We have walked seven days without a break. Bland vistas, long straight paths, ditches carved out with mathematical precision surrounding exactly squared fields. Rectangular plots planted with poplars. The only deviancies are the quiet villages. Interspersing the sound of our plodding feet are the squeaks of lapwings, egret and heron screeches plus long discussions about whatever we've been reading. The constant walking has a meditative effect. Sometimes kilometres whizz by, then they crawl. The feeling of accomplishment can be quite undone when you realise that the zig zag path is taking you away from the visible village that you're aiming for, a giddy moment occurs when I want to go willy nilly over the fields and get there directly. But a glance down at the inevitable seething ditch puts paid to that.
From time to time I pause to refer to Paul's diagram, to ponder.
Meanwhile I've bought a pile of medical kit for the blister on my foot that has now deteriorated to a weeping wound. Spent a deal of time examining the Internet for sport shoe shops in Italy, as I have now decided that Paul's footwear is vastly superior to mine. As he quite often reminds me.