A plane crash I randomly stumbled upon on my walk of the Pyrenees. I never thought I would be able to put my moniker on a plane! The sentence come from my favorite song by Rosa.

Marcher Arrant didn’t belong anywhere, so he set out for nowhere.

“It takes more than vodka to fuel magic. It’s takes risks. It takes extremes.” Quote from my current road book Even Cowgirls get the Blues.

I walk the earth imagining myself on some kind of Arthurian quest, and explore secret places and leave my code name. Peter Pan what? He ain’t got nothing on old Marcher Arrant! All children except TWO grow up.

God but it’s good to be a walker.

I have reached the Mediterranean and thus finished the Gr 11 trail! It took me 34 days and I walked over 800 km (over 500 miles). I’ve never been more proud of myself and never felt more happy and healthy and inspired. I keep on! And now for some good old fashioned wandering with no goal or destination! Yesterday I walked up the coast to the town of Portbou where I slept last night. I came here because there is a huge freight yard. I’m going to live out one of my oldest dreams which is to ride freights. Despite that walking is my preferred mode of travel, tramps and hobos have always been one of my greatest inspirations. Since forever I’ve wanted to do it too but fear and laziness always prevented me. Anyway, the time is now! I’ll spend the day and night in the yard observing, trying to figure out how the hell I will do this. Hopefully I don’t die or go to jail! I’m especially nervous because I’m an illegal alien, sin papeles. But this fucking dream cannot wait another day! I’ve been dreaming of this moment for 20 years!

Marcher Arrant, making friends with loneliness.

Countless are the footsteps of Marcher Arrant.