Thursday 13th April
I was sitting atop a little hill in the middle of a roundabout, making lunch, overlooking the quiet roads, enjoying the view of the distant rolling hills. “Wait, is that a pack cover? That’s a bloody hitchhiker!” He stepped out of the car near the roundabout, a young Frenchman. We chatted over a couple dry sandwiches. He had a week off work, to go hiking, camping and surfing. We were both headed to Bordeaux and the West Coast, and decided to try travel together together… I figured, surely with two people, two guys none the less, it must be harder. I was utterly stunned when literally the first car to drive by stopped.
Seems many people in this area only speak French, so having Arthur to translate was a big bonus. He is a brilliant conversationalist, always talking to people and making them laugh. We are similar in many ways, and got along well. After waiting for fifteen minutes on a bus with no driver, we decided there must be cameras; they’re just fucking with us. That’s what we’d do, if we had control. Fuck with people. I pull out one of Callum’s standard lines; “What would you do if you were a dictator?”
Of course, it’s important that people are highly educated. Everybody would have to study math for one hour a day. It’s important that the government is transparent with its people. The government website would have the answer to literally anything you, a citizen, might need. All the laws and the regulations, the bus timetables, the answers to the weekly math test. It’s all there, everything, on the home page. The only page. Ctrl-f would zoom in.
We were dropped at a major toll booth and waited for ~15 minutes for someone to stop. Arthur chatted up the driver, then asked me, “Do you want to go to the coast, or do you want to go to Marseilles?”
With a little hesitation – “Fuck it – let’s go to Marseilles!”
We squeezed into this raggedy little car, five people, my head cocked against the ceiling. Almost immediately, we took a wrong turn. We were headed backwards, to Lyon, where Arthur had started his journey. It didn’t take me long to realize Versailles and Marseilles are not the same place… Fuck it, be like the wind.
Our driver was kind, and dropped us near the base of Mont Carpiagne. A fair deal, in exchange to listening to your mix tapes for two hours. It took us three hours to the peak, including detours and exploration. But considering that, despite our giant backpacks we kept pace with a large group of joggers, your mileage may vary.
With a stunning 270° sunset – sunrise view of the city, and pitched camp nearby, the wind battering us, howling. I strapped up between the legs of a power pylon, uneven ground, with one end of the tarp a good metre above the ground. I knew it was a bad idea – but determined to have the coolest-ever-hammock setup, and armed with Arthur’s rock-stacking alternative to pegs, my stubborn ass stood ground.
Friday 14th April
3.15 am – The adjacent tie-down breaks. The lazy fucker I am, I knot it around my feet.
3.45 am – My butt is freezing. Something has shifted, I’m not certain how. I restack some rocks upwind.
6.00 am – I need a piss. I can’t leave my hammock without the tarpaulin going haywire, so I decide to pack down. I notice, those rocks I restacked… one of those lines is broken too, but by some miracle it still held together. I’m not sure even I understand how that could happen.
6:05 am – I discover the fourth upwind line has broken too. This one broke in-between the shock cord, which is how it’s intended to work.
The next day, the lady in the outdoor store is confused as to why on earth I need ten metres of this specific camping line. She was rather sweet, and gave us an amazing camping recommendation!
We climbed back down the mountain towards the city, wandered the streets of Marseilles, went for a swim, and retired in the prettiest hostel I’ve ever seen. [Editor’s note: I really should have written more about Marseilles, but alas.]
Saturday 15th April
We went on to Montparnasse and did much of the same – though far prettier a city! We set up camp at a local rock-climbing place, just a short bus ride on the city outskirts. After a few drinks at the top of the baby cliff, Arthur said something I shall not forget. “Your mind is like a garden. The more you nurture it, the more it will grow, the more resilient it will become. You must plant it with solid, diverse, healthy plants, such that even in absence of conscious effort, it can continue to flourish, a stable ecosystem.” Easier said than done?
Sunday 16th April
Arthur and I split ways in the morning. It’s late here at the train station in Perpignan, “the centre of the universe”. I’m prepared to find these secret hot pools, deep in the Pyrenees Mountains.