Days 1 & 2
The adventure began, as these things often do, with a long drive south.
We broke up the journey in Somerset, staying on a farm where we were able to do a spot of wild camping. We were the only people in the field, surrounded by hay bales and a small gathering of young pheasants who sat atop one of them watching us with what felt like considerable interest.
We set up camp and made food. Then it rained.
A lot.
But there was no wind, so we settled into the evening beneath the awning, cosy and dry, with the rain pattering around us. Not the worst way to begin an adventure by any stretch.
The following morning we packed up and headed for Plymouth and the ferry. By some stroke of luck, we ended up in the queue behind Peter, our guide for the trip. Peter is 6’8″. This is relevant mainly because, at 6’8″, Peter is very easy to find.
There was something reassuring about meeting and chatting to the person who would be leading us into the unknown. Because unlike our previous European road trip, this one hadn’t been planned out by us with military precision. I didn’t have an itinerary to study or a mental map of where we’d be sleeping each night.
Someone else had the map.
Peter was leading and we were simply following – which felt quite freeing.
Once aboard the ferry, the tension of getting there on busy motorways and congested single-track roads evaporated. We settled in knowing that for a while, at least, there was nowhere else we needed to be. Just sea ahead, Spain beyond it, and a road we hadn’t yet seen.
