Ok, I’m a bit behind on this blog. If I’m honest it’s been a chore to write and I’ve even thought about stopping. Right now I want to be as free as possible, and my duty to write feels like shackles. But I’m scared I’d regret it and scared to break the chain. I’ll employ some discipline and hopefully rediscover some joy in it.

My boat repaired, I left behind the church and travelled onwards, feeling stronger for having overcome another challenge. When I find a sailing workshop, I’ll get a stronger repair done for piece of mind.

The sun shined on the Corfu cliffs and butterflies floated around me over the shimmering blue sea. I breathed in the surroundings and tried to silence the irritating loop of trivial thoughts circling my mind ‘now let’s paddle to that headland, look at those rocks, my bum hurts, where am I going to sleep tonight’. I want silence, the kind I get when I’m engrossed in the moment, like when I’m lost in the flow of paddling downwind. Or I want profound, novel thoughts, but I haven’t had one of those for ages. Maybe I need to feed my brain some new material. I’ll give that a try.

I headed in to a cove for the night and set up my tent when Julita, a polish lady walking across Corfu, came over and asked if she could camp here too. She had no food so I had the pleasure of cooking her my finest pesto, garlic and sun dried tomato pasta, helping instead of being helped for a change. It was nice to have some company, and Julita never stopped talking. She worked for the government in Berlin to set up refugee programmes and this was her adventurous holiday. Martens ran around on the beach scrounging picnics scraps from the sand and the shooting stars fizzled across the big night sky as day 100 of this adventure came to a close.