Day 2 (Part 2): 'Fingering Coffee' - 5hrs (Total Walk Time: 10hrs)

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A small collection of buildings, sporting a car-park, presented itself. A breif stay of execution in 'Suicide Alley'.

By now, my foot was becomingmore than just an inconvienience. A sharp pain was in the motions of making itself more than known in the deeper workings of the bones accompanying my ankle. The foot would no longer flex correctly as I walked. Rolling off to the side with each step... And grimace.

No longer being able to walk properly, I continued by passing the weight as fast as humanley possible over the foot in question and back upon my other functioning friend.

My gait had become restricted to a pathetic, plodding limp.

110kms later, I would have the injury diagnosed as a stress fracture. A crack in the bone. I would proceed to walk another 110kms on a broken foot... And Kim would have to put up with me.

Resting in the car park, we wondered as to how those of the millitary could carry this much weight and go that much further. It woukd seem that extensive trianing and 8000 calories a day goes a long way.

Passing into what would become the final industrial estate, we laid eyes on a sign for the proximal township. Vila Franca Da Xira. Positivley affirming that the previous advice supplied by the general public to be falsified. We traveresed a road bridge and decsended towards a factory. The afternoon-shift workers just beggining to arrive.

Turning off the path and alleyway beside the main entrance to the factory, we held a short break for morale and 'food'. We were angry and undernourished after eating little more than a few slices of bread with a humble slathering of Nutella.

As we sat down our mood lifted and we transitioned from tradgedy to comedy.

Sharing laughter at our ridiculous endeavour we unpacked our mugs.

The time had come to rehydrate and resupply.

Cold instant coffee mix

Protein powder

Dried cream

Sugar

Ready-Brek

We became aware that we had nothing with whic we coukd stir this delightfully foul mush of caffeine and calories. Giggling and searching for a suitible item (deciding the our large bush knives were not appropriate for such a public occaision) to no avail,we resorted to the use of our fingers.

An arriving worker, laughed in a friendly manner at our situation. In typical Iberian fashion, the man was also carrying his supply of beers. No doubt to be consumed withing the 15 minutes preceeding the beggining of his shift.

With half a hope, we thought that he may even share one or two with us. A donation to the cause.

He didn't.

With morale elevated, we geared up and cracked on.following the trail onwards we began to come within eyesight if the Tejo river.

Whilst I was celebrating our arrival, Kim quickley brought us back to reason. A good few kilometres of urbanity straddled the river and thus the rest of the trail.

We paused at a bench site, not removing our kit, and some time was spent observing the satielite maps. A useful technological advantage which allows one recconoiter an area prior to arrival. Albeit with limited definition.

We identified a green area ahead in which we may possibley set camp.

I scouted up the river with the binoculars and spued a copse of trees.

Somewhat unhappily, we geared up and cracked on. Heading forth into the partially known.

The trail approuched the green area and it soon became clear that this was a riverside walkway. A thin asphalt path bordered by well kept grass and decorative shrubbery. Populated almost exclusivley by middle-class walkers and jogging bots.

We stopped at a small rest spot to asses our situation.

Kim took the first recce whilst i explored the immediate envirinment for portential camp sites.

We would soon come to found that almost every spot off the path had been lovingly manured by civil minded citizens with a generous dosing of human fecal matter.

Being the first explorers to discover this new land, we founded the area under our flag as "Poo-lane".

Kim reported a siting of mosaica depicting the pilgrims of old. Leading him to suggest that we must still be on the trail (we had long since lost sight of the official markers).

I, being a somewhat miserable bastard, was less inclined to optimism. I would later be proven wrong.

The evening was settling in as we departed from 'Poo Lane' and we entered the native setlement of Vila Franca Da Xira. A mid sized industrial town with peculiarly heavy doses of Communist party propoganda.

Considering this oddity, we discussed as to how this was still possible. Seen as, having tried this system, our species had long since concluded that it was a considerabley dysfuntional method of societal organisation.

More into the town centre, we approuched an extravangant building. Upon close inspection, we noticed a vast hammer a sickle emblem supported above the main entrance. At last, the hive had been discovered.

Baffled and curious, we spent some time laying eyes on the spectacle.

Ironically enough, the Communist party HQ had joined adjacent, a shop. Selling party parifinallia at a profit. I shall leave the rest to you.

Having aquired supplies in the town, we set off. On the understanding that our best chances of making camp lay ourtside the urban arena.

Shortly after leaving the town we found a large, abandoned building. With a roof and walls we would be contented.

It is to be said that we never entered the building as it was accompanied by an equally derilict car park.

Derilict but not abandoned.

A couple of vehcles resided on the premises.

We holed up and watched. Awaiting their departure. After a time of observing multiple departures and multiple arrivals we notice the common denominator. With all the movement, one car forever remained to hold the fort. Recent arrivals would approuch, converse and make a rapid depature.

The shadier parts of our previous lives led us to suggest that this could only mean one, rather specific thing. So we left the buisnessman to his work in peace.

We bushwhacked into the shrubbery of the wasteland immediatley to our rear. Traversing spiny bushes and multiple dumpings of yet more brown matter.

After a short while we came across a suitabley clear area which to camp. Our only neighbours being a ghetto of mosquitos nestled into a pool of stagnant water.

We spent the evening talking and rupturing veretable mountains of blisters.

On an interesting aside, kim had had made good use of his camera tri-pod. Rigging a towl around it thus fashioning a tent inwhich to place his head and seek solace from the night's bloodsuckers.





If you had asked our Ten year old selves where we would be and what we would be doing in 13 years, we would deffinatley not have said:

Sitting, starving and miserable.

In an alley.

On the concrete.

Fingering coffee.

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