Sole Mates

It's not everyone's idea of the perfect honeymoon - walking 7000 km.
Exposed to the elements for ten months, humping backpacks, wet feet,
sleeping on the ground. At one point I thought I'd lose my wife to a
river in spate. I looked on, rescue rope in hand, as Michelle battled
the turbulent waters. A waterfall lay just downstream; I had but one
chance at rescue.

So Why do it? It's the question on everyone's lips. We often ponder
this ourselves. Even so, we wouldn't consider travelling any other way.
Walking gives us an inescapable feeling of freedom. It's travel without
timetables, sweet talking tour guides and endless souvenir stores. A
country cannot hide its true face from those on foot.

The walk provided some surprising insights. Such as my wife's unnatural
affection for sheep. She swears they all have unique personalities. "We
could have one as a pet," she would announce, "it could come inside the
house."
"Over my dead body!" I would reply.

Sure, we had our moments. Like when Michelle ate more than her share of
dinner. We dined from the cooking pot, a spoon the only cutlery. If I
allowed myself to be momentarily distracted I'd turn to discover her
licking the pot clean, a satisfied grin on her face - most irritating I
assure you.

We soon developed routines that helped avoid unpleasantness. At the
supermarket we'd head in opposite directions. The lack of patience I've
displayed in these establishments is not something I'm proud of. If I
dared accompany Michelle I'd risk becoming the victim of a hit and run
trolly 'accident'.

To date we've walked 2,671 kilometres, over 135 days. On an average day
we'd walk for ten hours, only stopping for short breaks and lunch. At
sunset we'd find some flat ground to camp.

We dubbed our tent the 'Honeymoon Suite'. It didn't offer the luxury of
a five star hotel, but it did provide a different romantic vista each
evening. Nevertheless, the prospect of romance was slim. My perpetually
cold hands ensured I was kept at arms length. I looked forward to town
visits. However, for the first two months, every hotel we checked into
had single beds. "Some honeymoon this is turning out to be," I
grumbled.

We began our journey deep within the Arctic Circle. Swedish Lapland's
barren landscape was dotted with lingering snow and partially frozen
lakes. Colourful wildflowers battled against icy winds. Reindeer
appeared in search of pasture and the midnight sun shone bright. As we
struck south an incalculable number of lakes passed by, soon replaced
by steep mountain ranges and thick spruce forests.

One afternoon we stumbled upon a splendid country mansion. We couldn't
resist peering through its windows. Its interior displayed antique
furnishings, long banquet tables and stuffed trophy animals. A royal
seal identified the owner - The King of Sweden. Visions of a Royal
guard dog tearing at our exposed flesh inspired us to quicken our pace
to a run.

The glacier robed peaks of the Norwegian mountains soon stretched out
toward the horizon. Towering waterfalls and deep sided canyons awaited
discovery. We passed through a region that boasted more than 200 peaks
higher than 2000 metres. Here we received the first snowfall of our
adventure; summer was drawing to a close.

In Bergen, on the west coast of Norway, Michelle suggested we treat
ourselves to a restaurant meal. She dragged me to a burger joint that
had all the ambience of a railway station canteen. A burger and fries
cost ?12 - a tad steep I thought. This experience made me appreciate
travelling by foot. Eating a goo of pasta and re-hydrated mashed potato
every night suddenly had an appeal all its own.

We travelled by ship to Scotland. I found travelling by sea a pleasant
alternative to air travel, until I became ill. I'm yet undecided
whether it was the rolling seas that brought it on, or the ship's tacky
70s decor.

Our British stage began on Scotland's north west tip. We headed south
following footpaths, old drovers routes, minor roads and, sometimes
striking off cross country. On one such occasion, Michelle disappeared
up to her waist in a boggy marsh and was sinking fast. I refused to
come to her rescue until I'd recorded the event with both cameras.
"Michelle, you're supposed to be smiling," I hounded.

Soon after, disaster struck - we ran out of toilet paper. Michelle
entered a pub and brazenly announced our need for this essential.
Smirks spread through the crowd but good cheer prevailed. The local
postman paid the charge.

One morning we trudged dispirited through a downpour. Suddenly the
trail vanished, covered by newly constructed houses. A man saw our
dilemma. "Cut through my garden if you like," he said, "or better
still, come in for lunch." His wife emerged from the kitchen and
embraced us warmly. Ten minutes later Michelle floated in a hot bath,
sipping wine. Experiences such as this confirmed our sentiment that
travelling by foot was the right decision. We can never forget the
hospitality shown to us by complete strangers.

As we headed south Britain was hit by the worst floods since 1947. Gale
force winds, teeming rain and mist as thick as pea soup assured life
remained interesting. As we drew level with Sheffield the flood waters
peaked. Paths further south disappeared under water and we were forced
to stop for the winter.

Life on the trail isn't always easy. However, the longer we spent in
the wilderness the more relaxed and accepting we became. When you've
had wet feet for 23 days, does another day really matter? Trail life
has, in fact, been less stressful than our usual lives. As a result,
our relationship has been strengthened considerably.

Our next stage, a 4500 kilometre trek from Central England to Spain,
begins in April. If our journey so far is anything to go by, it will be
an experience to remember.

Honeymoon Statistics
Boots worn out: 3 pairs each.
Blisters: Carl 0, Michelle 2.
Socks destroyed: 10 pairs each.
Maps used: 41.
Photos taken: 864.
Rainstorms: Please don't ask.
Mosquitos: How many stars are there in the galaxy?
Tripped over own feet: An embarrassing amount.
Threats of Divorce: Nil.

To follow Carl and Michelle's Lapland to Spain odyssey, visit:
www.silkroad.com.au (Adventure Watch page). If you would like to
receive updates, add your e-mail to the e-mailing list.