The blazing sun reigns down on his head and sweat pours off his back by the bucket-load while his tie-dye shirt and bell-bottom jeans cling to his body, like that of a long-forgotten lover.
Groggy and with no sense of direction, Hawke continues to inch forward on the uneven terrain. Not an easy task in platform shoes which still need to be broken- in.
He stumbles and almost loses his balance, then blinks a few times to try and clear his vision. Barren landscape interspersed with stunted vegetation stretches as far as the eye can see.
He mutters and raises his arms in the air. “This doesn’t look like Shangri-la.”
The time-traveler realizes he must have entered the wrong coordinates once again.
“Back to the drawing board,” he says.