some forestry workers and a truck moving a few hundred metres away on a forest track on the opposite hillside. I was terrified of being spotted, but they weren’t looking out for wild campers; they were just concerned with packing up for the day. I think I phoned Aisling; I certainly texted her my position. I remember feeling a rush of relief as the truck disappeared around the contour of the hill and the engine faded to silence. I rapidly pitched the basha and unrolled my sleeping bag and bivvy bag. Once in the bag, I felt cosy, warm and safe.
I’ve noticed I often fail to include my plans or destination for the day in these notes - that’s because it’s implicit in my head on the day. I’ll make these explicit as I transcribe. For my first days out of Cherbourg, my plan is to head south and east to traverse the Contentin Peninsula at whose Northern tip Cherbourg is located. I’m picking an entirely arbitrary route through towns and villages, with the plan to discover as I go what works and what doesn’t. Today’s destination is a wooded hill just beyond Bricquebec.↩
The bench was in a park uphill from the church and opposite the school. Apart from the children on their break in the playground being chaperoned by their teacher, there wasn’t another soul around. I had the distinct feeling I was being eyeballed by the schoolteacher. After an initial glance at the schoolyard, in which I took in the teacher with her body directly oriented to me, I studiously avoided paying any attention to the school. Instead I inspected from a distance the masonry of the solidly built church and listened to the babble of the children at play.↩
