#White nightowl security system full#

I’m not that late to my original plan, and by 8.35am, I’m following a rough screenshot I took of Google Maps to try and find the Intermache.

#White nightowl security system full#

Sweet!Īt this point, I’m kicked out by the guy a full hour before I have to leave the room, which is a little lame, so I hang up, awaiting updates on the Fijian ferry that is very much stuck in the harbour with him onboard whenever I next get reception. And on the complete opposite end of the musical spectrum, a new Dope Lemon album. How could I not realise I needed a bit of shitty teenage angst? Oh this is perfect. Being angsty and all ‘ugh I hate my dad’ was an effort at thirteen, I’ll tell you that much.Īnyway, as we’re talking, he suggests that ‘Teenage Dirtbag’ is sort of fitting the mood for me lately, and I swear to god every part of my brain went silent. Seriously, having cool parents is the worst thing that’s ever happened to teenage me. All the older guys making jokes when they find out you’re eighteen, always some ‘hahah aw mate, get away from the folks right?’, and the back of my mind is all high pitched like ‘um actually, my dad is super cool and I love him’. On a sidenote, do you know how fucking annoying it is to have a really cool dad? It’s awful. Fantastic way to start the day, highly recommend it. My plan was to leave by 8.00am, and I start off strong with my packing, but then get immensely distracted calling my dad, talking and laughing while I get ready. After drinking what is probably the majority of a litre of milk, naturally. We don’t have a common language, so I just down a few little tubs of fruit yoghurt and get on my way. Kim and Park leave to start walking a few minutes later, just in time to pass a sticker to the last guy to show up before I leave, one with an orange shirt. My German side couldn’t take it where was the food? The cheese, the veggies? The meat? Dipping thin slices of bread into (HEAPED) hot chocolate was great, but probably the least filling thing in the world, sandwiched between sawdust and a i r. It’s also great at distracting from how grim French breakfasts are. They’re very fun to talk to, and it’s nice. Walk from here to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, then diverge from the Frances and walk the Norte, then detour into the Primitivo and to Finisterra :] The only difference is in our getting-to-Irun – they’ll be taking the Via Neve Bidoassa, and I’ll be taking the GR10, which means we’ll seperate by more than a few days – but I walk a little faster than they do, so we joke that maybe we’ll see each other on the Norte/in Santiago. In incredibly exciting news we have almost the exact same plan. Kim speaks English, and translates for Park, who speaks some French and translates for her. The woman introduces herself as Kim, travelling with her husband Park, both from South Korea, both on their fifthcamino, both joking about moving here to save on the airfare. My two companions are a couple I’ve never seen before, how exciting! I’m the third to arrive the Guy is setting down a pitcher of milk as I do, and this is already the best breakfast so far. Now, breakfast was a thing you had to pay for – or believe me, I wouldn’t have – which means this morning, at a bright 6.50am, I was going to try my hardest to eat these alcoholics out of house and home (okay even I admit maybe that one went a bit too far). So for probably an hour, I’d just been daydreaming about nothing and everything, and now, three hours later, it was breakfast time. Same rules as always I was still a night owl, despite my attempts to brute force the opposite. It’s something about actual beds whenever I had them I wanted to spend as long as possible being on them, to the point where sleeping felt like a weird thing to do, because then bed would be over. I was too excited to sleep last night – not entirely sure why. Day 40 : 'You Can't Leave the Harbour Till You Fix the Broken Anchor Winch', As the Fijian Philosophers Say