So I reach the next shelter, and stop to rub antifungal cream all over my feet. I change into cleaner if not that much drier socks. But to no avail. As soon as I'm out of the shelter I run into a dense patch of undergrowth and my feet are even more soaking wet than before. But after all this, I cannot stop now. I must reach the trail magic, or I will have labored in vain. Day breaks, and I change into my second pair of shoes and my third pair of socks. Their is a monstrous climb that the guidebook neglects to mention, and then a gap full of annoying little hills. Then I emerge onto rolling grassy meadows and the sun is shining and there's a cooler of cold drinks next to the road and I pass that giant tree I sent in earlier. And then I look up. 'No,' I say. 'Surely there must be a tunnel or something that goes under that giant, unbroken wall of mountains.' But there is no tunnel. To be
continued...

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