I hadn’t anticipated just how far it was to Paris. I had already walked for miles along a route that took me over boggy moorland and through a war-zone. The most dangerous moment came when I narrowly missed being shot by a sniper: the bullet hit a man just in front of me and severed off his left arm. I also put my life at risk when I swam across a swollen river. The most difficult feat was to keep my few belongings dry. Thankfully my iPhone and Blackberry survived the water.

I was so happy when I reached the outskirts of the city. Soon I would be in the arms of TPR once more! I wandered into a shop and stood beside a fireplace display so that I could dry myself off after my swim. I asked a couple of customers how long they thought it would take me to reach my final destination. I was crushed when they informed me that this was not the capital of France. I had, in fact, stumbled across a small provincial town. Paris was at least another 65 miles north.