It rained that night and off and on through the day. But it would turn out to be a beautiful day. Walking through wet grass is not beautiful though. It makes you wet.
Saving my shoes and feet by walking in my farmersandals. It takes time, is wearysome; but one of the lessons I learned early on as mountaineer and trekker is that a little extra effort to keep your feet dry always pays of. I'd rather use 30 minutes on a 10 minute stretch than walk the rest of the day with wet feet. Not only is it unpleasant, but there is no surer way to get blisters than walking with wet feet.
Wow! What is that? Art? A secret message?
One of several little beecubefarms. No bees though. Maybe they don't like the rain? That's ok with me. I love all living bee-ings; but I prefer loving bees from a distance.
I like basque food. This is some kind of spicy liverpaste. Perfect roadfood.
I hope this doesn't sound to gay; but i really love this little flying cock.
There is something about rain that tends to kill animals. I have no idea what or why.
It is about 4:30 in the afternoon. But with my muddled decisionmakingprocess I feel it's a bit early to call it a night even if I found a very nice little chapel that's being restored. Neither did I manage to take a picture of the chapel. Cause, you know, my face is just so much more interesting.
And then, suddenly, light was fading, I was wet and starting to hurt and even though I was pretty sure Bergouey could not be far I just had to put up camp. I don't like walking in the dark with all the rabid French dogs, and anyways refugios do tend to be almost impossible to enter after 6ish in the afternoon.
It's saturday. We're all having a party that night. Down the valley the french kids(?) are having what sounds like an outdoor rave lasting well into the night and early hours. I'm enjoing some of the holy ganja and the last of my Dax-cognac in my tent. I'm sure we all agree'd it was a pity the DJ sucked.