Day 13. Jabberwocky Fjords, dense scary fog, I wave good bye to the hikers I followed as they merrily base jump one by one. I am stuck alone in the middle of nowhere in a thick smoke-like fog, barely able to see anything through. I’m not a hiker and I am panic-stricken. Pictures of me starving to death flash through my mind when suddenly a figure appears in front of my eyes. He is Brazilian and he got lost, too. I'm relieved. I'm not going to die. Trying a few languages we realize we can’t find any match. We hike together, discuss which route to follow, talk about our families, take pictures, exchange emails – by producing sounds that the other person is not familiar with. I am surprised. The meaning is not in the words. Jabberwocky. Skimming the poem the first time, I see nothing more than a random collection of made-up words. All good stories are said to revolve around a hero and his struggles so I take another trial. However, this time I listen to the poem. I pay careful attention to the rhythm and intonation and suddenly a story about a fearless hero, a horrendous monster and a triumphant victory unveils to me. I am surprised. The meaning is not in the words. “I thought you didn’t like it” – she says. But I said, "I like it” – I say. “I know, but I thought you didn’t….” – she says. I am surprised. The meaning is not in the words.