Its easy to leave Cadiz. It has been a pleasant two night stay, but when I heart the clock chime 8, I spring out of my bed, first awake in the hostel, climb donw from the terrace, and leave. And I have the relief of someone who has escaped a trap, a sweet trap. Because the lifestyle of too good, too easy, the beach in the day, and socialising till late. Talk in English, cheap beer, new set of people each night. But I am bored of retelling my story.
Like a hypocrite I talk of wild camping while paying 10euro for a hammock.
People are impressed by my journey. But if I was worth of admiration, then they would never have met me, because I would not have indulged in this hedonism, but be under the stars, next to rivers, or between trees, amongst true luxury.
Sitting on the beach of El Palmer, I drift off to sleep between sessions of surfing the small 3 foot waves that are crumbling onto the sand.
Bits of my body, exposed while surfing burm. I wait for the beach at Zahora to clear of people, reluctatnly pulling on t-shirts, stuffing bags and folding umbrellas, before I move into the small pine forest near by.
