Almost the Sea, Eventually the Valley

Almost the Sea, Eventually the Valley

olaf
Mountains
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The plan was to reach the sea one more time. At least in theory. First, we said goodbye to Moritz, the dog, who in the morning had very clear ideas about how the day should start. Mainly with throwing pinecones. Repeatedly. We complied, then left him behind and rolled down the valley, passing through small, friendly towns, steadily descending, steadily warming up.
Jan Delay came through the speakers, louder and deeper than necessary. It fit. Proper summer weather, the kind that doesn’t ask questions.

After a short detour, we found the beach near Le Barcarès. Perfect timing, as usual. The sky closed in, grey and undecided, 21 degrees, and the surrounding camping resorts looked abandoned, holiday infrastructure without the holiday. A quick weather check confirmed what the atmosphere already suggested: rain was coming. So we adjusted the plan without much resistance. Instead of staying, we turned north onto the A75 motorway. Less than 45 minutes later, back in the mountains, the sun returned as if nothing had happened. The temperature climbed again. Up through valleys, through a tunnel, and suddenly the landscape flattened out. No dramatic peaks anymore, just wide openness and something else.

Scattered across the land were massive boulders, standing alone, oddly shaped, like petrified figures frozen mid-gesture. Slightly unsettling, slightly fascinating. The kind of scenery that doesn’t explain itself. We left the motorway in search of a supermarket and ended up threading through tiny villages with old stone buildings. In one of them, the streets narrowed to the point where the car barely fit. Tires squealed gently against ancient walls. There was no turning back. Only forward, very carefully.

In Millau, everything aligned. A small town in a valley, steep rock faces rising above it, noticeably cooler, about five degrees less than below. Two rivers meet here, and at their confluence sits a campsite. Naturally, that’s where we ended up. The supermarket was around the corner. Practicality achieved. After six in the evening, the day slowed down. We sat by the river, watched the light change, and cooked pasta as the temperature hovered comfortably around 25 degrees. The sun set quietly, without performance.

What more do you need, really?