PART THREE: Family in France

An invitation to go to Amsterdam for the weekend was accepted with enthusiasm. The time had arrived. Family time in Europe. As I stepped off the train and headed towards the station a familiar face walked towards me with arms wide open. A teary reunion between mother and daughter in the run down train station of Amsterdam. After an afternoon of catching up, it was off to dinner and to explore the streets of Amsterdam by night. We made it to the Red light district, and not really knowing to expect I was stunned by what I saw. Ladies standing behind glass doors offering themselves to the drunken men on the streets and creating a demeaning tourist attraction. The smell wafting through the air and in the shops showed apparent sex and drug tourism that this city is know for - but which we only observed from a distance. My museum of choice for The Netherlands was Van Gogh’s exhibition, learning the history and life of a famous artist who struggled in existence and was sadly only recognised for his talent once he had left the earth. A too common tragedy. To end our time in Amsterdam we left the city and went an hours train ride to the beach, a swim in the North Sea was followed by an afternoon drinking rosé and eating mussels while lying in the sun. We were now ready for France.

Paris, the city of love, was the destination for our family reunion. Arriving in what seemed to be the servant courtiers of a historical hotel was actually a surprisingly spacious apartment in a thriving area of Paris. Excitement to be together with familiar faces lead to a week filled with laughter, biking through a busy city, and a realisation why this is one of the top tourist spots of the world with a reputation of style and beauty. The first day we set off on the bikes to explore the top areas of the centre - initially terrified by the busy traffic surrounding me (a bit different to the quiet villages I was used to) - I quickly learnt that when riding a bike in Paris, and throughout Europe, you are given more space and acceptance on the road. Something foreign to me coming from New Zealand. We biked under Eiffey, climbed the Arc de Triomphe, visited Victor Hugo’s house to see a literacy hero of his day, went to the Notre Dam, biked to canals and to parks and sat at riverside with beer. We ate snails, confit de canard and creme brûlées. We drank champagne with sweet treats, and rosé with cheese. We began each day with croissants and pain aux chocolate. A real treat to all senses. 

One sunny afternoon in Paris, after a day biking around the city, we decided to rebel and do something that had been on our minds for a while. We found the location and sorted the pricing and followed the friendly Parisian down the stairs to the waiting room in a dungeon concrete basement. We sat on the rounded purple velvet seats and giggled nervously at our plan. Then the time arrived, the workbench was set up and sterilised and my companion stepped up to take the plunge first. Shared gazes, a few photos, a switch over and a re-sterilisation and we were the proud owners of a sibling inspired design. Care instructions were explained and we left, once again giggling - will be hard to forget this souvenir, a tattoo from Paris.  

Next we jumped in our rented car and headed south. An afternoon in Versailles to watch a ridiculous but entertaining fountain show timed to classical music - the water shooting up and falling in an artistic display. Drinking orange juice while surrounded by the abundance of orange trees in the impressive gardens. A night in the countryside was followed by a bike trip to the Villandry Castle with yet another extensive garden, filled with a colourful diversity of vegetables. Then we were on the road again and planned a detour to check out an architecture school in the back roads of France. Our Google Guide took us the adventurous way - coming in the “forbidden” road - a sign we must have missed. As we searched for the restaurant we came across a large building with people eating in an outdoor courtyard. Slightly lost we were welcomed by a tall man who himself looked rather confused at what we were doing there. He offered us what was left of the students lunch as we sat down to enjoy a meal with the founder of this 25 year old school. It was set up to create a space for students to explore their creativity, and work on the many projects surrounding the area where we ate. Our host generously took the time to explain the history and gave us a quick tour of the main building where the students worked in the old horse stables that had been renovated. It was a large space with an array of chair styles and art works - including a large wooden door donated from Rudolf Steiner, the founder of an alternative education.  Alexander von Vegesack was our tour guide and continued his hospitality even after he realised the mistake we had made. We checked out some of the projects which were alternative buildings such as a traditional bamboo hut donated by Japan, and other designs that the students had worked on next to the fields surrounding the disney castle and the horse stables. 

After 2 days travelling we arrived at our destination, a Castle set in an open grounds surrounded by trees, a pool to refresh after a hot day, and an old grey structure where we would lay our heads to rest after the festivities. Here we would witness a French wedding - over the course of 3 days - filled with great food, wine and friendly French community accepting a Kiwi into their family. The wedding had the first ceremony at the “Hotel de Ville”, the local town hall. We were welcomed by the Mayor who prepared an introduction in English for the foreign guests in the audience. This followed by a tearful ceremony in the gardens. A beautiful bride surfacing from the castle doors like a princess walking through the gardens to her smiling husband to be. Both sides of the couple relayed translations for the readings and vows in French and English. A unity of languages and cultures. In true French style there was Champagne, Fois Gras, a 4-course meal of seafood, veal, cheeses and dessert. To be burned off afterwards dancing to the band into the early hours of the morning. Beautiful day to share with a cool couple in a castle in France.

The moment arrived to step away form my failing French and be a helpful translator as we crossed the border to Spain to spent a night at St. Sebastian. First stop was the lookout on top of the hill looking over the beach and the town. An unexpected theme park met us on top of the mountain, it seemed to be abandoned and a strange companion for the new hotel set up at its side. We climbed the towering stairs of a castle tower that was the home of the old lighthouse. The top of the tower claimed to be the “most beautiful view in the world”. It could be up there. The heat made the only option for the afternoon to head to the beach. The clear blue sea welcomed us and woke us up for an evening of Pinchos (Spanish tapas). People crowded around the bars where the benches were lined with small plates of food.  We joined in with the tradition to throw our serviette on the floor if the food was enjoyed. A visit to a few bars left us satisfied and ready to head back to France. After following a tourist tram through the streets of Biarritz to see the top spots of the town we arrived in Hossegor for a few days in the sun. We lay on beach, and watched the lightning storms by night and crazy waves by day that sucked the children in the ocean with the undertow of the sea. It was then time to drive back to Paris and ready for the next stage. My French adventure was over. Time to explore what more Europe has to offer. 

Dedicated to my family and friends who never seise to surprise me with their cool traveller ways. And for adding a new and fabulous dimension to my European adventure. And thanks to Gloria Google for taking us on a fun detour or two. 

PART TWO: Farms in France

After only a week at La Ferme de l'Öko Pain in Martigne-Ferchaud I was united with the natural way of thinking. I sleep in a caravan in my own private part of the farm with 6 black sheep, a pond full of ducks, a plum eating donkey and her two cow friends as my neighbours - with a view of the organic fields, 2 greenhouses and fruit trees out my window. There is also section of sunflowers that lightens my day every time I see them. Such a peaceful setting to absorb the life of a farm in France. 

I was greeted at the train station by my host, who I found out was American and therefore spoke perfect English (well, American English), and her two dogs - Layla and Tinker. We pulled up to the farm and a large smile seeped from my mouth. It was an old stone farm house with turquoise painted window frames and another stone barn where the wheat and rabbits were kept. There were old machines, broken down bits and a free growth of greenery surrounding the house - very different from the more structured German farm I had experienced - I knew I was going to like it here. I was shown around the farm, to the fields and introduced to her husband, the French farmer, and eventually her daughter, a joyful 7 year old who had placed a selection of sunflowers in my caravan from the diversity grown on the farm. The first week was a bit out of routine as the daughter and her dad were involved in a local show and had rehearsals and the main event until 1am every evening, all week. On the Saturday night we went along to check it out and I was amazed by the diversity and entertainment that surfaced from this small village - from the young children to the oldies everyone had their part to play. The show displayed the 4 elements - there was a fairy for each earth, air, water and fire. Each with their own spectacular part - the fire and finale were dazzling with hundreds of bowls of fire in a line creeping slowing across the lake surface and fireworks exploding from around the surrounding lake. Another favourite scene was the kids in training for the circus who had their moment to shine and show the flexibility and talent that would only grow with age. To top it all off there was a gang of geese trained to follow the light and dressed in florescent pink bow ties who walked past the water buffalos on their way to the fields. This is the kind of village I want to spent a month exploring.

Life on this small farm had a great diversity of activities from picking beans; collecting and planting tomato and cucumber plants; weeding; collecting berries for jam; feeding the rabbits, chickens, dogs, cats, and ducks; and preparing meals and delights in the kitchen from the produce picked in the fields. One of my favourite activities was picking berries and watching them transform and be made into jam and a beautiful raspberry tart - this started to form dreams of becoming a berry farmer. I enjoyed doing the first step in the blackberry jam one night - from blackberries I had gayly picked all morning while the bushes were being torn from the fence. Battling with thorns, stingy needle and hard to reach places I collected as many as I could until my hands were blood red with juice and my belly was full from very necessary patch testing. As the berries cooked in the kitchen there was a sweetness and a delightful smell flowing through the house. When the weather permitted we enjoyed long delightful meals over a mix of languages, with melons straight from the greenhouse accompanying most meals and stuffed vegetables with a selection of goodies from the farm and frozen animals from previous stock that didn't make it to the summer. Some of my favourite meals were fish and salmon cooked on a grill over the fireplace with a butter and shallot sauce accompanied by a fruity organic wine. Also the veal from my neighbours child, and delicious home made sausages, even some black pudding grown on the farm, were true pleasures to the tastebuds. Discussion freely flowing over alternative ideas to living and knowledge shared over coffees, wines, beers and delicious organic chocolate. Observing the beauty of living by locally made produce, thinking about the impact of finding pride in growing a few things for ourselves, and stopping every now and then to think about where the food on your table came from (I don't mean the supermarket), what process it went through to get there and how much we need of it. Consider what waste is unnecessary in our everyday life and find joy in the food you eat and pleasure in each bite. One day a reporter from the local radio station came to interview me and the family about WWOOFing; why I was doing it, what I had to do, if there were any obligations and what I had learnt. We found common language of Spanish so the interview was conducted in a mix of French, Spanish and English. French questions put to the family were lost to my ears and later listening to the short summary of the interview on the radio I didn't quite catch all of it but heard my voice in Spanish translated over top of in French. Some visitors that came to the house joked that I was now famous in Martigne-Ferchaud. 

Thursday is baking day, and one of my favourite days of the week. The bread is prepared in the bakery attached to the house and cooked in the wood fire oven where a beautiful smell and a strong heat is given off throughout the day. We started to prepare the dough at 6.30am, only 80 kilograms of bread were needed today. In a wooden trough, made specially for preparing the dough, we mixed the flour with the water and rising agent - the organic flour is milled on the farm and grown in the area by the baker himself. As I observed it being merged together I looked forward to the moment I could get my hands in it. Two mountains of flour falling from the side creating a thick paste like a volcanic lake to make what would be our dough. After letting the dough rise a couple of hours , and enjoying a coffee and a moment, it was time to divide it off into small sections, weighing them and then kneading them into small balls. As 10 years of experience worked quickly at my side and talked through the process I was thankful for the time he took to explain and give me the opportunity to work with the dough. We then shaped the dough and let it rise once again. The oven was prepared by creating a small fire inside and slowly growing it with oak wood supplied in the area. As the fire got bigger a white surface began to form. Once the large stone roof of the oven was fully white, about a 2 hour process of heating, it was time to put the bread it. It was accompanied with pizzas prepared from the dough for our lunch. Once the bread was complete the heat was used to cook pate, beetroots, plum pie and other delights to get the most out of the wood fired heat. A real treat for the senses as the sourdough bread was removed from the oven and placed on the cooling racks. 

While letting the bread sit, we prepared the vege boxes for the market and did the deliveries of the bread to surrounding community groups. Every Thursday there is a small local market with a few stalls selling fruit, eggs, yogurt, vegetables, bread (that I had helped create that morning) and a small selection of animal products. All from local farms, a community of farmers supporting each other - and opening their barn doors for me to experience a diversity of production in the area. One day I went back to the dairy farm where the market is held and spent a day exploring the family collaboration. A father, whose friendly smile always made me feel welcome, had a history of working with cows - growing the hay and pasture to produce organic meat. His daughters had returned with their partners to the farm to start their own projects, adding a selection of hens for egg production and some ewes to create tasty sheep milk yogurt. I woke up earlier than usual and headed to the farm, first stop to milk some ewes. A open barn filled with ready animals waiting for the morning process. I was then on feeding duty as my companion milked, I got a few chances to apply the milking device and massage the utters of these calm animals busied by their food in the troughs in front of them. Once the milking was over and I filled the surrounding troughs with hay for them to eat, it was time to join one of the daughters for a coffee then a tour of the three age groups of chickens kept in separate areas around the farm. The chickens lived in big barns with plenty off outdoor area to roam during the day. We checked on them and collected the eggs that were laid on the the barn floor and not on in their laying beds - which ensure cleaner eggs. Then we visited the cows who had recently given birth as they were feeding, the calves were being checked to make sure everything was fine with them, before putting them all out in to the fields to feed on the pasture surrounding the barn. I was reunited with the ewes to put up a fence and move them out to the fields for the day so they had fresh grass to feast on and some open air. After they were happily nibbling away on the green land it was time to sterilise containers, ensure that things were hygienic and to make some yogurt from the freshly collected milk from the morning. I helped sterilise the caps and the jars while the milk heated and gave off a pleasant aroma. As the small room began to heat up I was grateful for an escape, a cup of tea and some fresh air. Then it was back to add the culture and bottle the yogurt. I was on cap placing duty and on placing the containers in a fridge that severed as an oven at 43 degrees. It would be a 2 and a half hour wait to cool the yogurt and move it to the fridge. It was time to return to my farm and thank a lovely family for allowing me to explore for a day their land and their ways. 

One weekend we were invited to a birthday lunch that became a 12 hour lunch with continual food, music and an interval of forest exploring. Another welcoming and charming family that always made sure there was food to be enjoyed, including oysters caught fresh from the coast, and wine to be drunk. After major feasting I headed into the neighbouring forest for a stroll. I managed to go an hour off track as I was surrounded by fields of maize and cows and fairytale paths leading to unknown depths of the forest. A fear of not finding the way back, overcome by thoughts trailing back to happy months spent and smiles shared that could only be reunited if I didn’t find my way out of this never-ending path and back to Anita’s house in the middle of the countryside, somewhere where I really had no idea where I was to begin with. A few hours after I left the lunch I found my way back to the train tracks and went the opposite way to where I had trailed off to. I saw dog and fresh shoe prints and was happy to be back on track. Once I made it back to the house I was met with smiles and relieved faces planning a search party with head torches and dogs if I strayed much longer in the unknown land. Then it was time for more feasting and some wine to accompany while I sat to rest my tired legs that had successfully returned me to where I belonged, in an adventure exploring a foreign land and enjoying the company of new faces and new lessons to be learnt. 

One rainy Friday afternoon I was invited to help out at a farm down the road. First we visited the pregnant pigs to check on them, they were restricted to iron bars with just enough space to move as protection for the piglets that would be killed if this surprisingly large animal were to roll on its side. The piglets were running around and aggressively nibbling at their mothers tit. Then it was time to feed the animals separated by age and size. I was left to feed the baby piglets and the 2nd stage and 3rd stage sizes. I was warned about the smell but it didn't hit me until I entered and felt the heat and heard the raw barks of the pigs scattering around in their overcrowd pens. My guide who was considering taking over the farm my was unsure about her future on this non-organic farm, and had the idea and plan to make the pigs organic. This would mean a better standard of living conditions. These animals lived in their poop. There were metal grates below them but the stained piglets to pigs lived each moment with the stench and mess of each of their companions. If organic they would need straw beneath them and would have a restriction to the number of animals per pen. They would also be feed organic feed, not full of the antibiotics that accompanied their lunch and dinner - which stops disease spreading in the excrement filled pens mixed with the overwhelming 26 to 30 degree heat. However, once the feed is missed for a day the possibility of the death rate increasing is an issue: bodies dependent on these antibiotics. I may possibly not eat non-Organic pork again. A great experience. Then it was on to the cows for milking. Again not a favourable smell but a bit more space. It was time to round them up and into the metal walls that separated us from the cows, elevated to be able to reach the utters. As the cows rose from their hay feasts and moved watery discharge, solid in its smell and colour, sprayed from their behinds. I was happy to witness this in the open room so that could learn quickly to get away with this occurred in the metal milking space. They almost got me once but avoided and a quick lesson learned and any attempt was a fail on their part for the remainder of my milking experience. We applied the soap to their nibbles, wiped it away and applied the milking device, then followed with a gooey strong smelling antiseptic. I only completed the whole process once - fear was generated when I was asked at the beginning if I was covered by insurance during Wwoofing, my mind wandered to the worst case scenario as these large animals kicked their legs around and swung their poo infested tails towards my face. I was put on the duty of soaping the nipples and then the antiseptic liquid afterwards. Not to do it if I was uncomfortable - which became more and more when the bottles were kicked out of my hand a few times - I became quicker quite rapidly. I escaped at the first opportunity to start the long process of relieving myself of the stench now impeded into my skin. I do not think milking cows or pig farming is my calling on this planet.  

My last weekend on my French farm started on a stunning Saturday. I enjoyed a family lunch at the Granddad’s house near Rennes with continual food flowing, and coffee and chocolate to follow of course. Then a trip to a local castle where a 90 year old lived and had a long history in the village as her husband purchased the castle to put in a blacksmith workshop many years ago. We went for a walk around the lake, and then had a quick tour of the home of a lady living in a tower next to the castle that was built in the 14th Century as a fortress. On the way home we stopped at a creative garden where many gardening ideas where planted in my mind and a display of innovation with recycled materials mixed with growing produce. Summer events were held in the garden and that night there were tales being told in different areas of the garden. There were red recycled chairs with stacks of straw for the attendees. Some of the areas to explore were a children's game area, a sound garden with instruments made out of gardening products, and a wooden chicken coup where the chickens were loose to roam around the high plants accompanied with yellow umbrellas. The next day was a sunny Sunday spent cleaning out the rabbit coup, feeding the animals, checking on some shocked ducklings and safely returning them to their mother, and pruning some roses. It ended with a theatre show at the castle of Chateaubriant, a town near by. It was an amazing display of theatrical scenes enjoyed even though an uninterpreted language was spoken. The scenes moved around the grounds following our guide, a man in the black hat and white gloves - and the sound of the saxophone surfacing from the next stage. A humorous display of French culture and all for free in the outdoors of these historical grounds. Over summer this is the regular venue for outdoor theatre and we had the pleasure of witnessing another show a couple of weeks earlier based around a car and two stranded newly weds. The point at the end was raised about the need for continued support from the government to fund artists which is being fought for and would be a shame to lose. The Roche aux Fees was another venue we visited for evening shows, it is an historical area where some rocks were stacked and there is a questionable theories behind how they were formed. The first spectacular was outdoors, next to the rocks, where we watched a hilarious magic show where the guy was accidentally locked in a glass tank, and with no room to take in air (using some special breathing technique rather that trickery, I believe). At one stage the curtain was pulled and it looked like he was dead, but instead he was just sleeping under the water bored by his companions magic trick. The next week we went back for more and Paul Keaton the clown was there to entertain us. In his show we were kept waiting while a “technician” waited for the actors - finally he said he would do the show and he transformed from a angry bored assistant to the main act which ended with some breakdancing on a unicycle, well played.

Back on the farm I was having an fun time getting to know the animals that surrounded me each night as I slept. During the afternoon I would watch the ducks waddle past the cows and the donkey for their afternoon stroll, while the sheep ran past and the dogs observed them without confrontation. One day it became apparent that someone was eating the tomatoes in the greenhouse, first suspects were the mice. Then they were reaching higher and higher and it was considered to be the ducks - on their afternoon walk. I spent the morning collecting the half eaten tomatoes (only the ripe ones, at least the offenders had taste). While the ducks were conspiring to take on the greenhouse, waddling over in a line formation to avoid suspicion, I was keeping my eye on them. After being attacked by a protective mother that morning whose ducklings had just hatched - lesson learnt - I was beginning to doubt the innocence of these animals that sleep silently next to my caravan. As I went back to collect the full bucket of eaten tomatoes I saw the mother duck waddle past where a gate had been put to keep them out. I hid and watched her, as she watched me and returned to the flock. I watched them from my caravan in the afternoon and saw as they slowly got closer and closer to the fence, squeezing through and thinking I was no longer watching them went into trees next to the greenhouse. I went around the barn and entered the other side to find them in the tomatoes. I ran down, hands slapping, and yelling to chase them out and followed them to find mum near the trees and dad on guard near my caravan. The flock rejoined and the young ducks stayed in the field to conspire. I returned 20 minutes later to find the young ones back crossing the fence - they saw me and turned around. They snuck back through the fence and pretended that they were always on their way back to the pond and not to the greenhouse. They headed back past the donkey - past me waiting with dogs at my side and waddled all the way back to the pond where they stayed. Duck watch was no longer needed the next day when my attempts to scare them failed and another fence was put up around the greenhouse to protect the tomatoes. 

Sitting in the caravan surrounded by what has now become a familiar setting, shared with the animals and the family that will be missed, I feel calmness. A month on the farm has helped me to clarify the thoughts of this Kiwi making a big adventure in the other side of the world. Of the many things I have learnt in my time here: about organic farming methods, how to make German Plum cake and jam and pickles, how to bake great bread, feed animals,  about life on a farm, how to get out of being lost in a forest, and how interchange in a local community can work - all things I will consider in moving forward - there is one lesson learnt that will always stick with me: Ducks like ripe tomatoes. 

Dedicated to Kim, Sam and Lili at La Ferme de l'Öko Pain and to the surrounding farms who welcomed me and made my month here a pleasant and educational experience in the French countryside. And for reminding me why organic goodies are the way forward and sharing with me a taste of farm life and the rising business of bread making. 

Friends, Farms and Family in France - PART ONE: Friends in France

A moment of true happiness and an unavoidable smile as three dirty tired mountaineers approached their destination to spend a night in a truly magnifique setting. 

After three days walking, two nights sleeping in a tent on the mountains edge awaken by the cows surrounding our tents - no other people to be seen for the better part of the last 24 hours - to sing our way through the Bear’s Lake, to cross the snow at point of “life at risk” and to the survive the storms threatening lightning - we had now conquered Vallee du Soussoueou - and we were on the last climb up to where we would be feed and enjoy a bunk bed at Le Refuge d’Arremoulit. It was a surreal moment arriving to this lake surrounded my mountains dusted with snow. This is what travel is for, once again realised, for doing the things you never imagined you would do. 

ARRIVING IN FRANCE:

After a long day of a flight, a train trip, a bus ride and metros finally arrived at destination: France - for an evening listening to jazz in a smoke filled lounge enjoying French cheese, cured meats, bread, red wine, pig pate and people with a range of languages being spoken - a grand way to start a two and a half month affair with France. 

The next day we went on a tour of the small city, Rennes, which went through historical old building and lead to the gardens to smell the roses. Then we went on a beautiful bike ride along the river to a small village - Bretton - a quick nap in the gardens and it was time for a beer in the sun. A couple more beers lead to a dance off in the kitchen and laughter shared with friends, old and new. Eating cheese, saucisson, bread, croissants and making chocolate eclairs was the beginning of what would be a rich food festival for my first taste of France. C’est tres bon! Then it was time to move on to the beach to stay at a family batch passed down through generations beside the sea, which would cover my head while dreaming through the dark hours of the day. An excited family thrilled by the arrival of their daughter, cousin, niece and sister. After a quick dip in the sea - first tempting self with feet in and then making the plunge and thankful for the decision. A reminder of the appreciation of the open sea with waves to crash around in - a welcome change from the rivers which were enjoyed but didn't hold the same excitement as the wild sea. Many dinners shared on the large outside table where traditional long lasting feasts were shared with a family reconnected over the summer holidays. Firstly, the aperitif, followed by salad, main meals of Ratatouille or baby Mussels - always followed by cheese and bread and samples of Grandad’s wine bottled in the 40’s. The blue cheese awoke my senses and sent me into a dreamy state of thanks of being in France and able to enjoy le fromage and the fruit of the moment: delicious melon. An evening after a day spent swimming in the sea starts with Champagne once all members of the family had arrived to join the gathering at the seaside. The night ended with traditional songs from the area and some more recognisable songs preformed by brothers with a common talent with the guitar. As observed from the eyes of a non-French speaking Kiwi - missing her own family un peu. The next day the guitars came out again for an afternoon dancing to the songs with friends and family. 

We went on a day trip to Nantes, a couple of hours, to catch up with la otra pinche francesa. We watched a friend sing and play the trumpet at her fathers side on their mobile stage. Beautiful French tunes in the outdoor setting as a large mechanical Elephant strode past, in the Machines of Nantes, famous for its mechanical animals. Then onward for a tour of the town made rich by the planning and return trip of ships carrying slaves from Africa to the Americas and then the goods produced shipped to Europe on the return trip through this Port in Nantes. Ending the day with a beer enjoyed with old flatmates under the French sun as music plays at our side.

It was time to head south. A road trip treat for the eyes once the landscape changed to the pleasant view of fields and fields of bright sunflowers which were soon accompanied by vineyards and vineyards as we approached the wine area of Bordeaux. A mix of French, Spanish and English were spoken with my travel companions, sometimes getting a bit lost in translation:

Driver: Whats that ball for? (Squeaky ball removed from bag)

Me: Its for my ANKLE.

Driver: Is your UNCLE a dog? 

After an overnight stop at a village - population 250: it was time to head to Les Pyrenees - the mountains in the South-West of France. The long drive south was rewarded with winding roads with valleys, waterfalls and greenery that was a breathe of fresh air. We packed up our bags and head to the mountains and into the unknown. The first part of the climb was up on rugged paths with 15kgs on my back which gave me, within the first hour, some large blisters which would make the next few days a challenging but rewarding few days. We arrived at the first hut to find that it was filled with rubbish, a strange smell and a small brick cover that was not a preferable shelter. Too late to move on we decided to set up our tents beside it and and make our camp for the night at the foot of the mountains. The morning we refreshed ourselves with the water running straight down from the glaciers from the mountains above - fresh water to fill our bottles and wash our faces. We set off and up to the top of a nearby mountain that lead to a beautiful lake between the two peaks. Half way up at the point of  tears I realised that I had managed to wear away the skin on the back of one of my heels - after a stop to put fresh plasters and find motivation to keep going up up up - I found it in the heart shape that had formed on my heel, blood pumping through - a delight for being among the mountains and challenged to continued on. We made it to the top and dropped our bags off to run up higher and look out over the lake where we would enjoy our lunch and a sleep in the sun. Then it was a steep and sharp trip up, over and out of France down in to the Spanish Valley. A knowable change from greetings of “Bonjour “ to “Hola” told us we had succeeded in crossing over into Spain. A long and hot walk down the mountain side on a not so easy path was enjoyed for the scenery it offered, and that fact there was a beer waiting for us on arrival at the Refugio.  Finally arriving a coke to replenish lost sugars was quickly followed by a beer that half way through began to effect us and make the setting up of the tent a little bit of fun. An early night to rest and prepare for another day of walking up up up but then back to the car for a couple of days rest. We began heading up the path that we had descended down the day before. A different harsh landscape from the greenery and wild flowers we had seen the day before was admired for its diversity. We arrived at the top after 3 hours of ascent up the mountain side just as the rain began and we found ourselves amongst the snowcapped mountain. A moment to appreciate the circle of mountains surrounding us and a climb (without bags thankfully for a moment) to a peak for a better view of our neighbouring abundance of cliff tops. 

It was then to Garvarnie for a beer, a campsite, some baguettes, cheese and saucisson enjoyed by the turquoise riverside running down off the surrounding cliffs. To laugh away the mental and physical challenges of the last few days as pleasant experiences while we enjoyed a traditional mountain dinner of potatoes, cheese and ham while the storm began and we giggled at the thought of our tents flying off into the mountains as the hail fell and the wind picked up. The next day was a perfect start to the day waking up with the Cirque de Garvarnie, the highest waterfall in France, as the first view I saw when surfacing from my tent (which had impressed me by surviving the storms thunder and lightning and wind that had threatened it the night before). A breakfast of Pain au Chocolat and coffee to set us up for a days drive to Albi for an unexpected stop to a historical town to enjoy another extended family meal with many courses, with wine and cheese and french language flowing from all sides with a confused observer trying to pick up a few words here and there. The next day I took myself on a tour of the town, through the gardens and parks, along the riverside and through the small cobblestoned streets. Then out to the countryside to set up tents on the family land that overlooked the houses that winded up to the top of of a hill to create a delightful petit village, Cordes sur Ciel. We stayed next to an uninhabitable family home that hadn’t been lived in since the 1940’s - with a newly installed bathroom that had one of the most luxurious showers I had ever seen - shame there wasn’t, nor had there ever been, running water to enjoy this extravagance. After a couple of nights staying on this land, drinking red wine in the evening and walking through the fields in the day, following the same paths that their grandparents had walked to reach their school daily, and exploring the tiny cemetery where the family had been laid to rest since 1624, it was then time to head back to the mountains… 

We found a campsite in Argeles Gasost to enjoy some wine under a tree next to the tents with the distant sounds of the river flowing in and the backdrop of mountains - and prepare for the next hike into the mountains that would have us returning to the same camp spot 5 days later, smelly, dirty, hungry but completely satisfied having explored and learnt some much about the mountains and about self in a few days getting immersed into the mountains of the French Pyrenees. 

The 5 day Hike of the Least Efficient Mountaineers -

DAY ONE: Up into the clouds - THE MIST.

We enjoyed a quick breakfast and packed up our tents and had our last hot shower for a while. We got last minute survival supplies: baguettes, cheese and saucisson and then packed bags and headed up into the valley leading to the surrounding mountains. After a couple of hours through the bush and up a valley we arrived at the snow where we were meet by horses and donkeys happily walking along the frozen cliffside. Then it was our turn to stumble up the side of the frozen land - to reach the top to look out over the peak and down into the lake below. Lunch time and a waiting game for the clouds to clear so we could see the path to take. The suns reflection on the ripples in a calm lake surface. A mini iceberg gently drifting within reach. A waterfall from the surrounding glacier and the accompanying birds that can be heard but not seen due to the mist - an afternoon spent in the clouds that kindly opened up at intervals to display the beauty of the surrounding landscape we had climbed up and into. An escape to a mountain top where the ice allowed no passage and the only way is down… As the clouds grew thicker and a mist surrounded us we decided that the day was coming to an end and we should head down to the lower lake to make camp for the night as the path down (and to a warmer climate a bit further from the iceberg filled lake) was hidden by the mist. We decided we would need to sleep three in a tent made for one to get through the cold night high in the sky. Like Sardines in a can we slept through the night. Aware of the passing curious cows that sniffed the rocks surrounding our tent to protect it from be trampled by the herd walking down to its sleeping ground. 

DAY TWO: Don’t look down. THE SNOW.

Waking to sit on a rock and watch the mountain peaks in the distance slowly eaten and released by the clouds… 

A detour track found up the other side of the mountain meant the path down was not needed. A physical challenge intensified by the arrival of small snow crossing needed high up and arriving at a point of no return - only way forward - onwards and upwards. Attempts to avoid the snow making situation more difficult that necessary. To arrive at rivers to cross where water could be collected to continue day in the heat of the sun contrasting with the cool touch of the snows surface. Lunch at the riverside of couscous, cheese and tomatoes and sardines - last of fresh supplies. A long day where once we got clear of the snow we started a race against the clouds that threatened once again to hide our way forward. We finally made it to a shelter to set up our tents and let our exhausted bodies rest, ready for the last major hike across a valley and up into the other side. Again woken in the morning by more curious cows with their bells braking their fast near our tents. 

DAY THREE: Surviving the Vallee of Soussoueou to arrive to the magnifique setting. THE RAIN.

Day started in the rain with the paths hidden by the mud… few moments - gladly didn’t come to anything - where we almost turned back. Some marks in the mud which were assumed by fellow hikers to possibly be bear prints. This lead to a high pitched choir heading into the depths of forest (influence for later tunes). We slid over rocks and constantly checking the outgoings of animals to assess which animals had recently passed by the path and left behinds its mark and breakfast on the path. Then there was a sign of human life as a tourist train tooted in the distance up above, a track we had to climb to and cross to continue our way to our final destination. Swampy paths, rivers crossed, horses passed and a walk up up up where we made it to the cafe placed in middle of nowhere for the tourist train. People having paid their 19 Euros to arrive in the valley where we surfaced from dirty and with huge smiles after walking 3 days to get here. Then the last hike up to the mountain to the refuge that was waiting for us to offer a candlelight dinner and a sheltered sleep from another cool iceberg lake that lay beside us in this freezing summer evening. 

DAY FOUR: Up and over to Spain. THE ICE.

A calming start to the day being served real coffee and a chance to refresh supplies. The concerning part of the day was the beginning - so we could then continue into an enjoyable afternoon in the sun. Starting to feel a bit more a ease with the snow, another challenge set as the snow was still ice, not yet touched my the sun. A path was not yet made for us to cross, so we all had a go at making our own little path to lead the others across. we made it and once again with big smiles for having learned a new skill and having made it to a new peak to head up and over to Spain. 

Climbing down the mountain side the choir was created: our mornings walk lead to our name - “The Least Efficient Mountaineers” as we took almost two hours to cross a path that took most 40 minutes. Top Hits: Staying Alive - “Ah ah ah ah Staying Alive Staying Alive” Sung in high pitched voice with fear trembling in the vocal cords - influenced by bear walk through the forest the day before. Another hit single, Rhythm of the Hike - “This is the Rhythm of the hike, the hike, oh yeah, the hike. This is the rhythm of my life, my life, oh yeah.” 

A long lunch by a glorious lake to watch the brave ant-like people on the surrounding mountains crossing paths that made our 5 -10 meter snow crossings (they had been longer the day before) look like childs play. Another river to cross and a few more unavoidable snow spots with paths well set from many walkers already having crossed this day to make the last hour hike. We arrived at the Spanish Refugio where we could get another hot meal and find a place to set our tents, have a couple of beers and enjoy our last night in the mountains - beginning to relax by the lakeside in the sun and consider the success of our trip. Only one more days walk. 

DAY FIVE: This is the end, the only end my friend. THE SUN.

Tired bodies on our last climb up the mountain to confidently cross the snow lined tip and over down into the valley - a mere few hours walk to our car, to civilisation and to a hot shower. One more lunch shared at the riverside of 2 minute noodles and tuna - then to be pleasantly surprised but slightly disappointed by an easy walk down, no major challenges or cliffs to conquer, just a stroll down and out of the mountains which so kindly had hosted us for the last 5 days. There were many smiles and laughter to have completed the circle and have arrived for a real meal of salad, Confit de canard, hand made fries and a creme brûlée accompanied with some nice French wine. Full bellies off to sleep well and rest our tired eyes. 

To end this journey with friends in France we took a trip further south and into Spain for a few days at the Mediterranean Sea - three days swimming in the open sea to wash away the grime that had imbedded itself into our pores after 5 days hiking in the mountains. Sitting in Cadaques - a whitewashed village on the Costa Brava, offering beaches to explore and tapas to enjoy - after a thrilling and invigorating time in the mountains we finished on the edge of the sea, as all great adventures should, with a pint of beer and a pizza shared with friends.  

Dedicated to the Santa Faustina and Vincent for their generosity and laughter - for showing me the beauty of France and its mountains, and for sharing lots of saucisson and cheese with me. And for quite possibly putting me off sardines for life.