Traipsing Around: Travel and Psychogeography: Wet Weather, A Credit Card Scam and My Travelling Mojo

After a fantastic journey through France, staying at Arles, Anduze, Laubert, Rodez, Rocamadour and Sarlat I stop at a beautiful house near Bergerac for 16 nights. It’s there that I find out my credit card has been scammed for nearly £1300 (which left me feeling initially sick and then very angry and more importantly, very short of funds. Some bar-steward has ordered two large home appliances on my credit card!) Thankfully I have just received the money back. Thanks to the lady in the tourist information centre in Montpon, who allowed me to call the bank free of charge, as my phone is broken). Combined with the unusually inclement weather with very heavy rain (floods in Paris), violent gusts of wind and very cold temperatures (normally the house I’m staying in is refreshingly cool. Now it is just very cold), I’m feeling a little deflated. I’m actually contemplating returning to the UK at one point. Whilst I’m certainly very fortunate, sometimes travelling is just hard, physically and psychologically and you need a certain stamina and will to keep going.

I end up in a very wet Bayonne for one night, which is grim, and then, suddenly, the following day the weather lifts a little and I decide to take a chance and head for the Pyrenees. The weather holds and the forecast is getting progressively better, so I treat myself to a night in a quirky guesthouse run by an English lady and her eldest Son and then take a fantastic drive, through the beautiful villages of Navarrenx and Oloron to a very small hamlet called Cette, high up in the mountains, where I stay in a small hotel, Chateau D’Arance. The weather is kind (at least for most of the day) and I get to walk in the mountains, which is just brilliant. I walk for a while and then just sit and watch the clouds tumble over the tops of the peaks and birds of prey effortlessly riding the thermals. The birds are huge, with diamond shaped tails and light brown, rust covered bodies and they range for miles without flapping their wings, just gliding in broad, ever increasing circles. I think they are bearded vultures, Europe’s largest and rarest vultures but a very regular sight in the Pyrenees and large with a wingspan of around 2.8 metres. But I’m not sure. My photos aren’t really good enough to make a clear identification.

The following morning, feeling a little happier, I head down the tight, windy, mountain road to the junction with the main road. There is a man with a fluorescent jacket and a yellow flag and a small group of onlookers. The road is closed due to a cycle race. It is 9.36pm. I ask what time the road opens. Mid-day. I stand with the small friendly group who are cheering on the cyclists with shouts of 'Bravo' and 'Allez'! These must be the professional riders, as you can hear a whirring and swishing noise of the wheels spinning and the tyres on the wet road surface before you can see them and then suddenly they are past in a blur. They are travelling at speed, heads down, determined, their leg muscles like bands of iron. Two hours later I return. The cyclists are more casually dressed now and they respond to the shouts of encouragement with 'Merci' or 'Grazias' or sometimes with 'Thanks'. The highest competitor number I see is 9000 and something. I don't know if this means that there are over 9000 competitors. I suspect so. I learn that the race is over a distance of 50km, from Spain to France, which given the severe gradients is some challenge. Once the road is open I pass a number of stragglers. Fair play. They haven't given up. Neither will I.