Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.
Whatta lotta notta lot. Every holiday has a day like this. This holiday had more than one.
Paddling down the Ardeche river on a beautiful sunny day, accompanied by lots of French people.
A small town in the Ardeche across from Vallon Pont d’Arc, where we stayed for most of a week.
French motorways on a Saturday in August. Why, oh why did we plan to change locations on a Saturday?
School geography had a lot of stuff about glaciation. The Pyrenees are ideal for a refresher field trip.
Glaciated valleys tend to be steep at the bottom and flatten out as you get higher. We didn’t get that high.
The Col du Tourmalet and the Pic do Midi de Bigorre. The Col is a long way up, but the Pic is further.
We decided to get out of the rain by visiting a cave where water was literally pouring out of the ceiling.