Читать книгу My Midsummer Morning - Alastair Humphreys - Страница 21

I SCOOPED UP MY bounty and carted it to the supermarket. Up and down the air-conditioned aisles I went, fizzing with happiness, browsing carefully. I was not saddened by all I could not afford, only tantalised by how much I could.

How best to spend my money? I calculated fastidiously, focusing on calorie-to-price ratios rather than taste appeal. It was a good thing to consider every purchase. Too rarely at home do I ask, ‘do I need this or merely want it?’

What if today had been beginner’s luck though? The food those five shining coins granted me might have to last a long time. But I decided that I should never earn more than I needed when I busked, and nor should I hold any money in reserve. Boom or bust would keep me nicely on edge.

I made my choices – bread, rice, two carrots, an onion and tomato puree. I considered the smallest packet of salt, turning it over and over in my hands, but at 30 cents it felt too indulgent. I opted for an extra carrot instead, then carried my basket to the checkout, hoping I had done my sums correctly.

Only now, as I stuffed food into my rucksack, did I give any real thought to the actual journey. Hundreds of miles of hiking lay ahead, alone, finding my way, sleeping outdoors, hoping for food. This uncertainty had not troubled my mind until now, proof that the concept of adventure ought to be broader than rugged men (or me) doing rugged stuff in rugged mountains. I had walked a long way before. I’d slept outdoors for months on end. I was comfortable with being uncomfortable. The traditional expedition aspects were what I knew well and had done many times.

I sat on the pavement, ripped off a chunk of bread, unfolded my map across my knees and studied it for the first time. It was the same brand I had used cycling round the world – Michelin – and the familiar cartography and design was reassuring. The shadings of higher ground, the red pin kilometre markings, the green scenic routes. But the specific unfamiliarity of this map also thrilled me. A new lie of the land to learn. All those fresh and unknown names. I tried the sounds on my tongue. Ponteareas, Vilasobroso, Celanova … so many unmade memories beckoning me towards them.

I planned to follow Laurie’s route loosely, perhaps as far as Madrid. I had a month of freedom, and the capital lay roughly 500 miles away. I needed to get a sense of the distances I could cover out here, but that sounded about right. I had no schedule. I would just follow my nose and see where I ended up. I didn’t mind. Laurie mentioned only a handful of place names in As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning. These would guide me, but I wasn’t concerned how I threaded the necklace. I was not aiming to replicate Laurie’s walk, only to follow its spirit. I would find pearls of my own along the way. I brushed away crumbs, folded the map, flexed my knees to judge the weight of my pack and joined Laurie walking out into Spain.