Sat 1st June
Irun back to France.
When I woke up, the sky had cleared but it was still very grey. I realised it bared a remarkable resemblance to the Moors in Devon, miles away from my birthplace. I remember thinking I’d come all this way to see something different and it felt like home. Although there was some reassurance in that.
I was a good way up from last nights efforts. I looked to the north and saw a small town. I checked the map, the Spanish town called Iran, that merges with Hendaye in France. Last night it was little orange lights in the distance, now I could see a town under a semi-rain.
I guessed my way down to the down, enjoying a luscious green descent, the first of many the Pyrenees would offer. I went past a small shop and went in as it was the first I’d seen a while. Families were eating and there was a nice atmosphere, but I couldn’t read the menu’s, got scared I’d be asked something and left.
In Irun a found another bar that served tapas style food that seemed to hold up the reputation of the food from San Sebastien.
I stopped a while and filled up on treasures, not quite as good as the first round, but delicious and more than welcome. This time it came to €6. Music.
I watched the t.v while eating, politics and rain.
As I had accidentally ended up at the bottom of the big hill, I decided to get back into France, my second home so far, where I felt more in touch with the language and the people.
As soon as I set foot there, a felt a huge wave of relief. I can’t explain why. There seems to be a large part of me that feels comfortable in France, and uncomfortable being on my own in Spain.
My 3rd border crossing, no passport required, no people checking anything.
I still really had no plan, but seeing as though I was in France, I figured I’d get up to Bayonne and Biarritz a friend in London had recommended. This also meant I’d get to see more of the French west coast that I’d missed on the way down.
I had relatively slow progress, probably due to the fact I didn’t really know what I was doing. But I crept up the French coast, saw a bit of beach, picked up a Bordeaux for the night, got through the town Saint-Jean-de-Luz and decided to get down.
I left the main road near a big concrete skate park, got away from buildings and found the perfect little spot to myself, under the trees, in a nice green alcove next to a big green field.
I was set up before the sun went down and had time to stop and enjoy what I was doing. Camping. I had the whole field to myself and tomorrow I would be somewhere new on the bike. You would think that going away on a bike for months on end would be full of these moments where you get to enjoy your scenario, but they’re really quite rare.
I popped the red and got to work.