I did not give in and continued to regularly misjudge the meeting point, to my friend’s annoyance. I think all Europeans were also shocked to learn how much longer it feels to have only one mile left, compared to one kilometre.

I was even asked not to cowboy camp around my friends as I was considered bad luck for everyone.

I was even rather good at hailing cars, because the younger, cuter, and more appealing you are, the greater your chances of stopping a car would be.

Humility came to me through countless small signs: the first time I found myself eating at a restaurant in town before even thinking about washing up, the first time I strolled through the city center wearing nothing but my waterproof plastic anorak and rain pants because all my clothes were at the laundromat, the first time I devoured a whole liter of ice cream while sitting on a supermarket parking lot, waiting for my motel room to become available. These experiences quickly became my new normal, devoid of any sense of shame.

It is usually pretty funny to see the disgusted face of people when I tell them that I only washed myself every five to seven days on average on the PCT.

I may be a dirty french guy but here’s how to deal with it

In the mountains, I walked six kilometres back, under a rain storm, because I had taken the wrong path. I had still walked the same distance, on a path parallel to the PCT, no less difficult, but I wanted to have seen every square centimetre of the trail.

In many ways, I was a purist. In other words, a fool.