Day 36, 67km: (by Chris)

This morning we wound along the road in the wet, actively dodging boulders that were falling from saturated muddy cliffs and smashing into the road that cut through the land. We reached a bridge on the other side of which the Tarmac ended. Not that we knew at the time, but this would be the last of the black stuff we would see for 8 days. It's a good job Amy didn't know this as she hates gravel tracks. We rumbled over the rough wet ground past small villages where pigs wallowed happily in roadside mud and tethered dogs barked frantically at us. Close to the end of the day we were stopped by the police again who looked at our passports and suggested a hotel in a town that didn't exist on any of our maps. Children surrounded us and locals starred inquisitively as we made our inquiries and found a cheap room for £4. That night a drunk policeman and his friends saw us in the small local restaurant and bought us the best item on the menu - a bowl full of goat entrails, hooves and various parts of circulatory system in broth.