Thursday 26th August 2010: Exploration day today. I wake up trying to clear the fog from my head. The red wine we are drinking is doing nothing for my early mornings. After some thought, I decide that I would try and go back to the place I went to on Sunday.
I take my bike and reach the back of the campsite. There is a way in from this side and I don't have to go through the road way. It’s probably easier, but then when did I ever go for easier? (I shake my own head). I nod a ‘good-morning’ to the builders, recognising that we both have things to do today.
I look in front of me; there are two paths, one wide and gravelly, one next to the river and overgrown. I take the road less travelled. This path is designed only for walkers, yet I hold onto my travelling companion with strength. I want him to see what I see. His pedals catch the back of my legs every now and then and I feel a ‘sorry’ whisper from his frame. I am sorry too, for wheeling him through the overgrown plants, he’s sorry and I’m sorry. We both continue as friends once more.
As I plunge deeper into the path, I know that it too late to turn back, even though I know the journey will take longer. We continue along the path, both supporting each other. I reach the bridge, but this time I am underneath it. Luckily, I turn a corner and the bridge is inviting me once more to walk on its planks, the invitation to another world. As before I gladly accept and tread the boards once again.
There is nobody here. On Sunday there was a myriad of people who were laughing and strolling. Now there is only an echo of some distant past. Ghosts do now even walk today. I find the place where I sat for so many hours and find another disappointment. My hammock-swing is gone. It has been detached from the carrabeena and is nowhere to be seen. There is no one to ask, as the bar-shack that was so gloriously open on Sunday, is closed. I feel I shouldn’t have come back to this place; it is a shadow of what I remember it to be.
I sit on a wooden swing to try and get the same feelings back. I don't. I leave the watery place and follow the path. I see a tree, almost horizontal and after laying my red sarong on the bark, accept that this is the place I will rest and read my book today.
I stay here for hours reading my book, only stopping from time to time to gaze at the sparkling aquamarine water which to me is Slovenia. I eat my sandwiches eagerly. It's the first time I have brought something on my adventures. I am glad for it. It's funny how you can be hungry and not even know it. I continue to lay and daydream on my tree, and would have for many more hours, but something was to interrupt my day.
A pain shot down my leg. I felt I had been bitten by a snake (I hadnt). Impossible, as I had my combats on, rolled up to the knee and I would have noticed. Maybe it was a spider, or maybe an ant. Whatever it was, the ‘thing’ that had bitten me had obviously enjoyed it’s meal and left me in the worst pain imaginable. Mosquito bites would always be a sweet as cake in comparison. I reluctantly packed up my things and tried to ride my bike. As the bite was quite close to by bottom cheeks, it was hard to cycle. I was hot and bothered and cross that something small had ruined my solace. It's always in the small things!!
I arrived back to the snail without energy to go to the Pharmacy to get something to sooth me. I was annoyed at myself for not bringing something for ‘after bites’. I also couldn’t find the first aid kit, so I lay with my bikini clad cheeks exposed to the window for some cool air to brush against them. With all the fuss and exhaustion, I feel asleep. I must have provided a wonderful view for everyone who passed my window!
After my sleep, and getting some cream from town, I felt better. The Pilot and I decided to take a walk to the Tolmin Gorges. It was amazing. We weaved through paths and steps, up and down, across bridges and then up the hillside to arrive at a wonderful sight. In-between two huge rocks was a rock which looked like a bear’s head. No one knows how it got stuck there, but stuck it is. It was a quiet place and quite stunning. I had some sticks to help me on my journey, although as we got nearer to the water’s edge the rocks were slippery and my trainers would not grip the floor. I became frustrated that I couldn’t go on. There was a sheer drop to the right of me and as I slipped I broke one of my sticks. It was enough to break my spirit. I took all my energy not to cry.
After about 2 hours of striving to get to this place, I wasn’t disappointed. It is a place of stunning natural beauty. It goes to show that to get to something worthwhile, you have to travel a long way, be hot and sweaty, maybe break a stick or two, and climb up and down, before you can get there. In my mind I’m still on the path. I haven’t got there yet and I have no map. I don't know how long it will take, or what I will find at the end. The only option I have is to keep moving. Sometimes I take slow steps and sometimes they are bigger. There are times I have to rest, sometimes I have to rest for longer, but I continue in the hope. For there is always hope - a light at the end of the tunnel. There always is in one way or another.
I am tired on the way back and it is getting dark. I cannot see the steps in front of me, and am glad for someone to make the steps in front of me first. Methodically I step in the same places, for I know that they are safe ones. I have travelled far today and have seen moments of beauty. I drift off to sleep and dream of waters crashing around rocks relentlessly.
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