Modestas

Started at the hotel and climbed up to the ALANYA sign. Tough uphill, but completely worth it for the view.

We’ve been spending time together, just us. Nobody else. And it’s not the first time we’ve “celebrated” like this, if you can even call it that. We just sat in the kitchen preparing food as if an army was about to show up. Old habits, I guess. When you’ve spent years cooking for more people, your hands don’t quite know how to stop. Candles lit. Plates full. We sat there eating, looking at each other, trying to feel Christmas. No Christmas tree this time. Actually, no tree for many years now. I’ve always thought trees are more for kids than grown-ups. And the kids are gone now. Properly grown. One moved to Romania, another to Wales. Different lives. Different directions. Still, Titas, my youngest, who lives in Leeds, managed to drop by for a few hours. He arrived holding a water bottle like he was heading to the gym, not Christmas Eve. Sat down and immediately started attacking the food like he hadn’t eaten all day. I even had to remind him to wash his hands. He rolled his eyes, said, “Yeah, yeah.” But his presence changed the room. Brought some light with him. Some noise. Some life. Then he left. And it was quiet again. We both reached for our phones, almost at the same time. Scrolling. Not because there was anything urgent, but because there wasn’t much to say either. The other options were TV or going upstairs to read. Normal stuff. But this was Christmas Eve. I wanted to feel something. Anything, really. Not much came. Maybe the candles helped a little. Gave the room a soft glow. Enough to pretend. The next day we went to the cinema, hoping it would do the job. It was Avatar. Massive screen, so wide it stretched beyond your vision. With those glasses on, the world suddenly had depth again. For a while I felt like I’d stepped through the screen and was standing next to the blue people. It felt good. I even wanted it to be true. Let myself believe in it for a couple of hours. But once the film ended and we sat back in the car, it vanished. Just like that. The magic stayed in the cinema. I notice how some people throw themselves into political arguments online. Maybe that makes them feel alive. Others drown the dullness in alcohol, just to blur the edges for a bit. Others go shopping, hoping new things will patch old holes. I suggested a hike instead. My wife didn’t argue. The next day, we went. As soon as we reached the Yorkshire Dales, fresh air filled our lungs. The views did something to my head, like it finally had something real to chew on. Clouds dragged their shadows across the valleys. Sheep stood around looking unimpressed. I felt a small reset happening. No notifications. No opinions required. Just walking. Breathing. Shoes hitting wet ground. This was better than the cinema. Out there, the air didn’t ask for likes. The hills didn’t care what I thought. And for the first time in months, the noise in my head dropped down to a manageable level, replaced by the simple, honest rhythm of my own footsteps. That was enough.

GR11 Complete! Today I finally finished the GR11 – 36 days crossing the Pyrenees from west to east! I set off from the campsite in Port de la Selva toward Cap de Creus, despite the official trail being closed due to high fire alert. After coming this far, there was no way I’d miss the final stage. An official on a scooter stopped me and advised me to stick to the tarmac and return by bus. So I did just that – walked along the road, reached the lighthouse, and dipped my tired feet into the Mediterranean Sea at Cap de Creus. It was surreal and emotional. No bus back though… so I walked all the way back to Port de la Selva. A full circle, quite literally. **36 days. Coast to coast. Pyrenees crossed. GR11 done. Finally.**