Mossdogg. Philosophy, Spirituality and Extreme Travel: 'How I Walked from England to Greece.'

By Mossdogg

I am MossDogg. I am a free thinker and traveller. This is the story of my latest and most epic journey in which I walk to Greece from my parents flat in Eastbourne, England. I had to take a ferry from Dover to get to France but other than that, it was entirely on foot–no hitch hiking, no buses no nothing. I took my trusty hammock and free-camped almost everywhere I went–no matter the weather, sometimes finding decent camps and sometimes . . . not. I took money for emergencies only, using my survival skills and street 'savvy' to feed and water myself by searching in forests, fields, bins and more besides. I was alone for the whole journey but I met a whole host of 'interesting' characters, most friendly, some mad and a few downright dangerous. Come with me and experience what it's like to travel through some of the hardest land in Europe on foot, with a heavy rucksack and only the money and supplies that I can scavenge en-route. No plans, no ideas, only the destination. Greece.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781326845568

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Mossdogg. Philosophy, Spirituality and Extreme Travel: 'How I Walked from England to Greece.'

Mossdogg. Philosophy, Spirituality and Extreme Travel: 'How I Walked from England to Greece.'

Copyright © 2016 by MossDogg

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2017

ISBN 978-1-326-84556-8

MossDogg Publishing House (Lulu)

  Anywhere I Roam

  NFA

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my family, who have always been there for me and given their love and patience time and time again. Without their help, this book would not have been possible. Thank you.

This book is dedicated to my friends, with whom I live and I learn, sharing interests and passions. Without my friends, life would be a drab place indeed! Thank you.

This book is dedicated to everyone who has helped me along the road. Everyone who waved, everyone who chatted with me and everyone who dropped a coin in my hat or some food in my hands. Without you, I would not have got very far at all! Thank you.

This book is dedicated to the Universe, who always knows just what I need even when I don't. Thank you for all the beauty and the emotions of the world, thank you for all there is to learn, thank you for change. Thank you for me.

Synopsis

I am MossDogg. I am a free thinker and traveller. I have been travelling off and on for 15 years so far and have visited many countries and seen many things. I still know nothing however!

This is the story of my latest and most epic journey in which I walk to Greece from my parents flat in Eastbourne, England. I had to take a ferry from Dover to get to France but other than that, it was entirely on foot–no hitch hiking, no buses no nothing. I took my trusty hammock and free-camped almost everywhere I went–no matter the weather, sometimes finding decent camps and sometimes . . . not.

I took money for emergencies only, using my survival skills and street 'savvy' to feed and water myself by searching in forests, fields, bins and more besides. I was alone for the whole journey but I met a whole host of 'interesting' characters, most friendly, some mad and a few downright dangerous. Come with me and experience what it's like to travel through some of the hardest land in Europe on foot, with a heavy rucksack and only the money and supplies that I can scavenge en-route. No plans, no ideas, only the destination. Through the Alps of Austria and Italy, to the seas and lakes of Monte Negro.

From elation to desperate panic, this is an entirely true account, told in confidence as to a close friend, I expose my heart and soul, telling the tale in a third person past account, as well as in first person discussion, where the psychology and philosophy of the events are laid bare.

Nothing is left out, no consideration is given to conforming to any rules or traditions of writing, it is simply the raw emotion of one man and a 2,500 mile journey into Europe and his soul.

I invite you to join me, join MossDogg in philosophy, spirituality and extreme travel: How I walked from England to Greece.

A conversation.

I came back to make you an offer. I said to her, soft morning sunlight and warm breeze.

So make it then. She cut me to the chase in her clean white dress.

Looking into her far-away eyes I felt for her. I already knew her answer, but smiled inside because I knew I would still make the offer regardless. After all, it was why I came back.

Strands of her hair moved with the air around us, like lens flare.

Come with me, I can be your guide. I know you want to but you don't want to go alone, here is your chance.

She smiled, she already knew my question and her answer too. What's inside is always felt but rarely admitted. She looked away as she answered. A dream that she cannot make real.

I can't, I have too many responsibilities here. The cliché is real however.

I knew you would say that. Take a holiday then, just come for a week or two, you can bus back. Surely that's OK?

I can't. She repeated Its too hard now, there are too many things going on here that need me. Reinforcement of the walls which we hide behind. Walls that make us feel, safe.

What's going on that you can't postpone or get someone else to look after for a bit? I began to feel a prickle of enjoyment as I challenged her. Knowing that feelings rise from such things, perhaps to be thought of again in the future . . .

I just can't. I've too many responsibilities, I'm sorry. She looked away again. Half truths. People don't like to 'rock the boat' so much, in general.

Ahh its OK, I just thought I would make you the offer. I said smiling. Here . . . I brought my hands together between us, pulling off a bracelet from my left with my right.

She smiled and relaxed with comprehension: I wasn't offended, I really did know what she would say.

It means freedom. I looked into her eyes to emphasise the deepness. A new owner after over 10 years upon my wrist. She pulled the white rubber onto hers and grinned. Safe now.

That's really sweet, thank you.

I grinned back. Yup–safe . . . 'ish'.

No problem. Remember–the only thing that can ever hold you back, is yourself.

[MossDogg and Nina. Croatia. 2016]

How I Walked from England to Greece.

April 2016: England. Background.

I had just pulled myself out of a rut, more a pit really. Despair induced and drug enforced, or maybe the other way around but the result is the same. It happened like this: After returning to England from a road trip through France with a good friend in 2015, I dallied in Hastings. Having no plans or ideas to glean a degree of momentum I stewed. I ended up in a relationship with a crazy, but good-hearted girl named Mills. We lived together in my old van which had failed its MOT in glorious style: The garage wrote that it was too dangerous to drive on the road and that I was very lucky that it made it back in one piece from the Euro trip! But it was awesome inside, all covered in neon graffiti and messages from friends and people I had met along the way, it was special, it was home. So rather than have it scrapped, it turned out that Mills had awesome parents who agreed to let us keep it on their driveway! So there we lived. Beryl (the van) was home for just over three months until the smoky haze and inertia had gnawed at my resolve until it was dust. We took a trip to Portugal to deliver a car to a good friend as a favour after which mills and I broke up and I tried to create some small semblance of a life plan . . .

I ended up wandering for a couple of days alone. On the second night as the rains beat through my set-up and slowly chilled me, I realised that my tramping kit and my mind weren't ready and though I was desperate to escape it simply wasn't the time. I ended up gravitating in the only direction I could do: Eastbourne and my parents. I needed a solid base, a start point. On my way walking there it began raining again. It was even worse than the previous night, pelting me with fat, pitiless beads. I felt broken and I no longer possessed the strength to carry on. I called my Dad and asked him to come pick me up, that was a huge thing for me: I'm quite proud and independent and I hate to call on anyone for help, especially my parents. It was like waiting to be picked up by the police. I knew that I needed their love and security while I recuperated and formulated a plan. I knew also that living with them meant that I would have to sacrifice my way of life and put a leash on my behaviours and activities. So be it, if they were prepared to take me in–yet again, then I would do my best to make it a positive experience for us all.

My parents and I have been through a lot in our relationship. I suppose it's more like, I have put them through a lot. Actually–I am the family black sheep. I have crashed their cars, taken drugs that scare them, not called them for weeks on end, called them and been in trouble, had the police call them because there was more trouble and more. I have lied to them and they have known it on many occasions, I have shouted at them, called them many, very bad things, I even told my father I hated him after smashing my computer and swinging at him because he made fun of my hat (there is more to it, but it sounds funnier like that). Yet still we love each other and I wouldn't change them and they wouldn't change me. It's life, there are lessons to be learned here. I used to pity them for not understanding me, now I have come to accept that we don't understand each other just yet, maybe we never will–The main thing is that I know 100% that I can call on my parents and they will help me no matter what. This has enabled me to get to the point I am today and I am eternally grateful for their forgiveness every single time.

My father is a 6' 6'' big dude that most people don't mess with, but actually he has a beautiful heart and would do anything for those he cares about, which is most people he knows really. I have a deep-seated, irrational fear of him that stems from my childhood, a fear that I just can't shift. It has permeated into my world in general too, meaning that I fear confrontations with people and hate: rules, responsibilities and the system. It has always been impossible for me and my dad to have a heart-to-heart as we are so different in how we think: I'm spontaneous, reckless and I don't consider the future much or give toss what anyone else thinks of me, whereas my father cares deeply what others think, is greatly concerned for the future and thinks everything through using tried and tested formula. We both know we love each other and hate to be at the impasse we always find ourselves but–c'est la vie.

My mother is shorter and it is from her that most of my physical traits come. She is naïve at times but getting wiser all the time, so much so that she often surprises me now. She is kind and generous and will do anything for me, always asking if I want to eat or drink something. It is from my mother that I get my obsession for never wasting a thing. She is very concerned with appearances and status and this used to bug me a great deal, now I accept it–she has much more good in her which outweighs that. I figure: If it makes her happy then it makes me happy for her. She has always been the one who listens to me, I can cry with my mother and that is a wonderful thing. I don't tell her everything however, she is too loyal to dad and whatever I confide in her, she will tell him. I love my mum to bits. I think she is a bit crazy which is great!

And so I stayed in their flat for a while, I soon got bored and I decided to try something that I had never done before in the UK: Go straight! Start a business. It felt like a great idea, I would be independent again and my parents would be mega proud of me. I longed for that. So I took out all my savings (￡2,000) and borrowed ￡6,500 from family and friends and created a business. I worked intensely for seven months, often seven days a week for 10-12 hours a day. The business proved a success. It was a small shop and club for 'geeks' which filled a niche market in Eastbourne. One day my father told me how proud he was of my achievements and my mother said the same. I felt my head fill with joy, so much so that I felt as if it would float off! I felt that for the first time in a long time, ever since boyhood really, that they meant it, they approved of me! But I was dying inside. No one can keep up that amount of work for long and after Xmas I shortened my work hours and hired help as the business expanded.

I met a girl, I knew she was bad for me but I was lonely, working all day and being 'cooped up' in my parents flat all night, I had no real life of my own other than work. She made me feel a little more alive but we started to smoke hash together . . . a lot! It helped at first, it eased the tension and made me more relaxed about my life, but gradually it made days meld into each other and life fell away. After two months I broke it off with her as she was becoming borderline 'schitzo'. I could see all the signs of a mad woman which I had seen before in another girl from my past. It's all in the eyes . . . I was lucky to get out alive I think! However, I continued to smoke pot, I believed it was my only solace. I woke up, went to work, came home and slept. Smoking pot helped me to unwind after work–that was my excuse. Really I just wanted my life to end or at least, to change. Pot fast-forwarded it all into a hazy blur.

I was once again bereft of a reason. I had made my parents proud which made me feel great but the novelty soon wore off. I was making money but what was the point when I didn't spend it? I didn't want clothes or a nice car or a nice house or anything, what did I want? I didn't want to settle in Eastbourne that was for sure! I no longer enjoyed running the business either, so for the next three months all I could do was press fast forward again. I was stressed and I couldn't sleep properly, deep inside I knew that I was spiralling down into depression and that if I didn't act soon it would get harder and harder for me to act later. I had to change my life in several ways or I was going to end up destroying it!

So I finally stopped smoking and I decided to sell the business. When my parents found out they hated the idea and just like that, I felt their pride in me vanish as if it had never been there at all. They felt so different towards me, I knew that they couldn't understand my actions and more–that they felt they were stupid ones. I saw then that the only way I could ever make them proud was to constantly do what they felt I should do. That is not living my own life at all. I laughed! How I laughed! I had spent so long, years, fighting for my father's approval. It meant so much to me and now I finally could see that it was false: Laced with venom. My father could never be proud of the real me which was why we hardly ever talked. But now, after having a taste of it, I knew that I no longer needed or wanted it anyway. I was free!

Fuck it! I could now do anything I wanted to do. I didn't care about people judging me and I need please no one but myself. Loneliness is simply a construct of society–they make us chase sex and love because it means we trap each other, creating routine and a system in which we feel safe. It's genius really! The one thing all of us have, is a body. What better control then to have each of us crazily chasing after each others and then link it to 'love': Our very own word for control. Have you ever wondered why there is no real definition for the word? Can you define it without a struggle? Not that I don't believe in it–just that the way we are taught to understand it, I feel is incorrect. For instance: we are taught that our 'soul mate' will 'complete' us, thus we feel as if we, alone, are incomplete, we desire to find someone who is going to make us magically feel better . . . As with so many things that I have discovered, the real answers are waiting inside ourselves.

I began to realise that I had trapped myself in so many more ways than I realised. I was imprisoned by sex, money, comfort, security, entertainment, self-doubt and probably a host of other things as well. I saw very clearly that I had to escape, fast. I decided to sell my business, buy a camper and go travelling. After deciding this and thinking about it for a while, I decided that a camper would severely limit the places that I could travel to (as well as the fact that I had done camper travelling many times already). I began to look into flying somewhere far away and totally different. So where to go? India? Asia? Australasia? (I didn't fancy the America's then), and what to do once there? Wander about a bit? It all seemed a little pointless, I felt that escape was good but I needed a reason, something to fix my mind upon and keep me going. It was then that I remembered an old idea that I had a few years back: To walk to India like the original hippies did! It sounded so good and my mind buzzed with excitement, it seemed 'legit'! I would do it!

I began to sort my kit out for the journey. I modified my hammock so that it hung inside a bivvy bag as one, fully waterproof unit. I then tested it out in the loft at my parents place as it's almost as cold as outside up in there. I couldn't sleep that night. I know it sounds like I was being a total 'weener' but it was freezing! I wanted to see if the bivvy around the hammock increased the inner temperature enough that it meant that I didn't need a sleeping bag while inside. I was very wrong indeed. My plan to cut down on weight and space wasn't going to work, even with full thermals on it was still too cold. Damn! I thought back to travels I had made around the Dartmoor national forest area: Just me and a rucksack for three weeks after I decided to quit my job and accommodation by sneaking off in the middle of the night with said rucksack and never returning. It's a gorgeous area around there and easy to camp but after the first two weeks I became lonely, frustrated and depressed. I began to wonder as I lugged my gear down from the loft-tired and achy-if this idea was just going to be the same. Was I destined to run every time I got depressed, with no direction like a terrified rodent until I gave up again and came back once more to my parents house?

My bubble burst, the trickle became a flood and I was washed away on an ocean of despair known as 'existential depression.' Why am I here? Where can freedom be found? Does it even exist? What's the point of doing anything when I have zero impact upon the world? I want to die . . . I could go more deeply into this 'episode' but I believe that its enough to tell you, that I became first frustrated, then angry, then despairing again, until I discovered the phrase 'existential depression' and what it meant (TY Google). I found myself a little piece of focus then and directed it into the origins of mankind, looking into the Sumerians: what they believed, created and wrote. Incredible. I began to feel a little more in control. This digging was helping me to understand the bigger questions that I was asking and why I was asking them. I was still far from an answer but I wasn't despondent anymore. I had a dim flame inside. A decision was coming, I could feel it, I would do something soon. I started doing more. Then I met Leyla . . .

Light had come flooding back into my life again and I felt great! What a difference getting out of the house and going for lunch at a garden centre can make hey. Leyla was perfect: A beautiful hippy girl full of light and energy and love. A free-thinker and a wounded soul looking for the same answers that I was. She waited our table that day and I really liked the way she smiled and how her eyes had a sort of, far-away, peaceful look. I said to myself and my sister:

I'm going to leave that girl my number if the universe wills it.

What follows for a few paragraphs may seem a little 'romance novelesque' but there is reason for it beyond that. Stick with it! I looked around for a pen to scribble my number down for her . . . no pen. My sister didn't have one either.

C'est la vie! I said, and that was that.

Later on a guy came over to us, my sister knew him and they chatted about her husband and fish-related things (my sisters husband is a fisherman), he asked for her husbands number so he could then contact him about the fish-related things. Guess what he left on the table? How often does someone come along out of the blue and leave a pen and a pad of paper on your table right when you could really do with them? Ah universe! What a beautifully droll sense of humour you have! How could I not then leave my number, together with some banter, to the girl with the peaceful eyes?

C'est la vie! I repeated.

I didn't hear anything from her for a while, actually I didn't expect to-I didn't care that much. I liked her but I didn't know anything of her and I was happy being single. Plus it was a terrible note! I don't think I even spelt her name right. I have a big problem with names: they go in and I repeat the name back to its owner so it looks like I'm committing it to memory and then–just like that, literally within 20 seconds, they go and I often look like a fool or someone who really doesn't care much at all about the person I'm talking with. She even had a name tag and I actually made a point of looking at it to get the spelling right and still I forgot! Ah well, c'est la vie (I say that a lot in my life). I had tried, which was a lot more than I had done in a very long time, so I was still pleased with myself. It gave me hope that I would do more and more in the future. And then, later that night, she sent me a text me, right out of the blue.

She told me that I had indeed spelt her name wrong but then added a wink on the end so I didn't feel so bad. So it's Layla, with an 'A', OK. I replied, trying not to be too quick and look desperate but I couldn't help myself, after five minutes I was entering the characters. Again I didn't hear back from her for a couple of hours this time, but again–I wasn't worried at all, I was still amazed that she had text me back in the first place. Over the next few days we conversed via text about travelling, dreams, freedom and love. It seemed that she felt the same way that I did about pretty much all of it too! I felt that we had a connection and that it was growing. It felt so right texting her. Then she agreed to meet up with me almost a week later. Once again I was stunned. I just never expected it. I never even expected an initial reply from my 'school-boy' note and now its a 'date' (I hate to use that term). So I replied: 'yes. Hell yes!'

I was nervous, I usually am on things like this. I have been told that I'm a 'grower.' I now realise this is true. Apparently, because I'm so intense and honest and a bit nuts, most people think that I'm fake, which is so perfectly ironic since that is one of the things that I am most definitely not! I'm too honest really. But once people get to know me and they realise that I'm not acting and I really am just a bit nuts, they begin to like me-for the most part. She was arriving by train and I was waiting at the station. The nervousness started  making my insides react. I began to fart . . . it's the way it often is with me and nervousness. My body seems to think that whenever I'm nervous, there must be a problem nearby so I should prepare for 'fight or flight.' The best way to do this is to have a crap?! I couldn't go to the toilet as she would be arriving any second and I wanted to be here waiting. I had to clench. I don't like to write about this kind of thing but I feel that no one really does and thus we hide this little bit of truth from the world. I want to be as open as possible during this book. After all, I'm only human. Shit shit SHIT! Bad word to use. People were flooding the platform from the train. Dammit!!! Then I saw her. She looked so cool, honestly! Alone, head-phones on, little natural dreads with beads in amongst her hair. Her eyes had that far-away look again, then I realised–she was high! She hadn't seen me yet and I got parallel to her as she walked towards the centre of the station, closer and closer until she saw me at last and jumped in surprise. Ha! We both laughed and it so began . . .

I will condense most of the 'mush' herein and save you the details but sometimes a little mush goes a long way!

We walked to a small park close by. I was still nervous and so I talked, constantly. I talked about everything and I held nothing back, I went straight in with things like: My beliefs, the purpose of existence, society, my dreams and my research into the Sumerians. It felt amazing actually! I was spouting my deepest fears and hopes and she actually listened, not only that, but she understood what I was going on about and felt the same. It all came out of me like some kind of pressurised hose of information that for me served as a kind of 'shit-test:' if she could take this, then she was alright by me. She listened and she didn't judge me. She had been asking many of the same questions herself–so she told me.

We climbed a tree and she rolled a spliff that we shared. I was a bit apprehensive to smoke it since I hadn't smoked anything for a while now and it was green–not the pot that I was used to. Also, since I was still fighting for bowel control and cannabis is known for its relaxation qualities . . . It was all OK though and we talked more and more. All I wanted to do was to spend as much time as I possibly could with her, just talking. There was no pressure, I wasn't acting and I had no goal other than to continue. We shared another spliff and then went into town where in a little bar we sat opposite one another in deep, comfy seats and talked more. I didn't want to go to the loo and sort myself out, as I imagined I would be ages and that would give away that I had just taken a dump–I would feel embarrassed and then she would no longer like me . . . so I didn't go. I held it as long as I could but eventually I felt that I would burst and had to excuse myself. Thank God. It was quicker than I thought and I felt like a new man.

I returned to our area and we talked more about everything, our past, our dreams and our present. I loved every second and as we talked, we became two stars, we gravitated towards each other, we couldn't have stopped it if we tried. She came to me and my arms were already open. I smelt her hair. I could have stayed like that forever and we savoured that first embrace. The embrace slowly became a kiss as deep and as tender as a warm sea. I had no mind, I was floating and so was she, our stars were melting into one and I was lifted into another place where all I knew was her. We could barely restrain ourselves and our passions grew as our embrace tightened. It wasn't until staff brushed by us delivering drinks that we came to, and realised just how far we had gone. Faces flush and eyes glittering, we giggled Naughtily. We were too swept away to care what they thought. We kissed again. We kissed, until the bar began to close for the night.

Out on the street I didn't want the night to ever end, but I knew that she would soon have to catch her train home, half an hour roughly. I suggested that we could hang out at my work since I had the keys and it was right next to the train station. She said that she didn't want to go home just yet and agreed. Once inside my work (a small shop with a lounge area and kitchen), I put on some music and began making tea. I only got as far as boiling the kettle . . . Later, she lay nestled in my arms as I told her stories of some of my travels. We were on my beanbag bed and the music played softly. She began to breath deeper and to my wonder, I found that she had fallen asleep in my arms. I couldn't sleep for hours as I had left the music on and I was a terrible sleeper. I didn't care–I had found her.

So we got to talking about the future the next day and travelling. I said that I wanted to travel with her anywhere she wanted to go, either in a camper or backpacking or whatever. She seemed pretty keen so I decided to spend the next few days working out the details. Maybe we fly to Asia I thought, man that sounded good! Or Egypt, or central America. Life tasted good again. Well how things change and how quickly they can do so . . .

Two weeks after that night and I was still single, we never became a couple at all! After she took the train home in the morning we texted each other and it was all fine. Then her texts began to take longer and longer in coming. The penny dropped for me when I sent her a message saying we could go anywhere together! She replied with a very singular: Do what's best for you. there was no 'we' involved at all. I knew then when I read that text. My walls disintegrated and I felt the harsh wind of lonely reality violently freezing me once more. I cried on my mothers shoulder. Something I haven't done in years and it felt good, I cried hard and I cried long. As I cried, I felt all the anger, the frustration, the fears and the pain wash away, as if they were layers of mud upon my soul, my tears–the rain. I let it all go. I would have given Layla the world. C'est la vie, if she was right for me then we would still be together.

Crying like that–letting go as I did, made me finally see that I could truly do anything I wanted to do and I could, and I would, do it alone. I could spend the rest of my life alone in fact. I didn't need anyone else and I was no longer worried about finding someone. This really liberated my soul: I didn't feel happy as such, I felt more–a calm balance begin to spread from within me and I felt a resolve building that was stronger than anything the world could throw at me. I felt like I was at ground zero. I was ready to answer those deep questions that had been gnawing at me for so long, or at least–to begin to answer them. Questions like: why am I here? Is there a God? What is the point of living? Do we have souls? What do I truly want to do? Who am I? But I needed time and space to do so.

I was ready for a challenge, why not do something utterly crazy? Something huge that people will not think is possible. I decided I would walk. Fuck a van, fuck a plane, fuck hotels and money and everything. I would walk, alone, to somewhere far away and that would give me all the time and space I needed, plus it would give me a challenge to set myself against. I needed a destination to finalise the idea. Once again, India took centre stage. I looked into the route, I had to cross either Russia, or Syria. Neither felt right. Both pretty much war-zones at the moment. I thought for a while, and that's when I decided to walk to Greece. Situated right at the bottom of Europe it's pretty much as far as one can travel from the UK on foot without crossing war-zones or being really frikin cold. Set. To Greece!

June 2016: England. Packing

I had travelled western Europe four times before in camper vans. At times I had money, and at other times I had not. I knew that I could survive with no cash in most of the more affluent areas no problem. I was confident that I would be making money from busking. I was also very confident in my ability in those same areas to find food and water in bins or on the road. To that end  I decided I would take a stash pouch with a few hundred Euro and my cash card for emergencies, but I would essentially be travelling as if I didn't have a penny.

My kit consisted of my 40Litre British army rucksack, my jungle hammock–complete with mosquito netting, my tarp, thermals, two pairs of socks, swim shorts, a light coat, a beenie hat, a 'spork', a wind-up torch, my diary and pen, a cigarette kit, four tent pegs, spare cordage, fire-lighting kit, sun cream, fake wallet, contact lenses, vitamins, 1Litre water bottle, my 'Vibram' soled, 'Gortex' walking boots, a water filtration bottle and spare filters, emergency phone,  two pairs of boxers, a half roll of toilet paper, medi-kit, needle and thread, 1Litre of muesli (trail mix), bivvy, 'Snugpack' extreme sleeping bag and a harmonica. It seems like such a lot written here yet it all fits into one bag upon my back weighing in at about 18kg. I had no electronic equipment (apart from my emergency mobile–switched off) and no watch, so no way of time keeping (most times written herein were estimated) or contact keeping. I would have 'alone time.'

What follows, is the day-to-day diary of my journey from my parents front door in Eastbourne: On foot to Dover, the ferry to Calais and then from there–by foot once more to Greece. I have tried to write all the places I visited down,  but sometimes I was just too damn tired or didn't see a sign! So apologies if some place names are not quite perfect or missed out entirely. Unless stated in the journal, every day I found food en-route in order to survive. This means either wild food, 'scrumping', food from bins: Both commercial and street (never private house bins however), or food that I literally found lying in, or by