Discovering a lump in my shoe, I find a leech hopelessly stuck between the two layers of my hiking sock. It must have crawled in through the loose top weave, bloated up on my blood and become jammed. I have to cut the sock open to get rid of it.

After lunch, we stomp at high speed along level adobe paths made slippery-smooth by the locals' bare feet. There are large pine plantations here, grown to offset deforestation, and they are a favorite place for the children to play and climb. At one point, we saw a kid fall some four metres out of a tree and land with a loud thump, but he seemed to be unharmed.

When we arrive at the village of Orang, there is nowhere to camp. We end up on the end of a steep promontory of land under a giant oak tree, where we are just able to squeeze the tents onto a vaguely flat abandoned terrace. We receive record audiences tonight, with no less than twelve adults and twenty-nine children lined up along the edge of the camp spectating with some curiosity. One of the cooks appears clutching two live chickens, and disappears again with a large knife and a bowl. Barely ten minutes later the hens are plucked, gutted and ready, and we get a superb chicken soup and curry for dinner.