Day 1: El Cabo to Beyond Bera in search of water

It's Not a Race

There was a party outside my tent last night. I wasn't invited. I didn't want to go anyway; I just wanted to sleep. Every tent around me seemed to have music playing, people chatting and laughing, and one group even appeared to be playing some sort of ball game, although it sounded more like they were taking turns hitting a block of wood. The music carried on until at least 11pm. Considering my alarm was set for 5am, it wasn't the ideal start.

At 5am the campsite was finally silent, but it was still surprisingly dark. Two days earlier in the Alps, much further north, it had been noticeably lighter at that time, so I gave myself another half hour and got up at 5:30.

I was the first person moving around the campsite. By 6am I tried to get down to the sea for the traditional toe dip, but the shoreline below the campsite was rocky with no obvious way back up. Instead, I headed out through the campsite gate to the lighthouse, the official start of the GR11.

After the obligatory photos and video, I finally managed to dip my feet in the Atlantic on the sandy beach just beyond the lighthouse before turning inland.

It was an incredibly sweaty start. Low cloud had rolled in and the humidity was relentless. By the time I reached the edge of town, it looked as though I'd gone for a swim rather than simply walked a few kilometres.

The climb out of Hondarribia was brutally steep. Most of the morning was spent on forest tracks through pine woods with very little shade from the growing heat.

By midday I was descending into Bera. I stopped at the tourist information office, only to discover the supermarket had just closed and nowhere in town sold screw-top gas canisters. Salami sandwiches were looking like dinner again.

I walked past the small supermarket – more of a traditional corner shop – and found it was closed. I wandered further along the street in hope of another shop but had no luck. On the way back I noticed the supermarket door was slightly open. I stuck my head inside and shouted a few times before getting a response. The lady hadn't quite finished closing up and very kindly let me in before she cashed up.

Lunch was on a bench under a tree, making the most of what little shade there was.

The middle of the day is becoming the daily dilemma. Walk in the cool morning, stop for a long break through the hottest hours, then decide what to do in the afternoon. Wild camping means I shouldn't really pitch before 7pm, so the only realistic option is to keep walking, just at a slower pace.

Today's target was the first decent wild camping spot in the guidebook with a reliable water source. Water is going to be a recurring theme on this trip.

So I walked, sweated, walked some more and sweated even more until I finally reached the campsite. It had been a long day – 48km in total.

I saw only three hikers who looked as though they were attempting the full GR11, but tonight I'm sharing the wild camping spot with two others.

It's not a race... although my legs might disagree after today's epic first section.