"yovo - yovo bon soir ca vas bien - merciiee"

I worked my way south, on the N340 past endless orange groves to Valencia, then on the N332 passing the massive resorts of the Costa Blanca to Alicante. Then I veered inland on the N340 again, via Elche, Murcia, Lorca. Here the orange and olive plantations gave way to a much more barren landscape. As I approached Andalucia, the roads were getting steeper and the turns sharper. I started carrying more water with me, because the land was dry and the population sparse.

On March 24, I finally reached Almeria I checked in at a camp ground at the edge of town, near the beach. I looked forward to a hot shower and bathrooms. Riding slowly past rows of neat caravans with TV antennae, I felt a bit out of place. I set up camp in a quiet corner near a couple of other small tents. After a long, hot shower, I walked into town, bought the ferry tickets for the next day,and got dinner at a cheap restaurant. I walked around for a while, engrossed in the bustle and noise of the city. This was not the first time I had been to Almeria to take the ferry to Melilla. I had hichhiked to Almeria and Malaga several times between 1987 and 1990, on my way to Morocco. This time it was different, though. I was not just going to Morocco to hang out for a couple of weeks. I was really going to leave Europe behind and emerse myself in Africa.

Back at the campground later that evening, I sat out in front of my tent and smoked a cigarette. I noticed my neighbor sitting cross-legged and bare-chested in front of his little beat-up tent, meditating as the sun was singking behind the horizon. His eyes closed, he smiled peacefully, with his flowing, gray mane gently blowing in the seabreeze, and his dark skin melting into the mountains behind him. When the night enveloped us, I noticed him moving about, and then he came over and stepped into the dim light of my gasoline cooker. He asked me for a light, and when I gave him my matches, he lit an enormous joint.

With a broad grin he handed me the matches back and asked if I wanted some. I was in no mood to decline such a generous invitation. In turn I pointed out that I was making some tea, which I was happy to share. So he sat down and we smoked and talked and had some tea. He told me about his life as a vagabond, having travelled all over Europe, Asia, Africa. He had adopted a simple Buddhism-inspired lifestyle, and carried all his belongings in his backpack. I told him about my grand plans to cross Africa on my bicycle, live a simple life, and learn as much as I could. "You know that this will change who you are," he said, looking at me. "Just remember to let the path show you the path," he added.

"Laisse le chemin te montrer le chemin." His simple philosophy resonated with me. I'd say it prevented me from getting into bigger trouble in the coming months than I did anyway because his words prevented me from getting too obsessed with my grand plan.