sunflowerfunk
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- Time of past OR future Camino
- Planning to hike Geneva - Fisterra, August 2023 :)
Day 40 : 'You Can't Leave the Harbour Till You Fix the Broken Anchor Winch', As the Fijian Philosophers Say
-Condom-
I was too excited to sleep last night – not entirely sure why. It’s something about actual beds; whenever I had them I wanted to spend as long as possible being on them, to the point where sleeping felt like a weird thing to do, because then bed would be over. Same rules as always; I was still a night owl, despite my attempts to brute force the opposite. So for probably an hour, I’d just been daydreaming about nothing and everything, and now, three hours later, it was breakfast time. Ohhh boy.
Now, breakfast was a thing you had to pay for – or believe me, I wouldn’t have – which means this morning, at a bright 6.50am, I was going to try my hardest to eat these alcoholics out of house and home (okay even I admit maybe that one went a bit too far). I’m the third to arrive; the Guy is setting down a pitcher of milk as I do, and this is already the best breakfast so far. My two companions are a couple I’ve never seen before, how exciting!
The woman introduces herself as Kim, travelling with her husband Park, both from South Korea, both on their fifthcamino, both joking about moving here to save on the airfare. Kim speaks English, and translates for Park, who speaks some French and translates for her. I love them instantly.
[AN : Just a little aside for the nicknames vs. using people’s actual names – there’s a few things. One is that I wouldn’t want to just put their names and nationalities (and sometimes stories) on the internet forever without permission, it feels a little creepy, but also even when I do know their names, most I don’t know well enough to ask to write about, if that makes sense? Like I know Black Backpack Guy’s name because I’ve heard it; I’ve also never had a conversation with the guy – walking up and being like ‘hello is it chill if I write about you, Person I’ve Never Spoke To In My Life Before?‘ would be a tad overwhelming, I’d think. Kim and Park (and Fred) are the exceptions to the nicknames because they were all super open, and I think they’re filming their journey?? Plus they’re giving everyone they meet stickers with their names on them, so I’m assuming they’d be totally fine with it.]
In incredibly exciting news; we have almost the exact same plan. Walk from here to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, then diverge from the Frances and walk the Norte, then detour into the Primitivo and to Finisterra :] The only difference is in our getting-to-Irun – they’ll be taking the Via Neve Bidoassa, and I’ll be taking the GR10, which means we’ll seperate by more than a few days – but I walk a little faster than they do, so we joke that maybe we’ll see each other on the Norte/in Santiago. And I’m really hoping we do. They’re very fun to talk to, and it’s nice.
It’s also great at distracting from how grim French breakfasts are. My German side couldn’t take it; where was the food?? The cheese, the veggies?? The meat?? Dipping thin slices of bread into (HEAPED) hot chocolate was great, but probably the least filling thing in the world, sandwiched between sawdust and a i r. Kim and Park leave to start walking a few minutes later, just in time to pass a sticker to the last guy to show up before I leave, one with an orange shirt. We don’t have a common language, so I just down a few little tubs of fruit yoghurt and get on my way. After drinking what is probably the majority of a litre of milk, naturally.
My plan was to leave by 8.00am, and I start off strong with my packing, but then get immensely distracted calling my dad, talking and laughing while I get ready. Fantastic way to start the day, highly recommend it. On a sidenote, do you know how fucking annoying it is to have a really cool dad?? It’s awful. All the older guys making jokes when they find out you’re eighteen, always some ‘hahah aw mate, get away from the folks right?’, and the back of my mind is all high pitched like ‘um actually, my dad is super cool and I love him’. Seriously, having cool parents is the worst thing that’s ever happened to teenage me. Being angsty and all ‘ugh I hate my dad’ was an effort at thirteen, I’ll tell you that much.
Anyway, as we’re talking, he suggests that ‘Teenage Dirtbag’ is sort of fitting the mood for me lately, and I swear to god every part of my brain went silent. Downloaded it immediately. How could I not realise I needed a bit of shitty teenage angst? Oh this is perfect. And on the complete opposite end of the musical spectrum, a new Dope Lemon album. Sweet!
At this point, I’m kicked out by the guy a full hour before I have to leave the room, which is a little lame, so I hang up, awaiting updates on the Fijian ferry that is very much stuck in the harbour with him onboard whenever I next get reception. I’m not that late to my original plan, and by 8.35am, I’m following a rough screenshot I took of Google Maps to try and find the Intermache.
I’m clearly struggling, because a lovely man comes up and asks; ‘ça va?’, as in ‘you good?’, but my mangled attempts at French are not working today. Neither is my brain, clearly, because then he asks if I speak English, and I’m so used to being the one asking that I instinctively mimic the opposite end, and say, in a bad French accent, “a little bit”. What?!?!?!
He waves me off, apologises, heads away. I head away too, immensely confused on why that ever left my mouth. A little bit ??? What the fuck ???
Eventually the screenshot comes in handy, and I find it. It’s a big one too, which is exciting, because now I can replace my headphones! The shitty ones lasted almost two weeks of ten hours a day music, so I’ll let them die in peace. I get Apple ones that will 100% hurt my ears and give me headaches, but beggars can’t be choosers! Allegedly,,,
I listen to Dope Lemon, try to embody the whole chill-no-problems-calm vibe, drop a few apples, fail miserably. But I get the essentials without stress! Tuna salad, bread, pesto, tomatoes. Shopping was so much easier when you just eat the same two things on loop – definitely recommend. I’m on my way properly by 9.25am, Teenage Dirtbag absolutely blaring, smiling all the way down. Or up, I guess. Navigation was not my strong suit.
The way out of Condom almost gets me lost, but I find it again (what a legend), and in the process wander past a guy who definitely was actually lost (whoops). Just past the absolutely Massive cathedral is a little statue thing of the Three Musketeers who, to be completely honest, I forgot were real people. Also near the cathedral is an adorable little bookshop, where I cave and buy a cute little card. Euros don’t count when it’s for silly little art pieces okay!!
After the cathedral you follow a winding little street down to the river, which you’ll cross and follow the shade of the trees to a beautiful little park which would have been a perfect spot to sleep had I not been so gross yesterday. And then it’s back to asphalt. It takes forever to escape the clutches of the city; the outskirts try to trap you, wrap clunky fingers of residential complexes and perfect lawns around you.
But it’s not your fate to stay, not today. Today you’re back on hot roads with no-one on them, bar you. Our first stop is a church about ten k’s out from here – until then, you’ll tread mostly the same road for an hour, sweating bullets under the morning sun. After a time, you’ll start to see houses, and a significant volume of neon colours, heading directly your way. It’s a massive group, somewhere around forty people, all making their way to the shade of some trees in a field nearby. You swap a bit of international charades with the leaders, convey the general ‘holy fuck it’s hot’ sentiment.
They ask where you’re from, and upon hearing Australie, gasp and point down, say,
“Eet is a place worze zan hell!”
Very true, Frenchman, but at least it isn’t France. Pros and cons!
The gaggle starts to move up, heading through the field towards a town on the ridgeline, camino shells clinking. Where are they going?? There aren’t any markers, so I keep going, but a few hundred metres later the second-guessing gets to me, and I backtrack. Nope, definitely no markers – so what?? According to the book, there’s a town about a kilometre off-course called Larrissingle, so I guess that must be that??
I forgot to take photos today (oops) so here’s the pretty lake from yesterday!
The path just never ends, but finally you enter a little shaded tunnel of trees that spits you out onto a busy road; the actual turn-off to Larrissingle, marked by a list of the towns attractions, which seem to consist almost entirely of medieval ramparts and creperies. Which means (1) you are not as far ahead as you thought you were, and (2) that massive group is so immensely lost. You decline the two kilometre detour into town and back, opting instead to cross the road and immediately re-enter the shade, going down, down, down, all the way to a tepid little pond, complete with floating fish. Poor things.
It really starts to stretch here, but eventually you reach Pont D’Artigues, an old bridge the guidebook dedicates a full page to. This book is hilarious, for the record; immensely German. Distances? Aahhh who cares, chuck any old number in. The construction of the houses has changed over the past century ?? Let’s have a lengthydiscussion. I loved it.
After the bridge, it’s back to some good old fashioned asphalt, and I pass a Maroon Woman and a Green Guy as the path forks to the left and we begin to climb. It’s objectively not that intense, compared to prior, but it’s a hot fucking day, and we all pause at the top for a breather. Well deserved, I’d say! But I’m not stopping till I hit that church, so we walk on.
Turns out, probably not the best idea; directly after that patch of shade is a long stretch of burning sun, with no shade, uphill. Terrible combination, not helped by the fact that for the first time in my entire camino experience, the waymarkers are shit. Seriously, it’s terrible – I’ve only seen three markers today, and only so much of that can be pinned down to me missing some. Everyone I pass is consulting phones and guidebooks (or walking the wrong way), and at most intersections it seems to be a ‘follow the footsteps in front of you and pray that person knew what they were doing‘ sort of scenario.
Helpfully, at the next split of the path, a group of three Brits had not known what they were doing, and had taken the wrong turn, therefore saving me from the exact same decision. The three of them move up ahead, speedy with their daypacks. Today was one of the days where I was definitely regretting such a heavy pack – but oh well! I catch up with them a few hundred metres later, resting in the shade talking with two others about the terrible markers. And the two look familiar – Kim and Park!!
I’m genuinely overjoyed to see them, they’re so sweet. I wave as I pass, and they both wave back :] As I walk away, I remember the sticker they gave me, the one crumpled in my pocket, and I pull it out there and then, stick it firmly in the back of my credential. Maybe that’ll be the real souvenir – all the weird stamps. I follow the markings (one green arrow spray painted onto the road) into the distance, panting under the unrelenting heat.
There’s still no shade, and still. No. Church. How?? It’s been so long, surely it’s close,,, the sign for Routgès is right there so where is the church??
The green leads away from Routgès, and so I’m on the verge of giving up on a rest completely, when I see a slightly odd looking cluster of trees on the next slope – mmm shade. I go to investigate and pass a trampled sign in the dust – Eglise Routgès. Boom boom boom we’re here!!
-Routgès-
Shade has never felt so cool, and I’m laying down with my shoes off almost instantly. I’m alone, so I can truly relax, and the area before the church is beautiful, with thick, soft green grass and some wild tulips blowing in the breeze. Other (tiny) flowers dot your surroundings, little specks of white and pink and purple, and the wind rustles through the corn fields that surround you, play a little tune.
Churches come in unexpected places,,,
Soon enough, though, said tune is interrupted by the furious gurgling of my stomach. Yeah yeah, I get it, chill out. Sadly, the charm of tuna salad has worn out; it is a mammoth effort to finish it today. Oh how the mighty have fallen! But hey, saves me an extra €3.50 I can spend on pesto <33 I’m joined by Green Guy and Maroon Woman, who sit nearby, and a guy in Neon Green who is very clearly a biker starts to slink around, waves awkwardly, and backs away. I know the move so well, I feel like I’m watching myself.
Eventually I go to fill up water, pass a younger woman sleeping in the shade – which also feels so familiar it makes me smile – and find Bike Guy sitting alone on the steps outside, eating corn from the can. He smiles, nods, and I say hello, smiling. He grins back, clearly appreciating the gesture, and I mime coming inside to sit in the shade, but he declines, which I was fully expecting because he Is Me, so I just head back in.
A quick flick through the book helps me realise I grossly overestimated the accomodation situation; the ‘camping’ symbol I was going to try to get to is actually just a gîte that’s already shut for the year. Okayyy. Anything else?? Nope – not until Eauze, a good twenty three kilometres from here. Mmm it’s a stretch, but I can make it – if I leave Right Now and keep up the same pace for the next six and a half hours!!
Look, we’ll figure it out. I’ve stayed forty-five minutes, which is long enough (in theory), so I try to shake off the overwhelming urge to nap, get back up and at em !! I wave goodbye to Bike Guy as I leave, and he grins at me, wide and (literally) corny. He’s so funny I love him <33 What I do not love, however, it the fact that I can actively feel my skin frying.
It’s scorching, and I do n o t say that lightly. Immensely glad I reapplied sunscreen before I left, I continue on into the endless head. Truly feels like a summer day, though perhaps that isn’t great, because this is Europe and autumn. Yay, climate change!! But still, it takes me back to sitting outside school waiting for the bus, getting sunburnt through my jeans. Maybe not one of the main things I miss, but it’s a fun memory in hindsight. Breezy warm hits blaring, ready to get home and head to the beach – or straight to bed, depending on the day!
You head through a mini-intersection that is, at midday, completely dead. How surprising! I’m just following the backpack of the pilgrim in front of me, who is being accompanied (?) by someone else, someone older, sans backpack but with a fancy film camera and I’m s o intrigued – what are they filming? Is she the subject?? Did they just meet today?? What are their stories??
Not that I verbalise any of it, or take the opportunity to start a conversation – you’re getting way ahead of yourself, reader. Nah, I just sort of slink past them like a sad little creature and go on ahead. But, luckily for me, they stop anyway and I can zoom on into the shadows in peace, paused only momentarily by the big construction,,, digger (I only know the playing-with-children names for things, sorry!),, thing – y’know the one, Big Scoopy Truck with the Scoopy Arm and big flat wheels that are more like tracks. That thing! – which is currently scooping dirt out of the corners of the road, clearing a route for rain that never comes.
About halfway down the road, you’ll turn left down a grass hill, and follow that for ten minutes or so, and right as you start to think ‘man today just never ends, where the hell is Montréal-‘ BOOM there it is !!
-Condom-
I was too excited to sleep last night – not entirely sure why. It’s something about actual beds; whenever I had them I wanted to spend as long as possible being on them, to the point where sleeping felt like a weird thing to do, because then bed would be over. Same rules as always; I was still a night owl, despite my attempts to brute force the opposite. So for probably an hour, I’d just been daydreaming about nothing and everything, and now, three hours later, it was breakfast time. Ohhh boy.
Now, breakfast was a thing you had to pay for – or believe me, I wouldn’t have – which means this morning, at a bright 6.50am, I was going to try my hardest to eat these alcoholics out of house and home (okay even I admit maybe that one went a bit too far). I’m the third to arrive; the Guy is setting down a pitcher of milk as I do, and this is already the best breakfast so far. My two companions are a couple I’ve never seen before, how exciting!
The woman introduces herself as Kim, travelling with her husband Park, both from South Korea, both on their fifthcamino, both joking about moving here to save on the airfare. Kim speaks English, and translates for Park, who speaks some French and translates for her. I love them instantly.
[AN : Just a little aside for the nicknames vs. using people’s actual names – there’s a few things. One is that I wouldn’t want to just put their names and nationalities (and sometimes stories) on the internet forever without permission, it feels a little creepy, but also even when I do know their names, most I don’t know well enough to ask to write about, if that makes sense? Like I know Black Backpack Guy’s name because I’ve heard it; I’ve also never had a conversation with the guy – walking up and being like ‘hello is it chill if I write about you, Person I’ve Never Spoke To In My Life Before?‘ would be a tad overwhelming, I’d think. Kim and Park (and Fred) are the exceptions to the nicknames because they were all super open, and I think they’re filming their journey?? Plus they’re giving everyone they meet stickers with their names on them, so I’m assuming they’d be totally fine with it.]
In incredibly exciting news; we have almost the exact same plan. Walk from here to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, then diverge from the Frances and walk the Norte, then detour into the Primitivo and to Finisterra :] The only difference is in our getting-to-Irun – they’ll be taking the Via Neve Bidoassa, and I’ll be taking the GR10, which means we’ll seperate by more than a few days – but I walk a little faster than they do, so we joke that maybe we’ll see each other on the Norte/in Santiago. And I’m really hoping we do. They’re very fun to talk to, and it’s nice.
It’s also great at distracting from how grim French breakfasts are. My German side couldn’t take it; where was the food?? The cheese, the veggies?? The meat?? Dipping thin slices of bread into (HEAPED) hot chocolate was great, but probably the least filling thing in the world, sandwiched between sawdust and a i r. Kim and Park leave to start walking a few minutes later, just in time to pass a sticker to the last guy to show up before I leave, one with an orange shirt. We don’t have a common language, so I just down a few little tubs of fruit yoghurt and get on my way. After drinking what is probably the majority of a litre of milk, naturally.
My plan was to leave by 8.00am, and I start off strong with my packing, but then get immensely distracted calling my dad, talking and laughing while I get ready. Fantastic way to start the day, highly recommend it. On a sidenote, do you know how fucking annoying it is to have a really cool dad?? It’s awful. All the older guys making jokes when they find out you’re eighteen, always some ‘hahah aw mate, get away from the folks right?’, and the back of my mind is all high pitched like ‘um actually, my dad is super cool and I love him’. Seriously, having cool parents is the worst thing that’s ever happened to teenage me. Being angsty and all ‘ugh I hate my dad’ was an effort at thirteen, I’ll tell you that much.
Anyway, as we’re talking, he suggests that ‘Teenage Dirtbag’ is sort of fitting the mood for me lately, and I swear to god every part of my brain went silent. Downloaded it immediately. How could I not realise I needed a bit of shitty teenage angst? Oh this is perfect. And on the complete opposite end of the musical spectrum, a new Dope Lemon album. Sweet!
At this point, I’m kicked out by the guy a full hour before I have to leave the room, which is a little lame, so I hang up, awaiting updates on the Fijian ferry that is very much stuck in the harbour with him onboard whenever I next get reception. I’m not that late to my original plan, and by 8.35am, I’m following a rough screenshot I took of Google Maps to try and find the Intermache.
I’m clearly struggling, because a lovely man comes up and asks; ‘ça va?’, as in ‘you good?’, but my mangled attempts at French are not working today. Neither is my brain, clearly, because then he asks if I speak English, and I’m so used to being the one asking that I instinctively mimic the opposite end, and say, in a bad French accent, “a little bit”. What?!?!?!
He waves me off, apologises, heads away. I head away too, immensely confused on why that ever left my mouth. A little bit ??? What the fuck ???
Eventually the screenshot comes in handy, and I find it. It’s a big one too, which is exciting, because now I can replace my headphones! The shitty ones lasted almost two weeks of ten hours a day music, so I’ll let them die in peace. I get Apple ones that will 100% hurt my ears and give me headaches, but beggars can’t be choosers! Allegedly,,,
I listen to Dope Lemon, try to embody the whole chill-no-problems-calm vibe, drop a few apples, fail miserably. But I get the essentials without stress! Tuna salad, bread, pesto, tomatoes. Shopping was so much easier when you just eat the same two things on loop – definitely recommend. I’m on my way properly by 9.25am, Teenage Dirtbag absolutely blaring, smiling all the way down. Or up, I guess. Navigation was not my strong suit.
The way out of Condom almost gets me lost, but I find it again (what a legend), and in the process wander past a guy who definitely was actually lost (whoops). Just past the absolutely Massive cathedral is a little statue thing of the Three Musketeers who, to be completely honest, I forgot were real people. Also near the cathedral is an adorable little bookshop, where I cave and buy a cute little card. Euros don’t count when it’s for silly little art pieces okay!!
After the cathedral you follow a winding little street down to the river, which you’ll cross and follow the shade of the trees to a beautiful little park which would have been a perfect spot to sleep had I not been so gross yesterday. And then it’s back to asphalt. It takes forever to escape the clutches of the city; the outskirts try to trap you, wrap clunky fingers of residential complexes and perfect lawns around you.
But it’s not your fate to stay, not today. Today you’re back on hot roads with no-one on them, bar you. Our first stop is a church about ten k’s out from here – until then, you’ll tread mostly the same road for an hour, sweating bullets under the morning sun. After a time, you’ll start to see houses, and a significant volume of neon colours, heading directly your way. It’s a massive group, somewhere around forty people, all making their way to the shade of some trees in a field nearby. You swap a bit of international charades with the leaders, convey the general ‘holy fuck it’s hot’ sentiment.
They ask where you’re from, and upon hearing Australie, gasp and point down, say,
“Eet is a place worze zan hell!”
Very true, Frenchman, but at least it isn’t France. Pros and cons!
The gaggle starts to move up, heading through the field towards a town on the ridgeline, camino shells clinking. Where are they going?? There aren’t any markers, so I keep going, but a few hundred metres later the second-guessing gets to me, and I backtrack. Nope, definitely no markers – so what?? According to the book, there’s a town about a kilometre off-course called Larrissingle, so I guess that must be that??
The path just never ends, but finally you enter a little shaded tunnel of trees that spits you out onto a busy road; the actual turn-off to Larrissingle, marked by a list of the towns attractions, which seem to consist almost entirely of medieval ramparts and creperies. Which means (1) you are not as far ahead as you thought you were, and (2) that massive group is so immensely lost. You decline the two kilometre detour into town and back, opting instead to cross the road and immediately re-enter the shade, going down, down, down, all the way to a tepid little pond, complete with floating fish. Poor things.
It really starts to stretch here, but eventually you reach Pont D’Artigues, an old bridge the guidebook dedicates a full page to. This book is hilarious, for the record; immensely German. Distances? Aahhh who cares, chuck any old number in. The construction of the houses has changed over the past century ?? Let’s have a lengthydiscussion. I loved it.
After the bridge, it’s back to some good old fashioned asphalt, and I pass a Maroon Woman and a Green Guy as the path forks to the left and we begin to climb. It’s objectively not that intense, compared to prior, but it’s a hot fucking day, and we all pause at the top for a breather. Well deserved, I’d say! But I’m not stopping till I hit that church, so we walk on.
Turns out, probably not the best idea; directly after that patch of shade is a long stretch of burning sun, with no shade, uphill. Terrible combination, not helped by the fact that for the first time in my entire camino experience, the waymarkers are shit. Seriously, it’s terrible – I’ve only seen three markers today, and only so much of that can be pinned down to me missing some. Everyone I pass is consulting phones and guidebooks (or walking the wrong way), and at most intersections it seems to be a ‘follow the footsteps in front of you and pray that person knew what they were doing‘ sort of scenario.
Helpfully, at the next split of the path, a group of three Brits had not known what they were doing, and had taken the wrong turn, therefore saving me from the exact same decision. The three of them move up ahead, speedy with their daypacks. Today was one of the days where I was definitely regretting such a heavy pack – but oh well! I catch up with them a few hundred metres later, resting in the shade talking with two others about the terrible markers. And the two look familiar – Kim and Park!!
I’m genuinely overjoyed to see them, they’re so sweet. I wave as I pass, and they both wave back :] As I walk away, I remember the sticker they gave me, the one crumpled in my pocket, and I pull it out there and then, stick it firmly in the back of my credential. Maybe that’ll be the real souvenir – all the weird stamps. I follow the markings (one green arrow spray painted onto the road) into the distance, panting under the unrelenting heat.
There’s still no shade, and still. No. Church. How?? It’s been so long, surely it’s close,,, the sign for Routgès is right there so where is the church??
The green leads away from Routgès, and so I’m on the verge of giving up on a rest completely, when I see a slightly odd looking cluster of trees on the next slope – mmm shade. I go to investigate and pass a trampled sign in the dust – Eglise Routgès. Boom boom boom we’re here!!
-Routgès-
Shade has never felt so cool, and I’m laying down with my shoes off almost instantly. I’m alone, so I can truly relax, and the area before the church is beautiful, with thick, soft green grass and some wild tulips blowing in the breeze. Other (tiny) flowers dot your surroundings, little specks of white and pink and purple, and the wind rustles through the corn fields that surround you, play a little tune.
Soon enough, though, said tune is interrupted by the furious gurgling of my stomach. Yeah yeah, I get it, chill out. Sadly, the charm of tuna salad has worn out; it is a mammoth effort to finish it today. Oh how the mighty have fallen! But hey, saves me an extra €3.50 I can spend on pesto <33 I’m joined by Green Guy and Maroon Woman, who sit nearby, and a guy in Neon Green who is very clearly a biker starts to slink around, waves awkwardly, and backs away. I know the move so well, I feel like I’m watching myself.
Eventually I go to fill up water, pass a younger woman sleeping in the shade – which also feels so familiar it makes me smile – and find Bike Guy sitting alone on the steps outside, eating corn from the can. He smiles, nods, and I say hello, smiling. He grins back, clearly appreciating the gesture, and I mime coming inside to sit in the shade, but he declines, which I was fully expecting because he Is Me, so I just head back in.
A quick flick through the book helps me realise I grossly overestimated the accomodation situation; the ‘camping’ symbol I was going to try to get to is actually just a gîte that’s already shut for the year. Okayyy. Anything else?? Nope – not until Eauze, a good twenty three kilometres from here. Mmm it’s a stretch, but I can make it – if I leave Right Now and keep up the same pace for the next six and a half hours!!
Look, we’ll figure it out. I’ve stayed forty-five minutes, which is long enough (in theory), so I try to shake off the overwhelming urge to nap, get back up and at em !! I wave goodbye to Bike Guy as I leave, and he grins at me, wide and (literally) corny. He’s so funny I love him <33 What I do not love, however, it the fact that I can actively feel my skin frying.
It’s scorching, and I do n o t say that lightly. Immensely glad I reapplied sunscreen before I left, I continue on into the endless head. Truly feels like a summer day, though perhaps that isn’t great, because this is Europe and autumn. Yay, climate change!! But still, it takes me back to sitting outside school waiting for the bus, getting sunburnt through my jeans. Maybe not one of the main things I miss, but it’s a fun memory in hindsight. Breezy warm hits blaring, ready to get home and head to the beach – or straight to bed, depending on the day!
You head through a mini-intersection that is, at midday, completely dead. How surprising! I’m just following the backpack of the pilgrim in front of me, who is being accompanied (?) by someone else, someone older, sans backpack but with a fancy film camera and I’m s o intrigued – what are they filming? Is she the subject?? Did they just meet today?? What are their stories??
Not that I verbalise any of it, or take the opportunity to start a conversation – you’re getting way ahead of yourself, reader. Nah, I just sort of slink past them like a sad little creature and go on ahead. But, luckily for me, they stop anyway and I can zoom on into the shadows in peace, paused only momentarily by the big construction,,, digger (I only know the playing-with-children names for things, sorry!),, thing – y’know the one, Big Scoopy Truck with the Scoopy Arm and big flat wheels that are more like tracks. That thing! – which is currently scooping dirt out of the corners of the road, clearing a route for rain that never comes.
About halfway down the road, you’ll turn left down a grass hill, and follow that for ten minutes or so, and right as you start to think ‘man today just never ends, where the hell is Montréal-‘ BOOM there it is !!
