Month: August 2015

I met a true polyglot last night; the receptionist at the hostel. Just for fun he carried on a group conversation in Chinese, French, German, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, and English, speaking to everyone in their native tongue. Cassidy, a woman from China touring France for a month, chatted with me for a while afterwards and in the morning. She heads home in a week, musing that the month wasn’t enough time to see everything in France.

Taking advantage of a hostel benefit, I took the opportunity to resupply. Hostels usually have food left as over from the tenants, things sold in quantities larger than a quick meal. Dish soap, pasta, salt, and oil all made their way into my kitchen kit. In return I left almonds and crunchy muesli, neither a valid choice for the while.

I almost had a hostel room to myself again last night, but when I finally went to bed, a suitcase rested in the vacant room. I left one of the small bed  lights turned on to avoid the usual late arrival turning on the ceiling light. That worked out, I awoke only at my usual time to find someone sleeping nearby.

The weather forecast for the next week or so looks great, cloudy or sunny and cooler. After wending my way down from the Carcassonne fortress I headed out of town. Of the many kinds of days, today I just wanted to be somewhere else. While working my way out of town took the usual hour to find my way out of town and settled into a routine, the the day went quickly.

I followed the canal out of town, and switched to the more direct highway for the first 30 km until Castelnaudary. Along the way I saw the usual skyline profile of a castle and tower, but closer inspection showed only a cleverly designed water tower. When the highway path changed, I switched back to the canal. Initially I regretted that swap, as the canal path didn’t let me get up to full speed, and I better understood the comment of another cycling couple about sliding off the loose gravel into the canal. After the first 10 km the path improved to highway-quality, sans traffic. Full speed comes with additional meaning today, as I came screaming into Toulouse, hot as could be due to the incredibly strong direct (and occasionally oblique) tailwind. The day off yesterday also helped my knee recover.

Carefully eating a plum, I lost the right replacement temporary filling. To my joy and surprise, no sharp shooting crippling pain; everything just aches a bit. No sucking air past the tooth though. I stopped calorie intake after that, making the final run into Toulouse with no problems. I intended to rebuild the filling (again) upon arrival at the hostel, delayed by the first hostel with no vacancies. At least they redirected me to a second hostel.

It’s good they did – I think the second hostel runs off the books. No sign exists at the entrance, so I’m glad for the directions from the first hostel or I would have been heading to the campground outside of town. My first impression less than positive, the hostel grew on me throughout the evening. After all, for the first time, I get to sleep in a triple bunk.

Repairs to the tooth on the other hand haven’t gone as well. I’d wondered even the last time I opened the dental cement that it remained soft instead of single use. Today proves a shelf-life, as most of the cement hardened; the little I could use no longer remains tacky. When the first repair failed in less than 24 hours, the odds of the second lasting for weeks on end, even as I have a better idea of how to apply it, are slim, and I doubt those odds improve as the cement dries out. I visited three pharmacies looking for a similar product, but no luck; one doctor said a similar product is no longer sold in France. I’ll try to track down a dentist in the morning here in Toulouse, the 4th largest city in France

Unfortunate, as I’m unimpressed with Toulouse, and hope to spend little time here. I have been accosted multiple times by those begging for change, including a group of young men under a bridge on the canal; if that hadn’t worked out I could be at the bottom of the canal. Homeless pitch tattered tents in the obscure edges of town. With no specific historic center remaining, little of the town history remains. Toulouse also has mimes.

Pouring rain outside, forecast to continue until 9 am tomorrow, so perhaps a later start to get to Tourist Information than originally planned. Glad I came to the hostel instead of my campground fallback plan.

I had the hostel room to myself last night, and a great night’s sleep, which I desperately needed. Upon waking I confirmed my decision to take the train to Carcassonne. Not feeling up to a 60 km bike trip, and no urge to remain in Narbonne. Eating breakfast, carefully, worked, but I still worried about the large filling on the right side, even eating on the left.

The hostel closing at 9:00 am and the train at 10:08 am meant waiting around at the train station. By the time the train arrived, I was in the right place, on the right platform, and had observed multiple other people on other trains with bikes. When the train rolled up, I rolled on-board. My most relaxing train experience yet.

I then watched multiple iterations similar to the “Berlin” scene(s) from the movie “Eurotrip”, except with the word “Carcassonne”, with people trying to figure out the correct train. Eurotrip could almost be a low-budget traveller documentary, just bumping up everything a notch for the movies. In town yesterday? A mime.

Arriving in Carcassonne without incident, I headed to the hostel, buried deep inside the fortifications. The GPS routed me using the most direct path, from the back of the fortress, wending my way into the walls, up cobblestone streets and flights of stairs. Fortunately I live by my rule of being able to carry your touring bike up a flight of stairs. A woman at the train station did not; I helped get her bike on and off the train platforms.

I arrived at the hostel before check-in, so wandered about town, planning to be back at 1:00 pm in order to check-in and make the walking tour at 2:00 pm. In order to not rush about, I skipped the main castle until the afternoon. Check-in worked, but the time I received for the walking tour was off by 30 minutes in the wrong direction (regardless, the tour was fully-booked). Off to the castle.

I carefully ate one of my sugar waffles while waiting in line at the castle. While touring the castle, I nonetheless noticed the right filling missing. Hmm. No immediate pain, and some time left to go on my ibuprofin, I finished the tour and headed back to the hostel. Using the dental temporary filling, I built a replacement, which so far holds better than the earlier one. Less pain too – I think the seal on the other one failed the night before at the restaurant.

The castle and walled city of Carcassonne exceeded my expectations. I still prefer Visby, Gotland, but only by the narrowest of margins and associations. The double walls of Carcassonne add something extra, and the inner city retains that medieval, twisty streets feel. As evening fell, warm winds ripped through the city, a regular occurrence, with the winds either warm from the Mediterranean, or bitter cold from the Pyrenees. I took the carriage tour of the inner walls, adding another mode of transport to the trip.

Right now my teeth ache a bit, but well within tolerable. I managed dinner (pasta and chili), and feel good about moving forward. Pain concerns me; as long as it holds off I’m ok. My first experience with a root canal was the sudden onset of extreme pain, hundreds of miles from home, an experience I’d prefer not to repeat. On the bright side, I’m no longer worried about the cost of a root canal in France. The temporary treatment for all four teeth (including two temporary fillings) was $57.

Tomorrow, all things remaining unchanged, I plan to cycle to Toulouse. I’m following a canal and a railway, so I hope to have easy roads and access to a nearby train. Carcassonne remained a destination I planned on from the onset of this trip; I’m grateful to have accomplished making the trip this far. I have only two remaining items on my actual itinerary: visiting my friend Fabrice in Pau, and the castle in Ireland I missed on our honeymoon.

I’ve received an outpouring of love and support from friends and family over the past couple of days based on recent events. I don’t know whether the trip outcome will change based on those events, but the response has been heartwarming.

Some have asked why I don’t/didn’t take a more proactive, legal, response. I gave that a lot of thought before I walked out of the med station. I’ll try once to sum up my various answers I’ve given. I’m in a foreign country and any legal response would likely be biased towards the locals. He only swung at me once, and can readily claim he defended himself and the waitress (however inaccurate I feel that is). The medics asked whether I’d been drinking – a normal question and perception of events, and at that point I was staggering and slightly slurring my speech.

I vacation at a level lower than most people experience, so ready access to people and transport means a radical adjustment from how most people think about travel. My address at the time? A campground, reserved for one night, 4 km outside of town. No concierge, no phon, no one who speaks English.

Entering the unknown legal system also likely means that becomes the end of my vacation. I’m not ceding that control; I’m moving on. I could be that angry indignant person, flailing away at the injustice,  but instead I’m living my life, my way. That’s not a goal I always succeed at, but I work on it, every day.

In all of my stress and exhaustion last night, I fell asleep with the tent unzipped. When I woke I killed all of the mosquitoes in the tent; by the time I was done the tent looked like an abattoir. Marnie found a dentist office open on Saturday. I left the campground to arrive at the dentists’ office by 9 am, but when I arrived the building, still labeled, looked empty and closed. In a complex of medical buildings, I found another building labeled for dentists, and headed in. I found a receptionist, but they would not see anyone without an appointment. Nothing more I could do, I headed into town for Tourist Information.

After some wrangling, Tourist Information finally suggested the best choice would be going to the hospital. I waited in line in the ER at the hospital emergency room, but they finally informed me they had no dentists, and no idea where one might be found. Having exhausted my options in town, I headed to the train station.

I hoped to grab a train to Toulouse, a much larger city with, hopefully, more dentists. I needed to arrive before 1-2 pm, when I figured everyone would close for the day. The ticket machines at the station were the first electronics (ATM, tickets, etc.) I have come across this trip that did not have a language-selection option. I muddled through, but could not identify which trains might permit bikes. Two information booths later, I knew which trains would accept bikes, and the next  wasn’t until 12:30 pm, arriving at 2 pm. Having hours to burn by that point, I headed back to Tourist Information.

I told the same woman as before that the hospital had no dentists. She said they should have been able to direct me, and I told here they had no idea. Then I chose to just stand there, not going away, awaiting more assistance. That was not the response she expected, but slowly started to search and query her colleagues. Eventually she turned up a dentist, with an appointment at 4:30 pm.

Now with a lot of time to kill, I moped. I wanted to print the insurance forms, but by the time I thought of using the public library they were closed. Back to Information, same person. She pointed me to a cyber cafe, closed until 3 pm. More moping.

At 3 pm I managed to print out the insurance forms, and also convinced the attendant to help get the cellular service I had bought the previous day working on my phone. Then back to Tourist Information to wait and use free wi-fi. And mope.

I showed up at the dentist’s office at 4:15 pm, and the receptionist helped me fill out the paperwork. I waited in the waiting room until about 4:45 pm, and then learned the receptionist is also the dentist. Four broken teeth. Two should hold until I get home, one she put a temporary filling in, and the other she put a filling in, but has some concerns about needing a root canal (which she can do next week if necessary), and whether her patch will hold, but she’s hopeful.

In other words, I should be able to move forward. I’m following a train line when cycling, so getting back to the dentist should be easy if required (I remember a similar theory about my luggage in Romania….). Not being 100% sure about the anesthetic wearing off, I’m staying in Narbonne at a hostel nearby. The hostel serves as a space reserved for international groups, that offers space to other travelers when open.  They close in the morning at 9 am because no groups have made reservations, so tomorrow will be an early start.

Having eaten precisely two sugar waffles today (in tiny bites) and waiting to let the fillings harden, I’ve failed on my calorie count for the day. Energy tomorrow will be hard to come by, so I might well take a train to Carcassone. That would also mean I’ll arrive earlier, and have more time there.   

Preliminary testing of soft Chinese food shows there’s some hope I can eat, but I’m going to change up my diet.

I left the campground in Agde at 9 am, and with good roads and a tailwind, was set up at a campground  outside Narbonne by 1:30 pm. I cycled into town, and found a street festival in progress.

I visited the local historical monuments, and wandered about waiting for the music to start at 5:30 pm. None of the music I could find appealed to me so, after wandering all over town, I threw caution to the wind and bought an actual hamburger, fries, and a drink from a street vendor and sat down to eat. As I was finishing up, the vendor from the adjacent booth started yelling at me, and I puzzled out the tables were his. I stood up, trying to finish off my burger, when a waitress grabbed my drink away from the table. I grabbed it back from her, and the next thing I knew I was regaining consciousness amidst a pool of soda and fries. Dazed, I realized the guy had hit me. Spitting out part of a tooth, I sat there dazed doing damage assessment; his blow broke or cracked at least three teeth. Someone at the vendor of purchase asked me to stay down and that she had called someone.

Two medics arrived and asked me to stand, and took me back to the medic stand for the festival. On the way there I realized everything was blurry because my glasses were missing; they said they would deal with that later.

I passed the, “who are you”, “how old are you”, “where are you” tests (the last took me a moment). They decided I didn’t have a concussion, and someone returned with my glasses. Declaring me fit, they said I could go. The odds of any legalities working out in my favor seemed slim, so I left.

I made it back to the campground by dark, and puzzled my choices. I carry temporary dental cement (I had a crown installed just before I left) and tried to fix the crack when I painfully realized that piece was loose. It is of course Friday, so everything likely closed for the next two days. My jaw hurts and will probably hurt like hell tomorrow. It’s swollen; I can’t quite close my mouth.

I reached out to Marnie, and we spent a while searching for a dentist open on a Sat. I went to bed with the plan of going to Tourist Info in the morning, and if that didn’t work grabbing a train to Toulouse, a much bigger city, and trying there.

I’m crushed. Dental in France isn’t really part of their national healthcare, three crowns will be expensive, and take days to weeks, and who knows how that will interface with my insurance. My best plan at the moment appears to be giving up – taking a train to Rosslaire, the ferry to Ireland, and changing to an earlier flight home. I worried about potential medical issues arising while I was gone, but I never expected they would be me.

Some days I have a long list of historical things I want to see. Other days I just want to make good time to wherever I’m headed next. Today I accomplished neither; my short day still took almost seven hours. As I adapt back to finding my own way, I make slower progress. A non-cycle path route also tends to be longer when staying off the main roads, because the roads go between small towns, which are not in a straight line. I’ve been cycling one gear-set up to make better time, because I have the power for it. My left knee now aches from the extra force, so I think I need to cut back on high gearing.

In leaving Montpelier, I stopped long enough to view the Arch du Triomphe (how many of these things are there?). I also came across the Roman aqueduct that used to bring water to the city.

Leaving the city took longer than usual, as my path out of the city merged with the confluence of multiple major highways, and a lot of up and down. I finally found the cycle path outside of town that I had seen on the map. After that I had dedicated cycle path, or at least my own cycle lane, most of the day. I would lose the path every so often, but I lose the path when it’s following roads, and I optimize path the same way those setting up the paths do, so I tend to reencounter the paths anyway.

I ate lunch alongside the Bassin du Thau, a large enclosed bay.  Some recent storm(s?) sunk a number of boats in the bay. Lost my towel there as well; it was wet from yesterday, and I had hung it on the bike to dry. The towel blew away in the wind, and I didn’t notice, so didn’t pack it back up. Oh well,  one morereason I carry three shirts.

My bike made a strange sound, and then an odd rubbing noise with each rotation. I first thought I had broken a spoke, and also confirmed the wheel rotated without contacting the brakes. I finally noticed a thorn in the tire, with a small part of the branch attached rubbing against the fender. I pulled out a thorn that looked like a cat’s claw. Either the touring tire lining or my own did the job – still unpunctured.

Another goal accomplished, making it back to the Mediterranean. Cycling on the road between Sete and Agde was the best part of the day, some 20 km of road right along the Mediterranean, with the beach or dunes for a view.

Dozens of campgrounds exist in this area of the Mediterranean. I feel like I’m back in Switzerland. The first campground cost 25 euro + 9 euro for Internet. The second cost 33 euro, with free wifi. The host offered me a discounted rate of 25 euro for being a solo cyclist, at least until I pointed out that the rates on his sign changed three days ago to 19 euro. Campground rates change depending on season, and peak summer season ended last week. Takes me a bit to puzzle out rates, because Europe does day-month instead of month-day, but a range tends to look like 7-7-24-8. I got the lower rate, but no discount.

I outrun my good map day after tomorrow; I hope I can find the next map in Narbonne. Getting back in the habit of spending part of my evening reviewing the map for route planning for the next day. That lead to me still preparing dinner at dusk, and the mosquitoes managed to get a good chunk of me.

I (along with thousands of other people) chose a poor vantage point last night. The fireworks celebrating the liberation of Avignon looked more like bright lights behind a tree. I moved around a bit and improved things slightly, but the display was intended for the other side of the Rhone.

The campground in Avignon had dedicated camp sites, but no grass; packing up muddy things frustrates me. I also left behind most of a big tube of toothpaste, and 10 (of my 20) trashbags – things I had bought but wasn’t going to carry. I still managed to leave by 9 am, with a lot to do and a long way to go.

Having a decent map for this part of France, I spent most of the trip to Nimes navigating by paper map, as much to remind myself I could as anything. The climb out of the Rhone valley proved a recurring investment in elevation, with little return until the end of the day. I also managed to find road construction which had wiped out my intended path. I wandered through the area of construction, and after multiple paths, carried my bike across a field to get back to functional road (carried to avoid driving over a thorn bush).

My path around France takes me through Nimes, but I had another reason to go there, that didn’t include Nimes being the origin of denim and Levi’s 501s. The ampitheatre in Orange sold me a combined ticket to also view the colliseum in Nimes (and other site in Nimes). Somehow I entered Nimes the same way I enter everywhere – the wrong way on one-way streets. Finding my way to Tourist Information, I turned around to see the coliseum. Wow.

The only remaining intact Roman coliseum, built 2,000 years ago. The audio tour did a great job. Besides the original purpose, the coliseum has since serves as a fortress, a walled city, and a prison. Restoration efforts finally removed everything back to the coliseum state. Wandering the halls where Romans also wandered, and standing in the center of the coliseum where gladiators fought.

After that, I visited the Roman temple Maison Carre, also from the same time frame. After that I visited the Roman Gardens, with the Temple of Diana and the Tour Magne (the Roman guard/watch tower). Today I found impact after impact on my sense of history.

54 kilometers to Nimes, and a full day of tourist. Instead of leaving Nimes at 2 pm as I expected, I didn’t rush, and at 4 pm I had another 60 km to Montpelier. The last time I made that big a jump on this trip (because of a missing campground), I added 40 km to the day at 4 pm. I had a well-defined cycle path, and a gradual grade. Today I knew my uphill wasn’t over, and I would have to find my own way.

I met a couple of Canadian cyclists at Tourist Information in Nimes who pointed out a green way that ran about 8 km west of Nimes. That green way worked out; I made great time, over 24 kph, until forced to leave it for the remainder of my path to Montpelier. After that I navigated city to city, arriving in Montpelier by 7:30 pm and checking into the hostel.

While I walked to several tourist sites, scouting things out for tomorrow, I will forever remember Montpelier as the city of restaurants. The street scene around the hostel bustles with street cafes.

Despite expectations to the contrary, I enjoyed the light show last night, displayed on the walls of the inner keep of the Palais de Papas (Palace of the Popes). What I mistakenly referred to as the castle yesterday served as both a medieval fortress and the seat of the Christian world in the 14th century. The first fixed papal seat began in Avignon, leading to eventual schism (up to three popes) before things settled back in Rome in the 15th century.

The Palais de Papas, which I will refer to as “lightly touristy”, did a good job of presenting information. Restoration work underway for many years attempts to return the palace to the original condition in the 14th (and in the case of the new palace, the 15th) century, despite later use of a barracks and prison.

Entering the square today, an array of American military equipment and French dressed up as American soldiers confused me. The French reenactors pretend to be Americans? Instead, today Avignon celebrated its liberation on August 25, 1944.

Not wanting to feel rushed through the day, before I left the campground this morning I extended my stay another night. If I finished early, I could still head out to Nimes. As I expected, I finished visiting everything I wanted to see before the end of the day, but later than expected – 3 pm. I considered packing up and heading out to Nimes, but decided to spend another night in Avignon, using the extra time for general life maintenance (laundry, sewing, repacking, route planning, etc.). I hadn’t done dishes this morning, and spent a while watching the epic struggle of removing a banana flake from my bowl.

Avignon will also have fireworks tonight, and the campground sits across the river. Tomorrow I leave Avignon, the easy life of cycle paths, and the (relatively) flat roads that come with following the Rhone.

Rain thundered on the roof of our shed all night to no avail, Sam and I snug in our bunks, gear (damp to soaked) draped about the room. We woke to the ongoing storm, forecast to end around noon, so we lounged about. I had no intent to leave in the rain, and Sam had but a short commute to his hotel, and hotel registration didn’t open until the afternoon.

The last rain fell about 11:30 am, and we rolled out at noon, the sky still wavering between blue and grey.  We cycled together to the Arc du Triomphe in Orange, and then headed our separate ways.

I planned to cycle through Orange to explore the local castle, then take the most direct course (only 20 km) to Avignon and set up camp early, taking advantage of the break in the weather, in case the rain chose to return. A bus back to the fortress in Mornas from Avignon seemed a good plan from Avignon, not too far away, and would keep me somewhere dry in case of rain. 42 km, six hours, five castles, a Roman theatre, and two campgrounds later I set up camp in Avignon.

I rolled into Orange, and stopped, stunned. A Roman theatre from 2,000 years ago dominates the center of town. I thoroughly enjoyed the Theatre Antique d’Orange. Even the audio guide proved interesting. Occurred to me Sam and I could have planned better, with my short day and his day off, we probably could have explored the town together, and I kept expecting him to pop up as I wandered about.

Still in Orange with a castle on top of the hill, I’d learned through the tour that the castle lies in ruin. Never having stopped me before, I headed up. The path to get there proved more challenging than expected, as early on it turned to stairs, causing me to chose an alternate route, cycling all the way out and around the town, and following the ridge up to the site. The desruction of Le Creve-Coeur was thorough. Not much left, rubble with a children’s playground within the remains.

As I moved on and rode through Roquemaure I could see a castle peeking out from the trees, but no real access despite determined effort; I couldn’t even get a clear view. Much like many of the local châteaus, they build the castle directly into the rock, using the rock as part of the structure where the bedrock isn’t level.

Across the Rhone, another castle appeared on the ridge, but with no good way to cross the Rhone I moved on.

In the outskirts of Avignon, in Villeneueve-les-Avignon, a castle appeared ahead. Far ahead. The closer I cycled, the larger the castle grew.  I had found the Fort of St. Andre, originally during the Hundred Years War. With the interior in stages of significant disrepair, I could wander the ramparts, as the walls and main gate still stand intact.

From St. Andre, in the outskirts of Avignon I could see another castle down the road, the Tour Phillipe le Bell. A small guard tower, the gates closed 30 minutes before I arrived. Well worth the extra time at St. Andre – no regrets.

Finally approaching Avignon, I wondered again why exactly Avignon had become one of my target destinations. At some point someone somewhere along the way recommended Avignon to me, but I couldn’t recollect why. I crossed the bridge to Avignon, and went to the first of two campgrounds to check the price (roughly 12 euro), and headed to the second, only to find that the second campground only permits RVs. On the way there I found signs for a third, four- star, campground. On the assumption that four-star would be more than already determined, I headed back to the first campground, and on check-in found the cost only 9 euro (including the wi-fi surcharge). I set up camp, and headed into Avignon to find dinner and scout out the town.

Now I remember. Avignon remains a walled city, with the fortifications and castle still in place. The castle still permitted entry, but that late in the evening I decided I’d rather have more time to explore the castle and the city tomorrow. With a light show at the castle in English on Mondays at 10:15 pm, that’s the next stop on the tour. Tomorrow I explore Avignon. After that I head towards Nimes, Montpellier, and the Mediterranean.

This morning to the west the sky threatened storms, yet to the east a beautiful blue sky promised warmth and sunshine. With rain to start at 5 pm, Sam and I took an early start at 9 am on the Via Rhona towards Orange and Avignon. Sam targets a McDonalds every day for both calories and wi-fi, and we identified one 40 km out as a planned lunch destination.

While we could see clear skies ahead, the western sky continued its advance. I kept hoping we could outrun the edge of the storm – in vain. By 11 am the western sky won out, and a gentle rain began to fall. By 11:30 am rain passed the point where it could be ignored, so we took shelter in a bus stop to encase our gear in plastic bags for additional weather-proofing.

While we stopped at a couple of castles today, we passed even more by in the driving rain. In Montelemar, a few twists and turns through town brought us to a wall and a steep switchback on the road.  I headed up, Sam followed leaving his bike behind. Upon reaching the entrance to the castle I wandered in; Sam headed back to his bike when we realized I might be a while.

While waiting in line to buy my ticket, the woman in front of me caught her purse on the glass on the counter, and shattered the glass, spilling fragments across the floor, and cutting her leg, causing a slight delay in my ticket purchase. The castle itself was another hybrid of restored castle and nouveaux art museum. In this case, the art did not interfere with the castle, well-restored but open for exploration and review. I hurried a bit more than I wished, between having left Sam behind, and needing to make more distance down the road.

The banks of the Rhone today presented mostly vertical cliffs – spectacular   Often nature carved caves out of the cliff face.

The castles often presented on tops of those cliffs. As we made the final run into Orange, I saw an awesome castle, Mornas Fortress, on top of a cliff, and while I stopped to admire from a distance, we passed it by. I’m tempted to head back tomorrow, even with the 15 km in the wrong direction.

Sam and I are a good match for cycling. Both of us like to know where we are, and between the two of us keep a good pace and don’t stop often. While I hoped to make Avignon today to weather the forecast storms tomorrow, by 5 pm there was little chance of that, and we began to discuss accommodation for the two of us. Tired and wet, I had little interest in camping, only to then have to pack up in the rain in the morning and cycle out. We talked about a hotel, but stopped at the campground. With the camping cost of 25 euro for the two of us, we stood in the rain debating options. The manager of the campground came outside and suggested a cabin for only  5 Euro more. Sold!

After a dinner in the “cafe” at the campground, the sky cleared leaving a rainbow in the distance. As night deepened, the rain returned. I next head south and west to Avignon, and Sam heads south an east towards Nice, so tomorrow we’ll go our separate ways. Sam being a bit ahead of schedule plans to spend an extra day in Orange in a hotel. I don’t know which of many possible plans I will follow tomorrow. The weather in the morning will decide.

I introduced myself to Sam this morning, a cyclist who rolled into camp late last night. Sam cycles the same route that Max followed, which meant that the two of us would follow the same path, at least for a few days, So I asked if he minded some company, and we sallied forth.

Sam studies computer science and math in England, and for the summer of his next to last year decided to spend part of the summer cycling. Not knowing whether he would like cycling, he  purchased an inexpensive bike, and using the gear he had on hand began his cycle tour. He started out his tour plagued with bike problems (including six punctures!), but everything has stabilized after some cycle shop maintenance. He travels light, and while I can keep up, cycles faster than I.

I had three châteaus in my sights for the day. Sam, being from the UK, the land of castles (and Wales to boot), doesn’t have the same fascination, but humors me by waiting at the bottom of the hill. The first châteaux would have been awesome, from the bits and pieces I could see from behind the wall. Castles being what they are, once you lock one up, further access proves difficult. The second one appeared on the top of a hill. I started hiking up the trail leading to it when the family on the other side of the hill noticed me, and reminded me of yet another reason why I didn’t visit a particular castle – irate French people. I retreated down the path, met back up with Sam at the bottom of the hill, and continued onwards.

Give the success rate so far, the third looked more promising, as the GPS listed the chateaux in Tournon as a museum as well. Sam, distracted by our early conversation, missed breakfast at his usual stomping grounds, McDonalds, so he headed to one nearby while I headed to the chateaux.

The castle extruded from the local rocks. An excellent castle, restored to the 15th century, with the ability to wander freely about, including roof access. Some rooms presented historical information in some detail, the others just a good example of construction. The remaining rooms presented displays of strange modern art. Paint splattered on the canvas. Somewhere visitors could scrawl on the wall, where a local artist would have one of those scrawls tattooed on himself on Oct. 3.

I lagged all day, between headwinds and Sam’s slightly more aggressive pace, and we didn’t pull in until after 7 pm.  I also figured out this evening I had done a lousy job today maintaining my overall calorie count. Sam and I had discussed which campground we might stop at for the night. Forecasts for tomorrow evening call for rain lasting 24 hours. We ended up at the one about 105 km from where we started, with a 20+ km jump to the next one, but this puts me in striking range of Avignon, a larger town to hopefully weather out the storm.

Sam gave me his spare spoon.