Off the Beaten Path in a Rarely Trodden City

The plane to Ankara took a massive bowleg to avoid Syrian and Iraqi airspace, flying over Iran and then curving west to fly down the length of Turkey. It was kind of disappointing given my travel insurance policy insured me for both Syria and Iraq and it could have saved a good chunk of time... ah, first world problems. I starred down, wowed by the unbroken aridity of the landscape I planned to cross over the next ten days. Aside from the Jordanian desert I'd have to say it looked like I was in for experiencing a landscape harsher than any other I'd travelled through so far. Browny-golden hills, flowing in a rhythmic pattern, testimony to the winds that had eroded their slopes, extended for hundreds of kilometres, broken only by large, open expanses of steppe and the occasional foreboding division of a canyon. Suddenly we were over a solid body of dark blue. Lake Van. The lake was such a contrast to the light ochres of the steppe, and destined to be my last stop in the country.

Hmmmm....

Getting off the plane in Ankara I was one of the first off the plane and was bound to be the first person in the visa line if it wasn't for a plain clothes policeman that took me to an interrogation room with a desk advertising Iraqi Visas. The check appeared completely random. I guess I was young, male and alone which made me a target. He asked questions about why I had no flight booked out of Turkey and standard questions about accommodation but weirdly no questions specifically targeted towards whether I planned to go to any of Turkey's more volatile regions with current separatist conflicts, or bordering war-torn states. After taking a copy of my passport I was free to go.

Returning to the line I was now stuck behind three Arab families, each with two wives and at least five children. The border officers were slow processing their documents and I waited behind them for a good twenty minutes before the uniformed man gestured for me to approach the desk. He quickly looked at my e-visa print out, stamped my passport and I was officially on Turkish soil. With the interrogation and the wait time my pack was already waiting for me and I anxiously left the double doors to be greeted by the unrelenting Anatolian sun, the air dry and sitting on just upwards of thirty-five degrees despite being around 6pm.

I jumped onto the first bus I saw heading for the city, not having any idea whatsoever where I was going. For the 35km ride it cost a mere 8 Lira, or 4 AUD. The traffic was hectic and the ride took around 40mins. No one spoke English so I just gave it the benefit of the doubt and stayed on until the last stop before showing the driver the address of the accommodation I had booked. He nodded at me and drove off. Great.

I went to the closest shops and asked again. For some strange reason the one person that spoke English was a man that was likely at least seventy and Kurdish, judging by his vest. By some remote happenstance I was a mere four streets away and the walk took all of about five minutes. Sometimes you just get lucky. I checked in and went for a walk around the bustling commercial hub of the capital, buying some street food, again working my way through that one with a lot of gesturing and pointing. For a major national capital not a lot of people speak English. At least some Turkish was going to be essential to not feel like a complete idiot.

The following morning I tried to sleep in but just couldn't, my body clock waking me up at around 6am. I just got out of bed, dressed and walked out into the street with intention of finding some breakfast and the vague plan of navigating the city to find Ankara castle, some 2-3km away. I found a place to sit down and got what I can best describe as the Turkish equivalent of a toasted panini, the obligatory Chai, and a big glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. In typical Ankara style it came to the equivalent of about four Australian dollars and I likely got over charged. During my time in Ankara I saw a small handful of other tourists but it seems that prices on almost anything change depending who you are and how much you bargain. With experience I would learn that this even applies to big franchises like Vodafone.

Finding my way to the fortress

Leaving I walked down Ankara's main boulevards, sticking to a park for most of it. I knew roughly where the fortress was and just followed my nose without bothering to look at the streets the receptionist in my accommodation had recommended I follow. I just kept heading up and soon enough began walking through the dilapidated Ottoman old town, its intricate facades of white interspersed with ornate wood carvings crumbling. I couldn't believe such prime real estate, with views right across the city and such history was allowed to be reduced to this rather than be snapped up for development. 

I walked through mazes of narrow alleyways before passing under an arch in the old town walls and scrambling up a sketchy short wall to the beginning of the castle ramparts. I don't think it was the normal way but it got me up just fine. The view was stunning and I was up there all alone. I couldn't believe it, being a such a major city in peak tourist season. People had told me in the past that no tourists come to Ankara but I had taken it with a grain of salt. Now it seemed they really are few and far between. Weird, given the popularity of Turkey as a travel destination on a whole.

I sat, dangling my feet from the cliffier, higher side for a while, enjoying the breeze. A German couple came up and I talked to them for a bit before heading to the other side of the hill to check out the other part of the castle. Unfortunately the wall that once passed between the two is long gone, forcing you down into the alleyways below rather than following the ridge. I still couldn't get over just how run down the old town was. The top of the hill was no better with many cobblestones missing from the roads, dust and grime everywhere and a population that largely seemed to be struggling heavily financially. 

The approach to the second castle

I tried multiple approaches to the fortress but no avail. First I walked along a narrow path cut into the steep hill side that the castle crowns but the walls were unrelenting, providing no egress. On second attempt I headed up a path that looked more promising, winding its way up to a place that looked more than logical for the entrance to the ancient citadel. Nothing. Just the barking of a dog, at first distant, then appearing, now charging my way. I sprinted back down the alley, frantic. The dog looked pretty damn viscous and was gaining on me.

After maybe a hundred metres it suddenly halted, gave one last bark and turned back the way it came. I felt relieved to say the least. With the state of the buildings it felt like quite the sketchy neighbourhood to begin with. I sat down for a bit in the shade. By this stage the day had real heated up and the running really made me realise it.

The restored part of the Ottoman Old Town

On the way back down I stumbled into a restored and very touristy part of the old town that had somehow evaded me on the way up. It was obviously designed for tourists with restaurants with jacked up prices and commoditised local handy crafts but I didn't see a single foreigner. Ankara's tourism industry is booming.

Detail of Ankara's dilapidated back streets

To Turkey the Scenic Way

I woke up to a chillingly cold Canberra morning, the inside of my windows slightly fogged over. I roll onto my other side. My head feels heavy. The sensation only increases as I sit up. Turns out moderated drinking doesn't ensure feeling fresh the next morning. Oh well.

I get out of bed and put the final touches on my packing, making sure there's a bit of room in the top of my pack for purchases. I'm all good to go but it still hasn't sunk in that in a mere few hours I'll be taking the flight from hell that will deposit me on the other side of the world and for the first time, all alone. I felt very chilled and content, feeling no panic or sense of urgency.

I walked down for one last college lunch before clearing out for greener pastures, the magnitude of what I was about to do still barely touching the fringes of my mind's occupation. It just felt like any other. I said goodbye to everyone knowing that I wouldn't be staying for the rest of a marathon week of intoxication but flying all the way to Turkey via a very scenic and long winded route.

A friend drove me to departures straight after lunch and we said our goodbyes. Unusually for Canberra check in took a while because of the attendant's curiosity about my travel plans. Why don't you have a plane ticket booked out of Turkey? Do you have a visa? Iran?! Her line of questioning seemed to extended beyond responsibility and in to some feeling of concern but soon enough my pack was on the conveyor belt, checked right through to Ankara.

I made a couple of last Australian phone calls and got onto the plane destined to Melbourne. It was to be the first leg of many. I had a short change over in Melbourne and yet more intrusive questioning at customs about why I wasn't flying out of Turkey but once I mentioned study in Iran the tone changed from interrogation to curiosity. The guy had some interest in the region because he asked very specific questions about whether I was studying the ancient or modern language and whether I planned to see Isfahan because he'd heard great things about it.

Once I was through customs I started running. My plane had started boarding 25 minutes before. As I reached the gate the status was flashing closing. Just in time.

Entering the UAE

I boarded an uneventful seven-odd hour flight to Singapore, followed by a one hour lay over and an eight hour flight to Dubai. When I arrived in Dubai it was 4:15 in the morning and I had four hours to kill so I passed through immigration, which was very efficient and took all of two minutes, wait time and all. Despite the early hour the air was already thick and warm and before long I begun to feel the sweat running off me. I didn't have too much time so took a shuttle to the terminal where my next flight was supposed to leave and walked around from there. 

Dubai skyline from a terrace near the airport

The mosque I spent most of my time in Dubai at

 In the outskirts of Dubai there's only two things to do. Talk to the “guest” workers who live under incredibly harsh conditions keeping Emirati society afloat and resting at the mosque. On my way into the suburbs I could here a language being spoken that I understood words of so out of curiosity went for a chat. They were Filipino guest workers but one told me his grandfather spoke Spanish as his first language and he started communicating in it with me. His skill level was fairly basic but it was plenty for us to be able to talk about our lives and where we were from.

They took me to the mosque where we lay on the soft, carpeted bit of the porch, out of the already oppressive heat. I stayed for probably forty minutes, lying in silence with my eyes shut or looking up at the ornate drawings on the tiled roof above. I thanked them for taking me with them, I wouldn't have been at all comfortable going and lying down at a mosque in an unfamiliar society alone, then headed back into the airport. I had a one and a half hour wait in the airport alone before my flight because check in and customs took a mere twenty minutes total. Impressively efficient. 

Mist cooling the plane down after 45mins extra baking on the tarmac due to delays

Typical hazy gulf weather between Dubai and Doha

By this stage I pretty much felt dead after a total of sixteen hours flying and six hours in layovers but it was fr from over. My 40min flight to Qatar was delayed by easily the length of the flight itself, then I had an additional four hours in transit, unfortunately not long enough to take advantage of Qatar Airway's free city tour. I spent most of the time kicked back on the airport's ridiculously comfortable bright green couches with a leg area big enough to sleep on. I've never seen another airport as good as Doha's with Macs for communal use, free WiFi, playgrounds, sculptures and high class restaurants along with a large shopping mall.

Despite all this my time in Qatar passed slowly. Intermittent sleep on the plane was far from sufficient to rejuvenate my still hungover feeling body.

Four Days in Germany

 Somehow it was close to, or even past midday when I woke up. Maybe it owes to how tightly the blind on the clear door leading to Leo's balcony holds flush to the wall, or the capacity to completely eliminate the ingress of light through his skylight. I don't think I'd ever slept in a room that dark in my life.

The previous day I'd gotten off a train in the city of Koblenz to a balmy autumn afternoon. I started walking down the platform and found Leo within twenty metres or so. We shook hands and started to catch up on the last five months. I'd last seen him the same night I left Australia and he'd stayed in our country several more weeks after I'd left. After travelling the world for a year, mostly in Australia, then for a couple of months in Asia, he'd arrived back in his home town of Koblenz mid year, close to half way through my time in Europe.

I wasn't sure if I'd actually end up going to see him because he lives a long way from anywhere I planned to visit but when Dan started talking about going to Amsterdam I knew visiting Koblenz was obligatory- I might not get another chance for years and in the scheme of things, what is a the couple of hundred Australian dollars that was needed to make it happen?

We left the station and I immediately noticed “the feel” my previous experiences in Germany seemed to have for me. Koblenz is quite and tranquil, almost too much. We walked 40mins in the afternoon sun, me only carrying the small pack with my laptop and a small amount of clothes that I'd taken from the car before leaving the Netherlands. We walked through quite residential neighbourhoods before crossing a river and entering his town, who's name now escapes me. I probably should write blog posts closer to the actual events, not a whole month after.

In my time in Koblenz we didn't do too much. On one particularly sunny day we went to the city, climbed to the viewing deck of the statue that sits on the confluence of the Rhine and Mosel, encircled by the flags of Germany's regions and took the cable car to the fortress. Leo told me about how the cable car was built temporarily for a flower show after which they had every intention of taking it down but after a large number of people signed a petition and the case worked its way through the German court system it was decided that it was going to stay until 2020, then it would be reviewed again.

The area has a relaxed feel about it, that's for certain. The breadth of the Rhine works it was down lush valleys, passing terraced vineyards and many small communities, each with a church or sometimes more, built in a distinctive architectural style. Leo's very proud of his city and ensured that I saw as much of the city and the surrounding region during my stay.

It definitely is a beautiful region and feels relaxed like few others do but I lived there I think I'd struggle to find things to do. For starters, the topography's gentle. I can't imagine living in an area of gently rolling hills, flat water rivers and generally conservative culture. I don't think I could live separated from the outdoor lifestyle. At home its something I love and it really keeps my life in check like.

On one night we went to a Shisha bar after trying to go to a wine festival that had stopped weeks before with a group of Leo's friends, and on another we went to the twenty fifth birthday of a Turkish friend of Leo and his sister, followed by cocktails in town. Other than that we didn't do much at all of significance, just small things around the city and relaxed. The last time I spent time in this kind of way was months before in Trento, Italy.

On my second last day in Germany the weather was incredibly dull, it didn't even drizzle but was somewhat oppressive, like those days we get every winter in Tasmania. We went for a walk and played a little soccer, simply to get us out of the house. The following day Dan arrived in slightly less bleak conditions. He stayed for about half an hour, I said goodbye to Leo's family and thanked them for their hospitality before Leo saw us off at the curbside. Just as darkness was falling we entered Luxembourg, I think the thirty-fifth country in the world that I have visited. We bought a full tank of fuel at the lower taxed prices offered in the tiny principality before moving on into France, marking the beginning of our longest straight section of driving yet.

The Benelux

Some of Dan's friends happened to be finishing their European trip in Amsterdam at the same time we were a fair way north. Dan was going to go by whatever means he had to. By the time we'd been in Fontainebleau a couple of days I had already decided that I'd join him in the Benelux for a night or two before heading south into Rhineland to spend time with a German friend I met the previous summer in Australia.

We packed up our things and left Fontainebleau late in the day, the last of the good light diminishing as we hit the inticrate web of roads on the eastern outskirts of Paris. It might be logical with a GPS but with pre-loaded phone we made a couple of wrong turns which in turn, owing to the lack of exits, each cost us about 50km. Oh well.

At around 11 we found ourselves hunting for WiFi spots to recalculate our route but that proved too difficult so we resorted to guessing. It turned out to be the right option and after one false turn that nearly sent us in the complete opposite direction and a 300m reversing job on the entry lane to a freeway the blue dot that marked our location was finally hovering on a road that was also marked in blue!

Once we were about 100km clear of Paris everything started to look up. We were able to drive 50-150km distances without having to worry about which turn to take at junctions, and even when we did have to it was straightforward. Very late that night we crossed the border into Belgium. After a little more time we were skirting the outskirts of Brussels. The roads are great in Belgium and completely free, at least to our knowledge, so that particular country spares you the constant game of trying to avoid the ridiculously expensive tolls that come when you see the classic blue highway sign.

After what might have been around 2hrs in Belgium we found camping somewhere towards the far border of the country, a mere stones throw from Antwerp. After the previous night we woke up pretty late and it was 1pm or so before we were in the city.

I love Belgium. I love the distinct style of architecture and how it's been shaped, in a way, by the flat, low expanses they've had available for building. I love the fusion of elements and probably the result on the city streets of having a few extra dollars in the city budget to throw around.

I'd been to Brussels almost a decade ago, when I was much younger, and can remember feeling the same way, even then.

We got a very central park just by Antwerp's main square which happens to have a very attractive looking outdoor bouldering set up, at the time crawling with tens of kids, daunted over by the imposing facade of the city's grand cathedral. We must have spent around two hours in the city, just wandering, not doing much in particular. We walked through the squares fringed by long, thin and somewhat grand buildings and through numerous small alleyways before meeting the sea. The military were running a bridging training operation which was interesting to see.  

The city in its very centre feels grand and cultured like many in Europe but as soon as you pop out by the water it takes on a very industrial feel. The line of buildings simply stops, blocked by one of the city's main roads, and on the other side you have the waterway giving egress to commercial ships from the port to the sea.

We somehow managed to get out of the city relatively quickly without burning too much unnecessary fuel which is always an achievement. Before long we were crossing the Dutch border, announced by the typical blue signs with the circle of stars representing EU member states, telling us we were entering “Nederland”, the name of the country in its native language.

Antwerp's Waterfront

Interesting sculpture...

We saw many signs to Rotterdam but few to Amsterdam. It was a guessing game each time the highway diverged, sometimes informed a little but what we could see on the route we'd plotted the day before. Despite the uncertainty we never took a false turn. We arrived at Amsterdam with ease, entering the city fairly late in the afternoon with no plan whatsoever.

We parked in the centre and I walked along one of the city's main canals for a bit, taking in the atmosphere that makes this city so famous. I could easily live there for a few months, getting around by bike like almost everyone else. The city is incredibly flat, like many in the Netherlands, something that has facilitated one one of the highest per capita rates of bicycle ownership in the world.

We went to McDonald's of all places with the sole intention of using their WiFi to book some accommodation. This was a tedious process but we got it done and plotted the route to our accommodation from our current location on my phone. Amsterdam's streets gave us no problems and five or six canal crossing within three kilometres later we were at our accommodation, a stones throw from Vondelpark.

El País de las Bicicletas

Once we were checked in we had showers before heading out. We got pizza locally and had a few beers by the canal, taking in the ambience of the city. I'd been sick since the day before and wasn't really feeling up to much at all so we headed back to the hostel where the stuffiness and heat of the room aggravated my existing congested condition.

After checkout the next day we went for a walk to check out what Vondelpark had to offer. We found a supermarket selling products at highly elevated city prices, all but one thing. I've never seen it anywhere else in the world but they had a machine in the supermarket that makes fresh orange juice right in front of your eyes! At three euros a litre it was pretty damn cheap too, and exactly what I needed for my raging cold.

We had a while to kill before Dan's friends turned up at five that day so we went for a drive, found easy parking and had a slackline in a park in front of a police station. We cooked up a big meal and stayed there for a few hours, just relaxing on crash pads. At one point the police came over, curious, asking questions about the slackline in perfect English. Everyone in the Netherlands speaks perfect English. Like in many other nations with small languages they realise the importance of learning others to a high level.

Later that day we went into the part of the centre where we'd been the day before and got the car impounded on a parking technicality that we had no idea about. After a very scenic six kilometre walk and a 373.60 euro fee, collected by a pleasant Dutch woman with relatives in Tasmania, the car was free. Lovely.

We arrived at the accomodation Dan's friends had booked about an hour later than we planned, feeling dejected after a huge sum of money slipped through our fingers due to nothing more than bad luck. Money can come and go very easily. But really, what is a Euro trip without fines? I think Europe and fines are two things that just simply go together, its the way of the world.

The accommodation, at 26 euros a night was quite expensive for what it was and in the end we didn't even end up sleeping there. After a few drinks, a tram trip into the centre and a very interesting night we ended up staying in an apartment in some random corner of the city. I still have no idea where.

I woke up that morning and quickly got Dan and Steve up, paranoid about not being able to check out on time. We found a tram station and managed to catch the right one, but in the complete opposite direction. When our two hour tram journey through the vast majority of Amsterdam finally deposited up where we needed to be it was already right on check out time. I was exhausted. I went upstairs, messaged Leo in Germany and took a shower. I packed a couple of things for my three days in Germany in my small day pack. I think by the time I left it was an hour after checkout. I already knew it was a small penalty fee for late check out and really didn't care. In the end they didn't even impose it.

Dan drove me to the train station, somehow easily navigating there through the maze of similar looking, canal lined streets. He dropped me when we were stationary at a set of lights, us both now well and truly scared of inner city parking.

I easily found the platform and somehow even had time to kill before my train. Walking through the station I found another orange juice machine and bought some chips in a cone, my first food in close to 24hrs. After being sick for the last couple of days and a sleepless night I was practically passed out as the train started moving and I can barely remember the signs at the stations starting to be written in German, not Dutch.

Emancipation

Tensions were running high. We sat at the WiFi spot most of the day, killing time on useless little things to pass the hours. The tension grew as 7pm neared.

A couple of days before we had fixed the shipping issue with our part and it had arrived the following day after spending close to a week sitting in a postal depot in the nearby town of Annecy. The receptionist, who we now knew well after countless chats, had promised the car would be ready the evening of the following day.

My feelings were mixed as we walked into the shop. Was it going to work? Neither of us had any idea.

Two weeks before we had also thought we would be leaving as we walked into the shop. A week before that she told us the ignition coil was “ashes” but when we walked in she looked at us with pity and simply said, “Big, big problem...”. That's when we found out it was actually the distributor, a much more expensive part, that was done. Now the distributor, which we bought second hand off eBay was finally here. And the suspense was killing us.

We walked in and she smiled. I made a little small talk and she announced that it was indeed working well. But then she said, “Big problem.” Uh- oh. One of the brake discs was considerably worn and she was compelled to install a new one.

Instead, being a nice, reasonable woman, she let us leave without having a new one installed at the small cost of having “forbidden to drive” written in both English and French on our form, mooting our insurance and making us liable for any accidents we caused. We would have to drive pretty conservatively...

We returned to the campsite and packed everything up, seeing it for the last time, which had been home for three weeks, just as the last light was escaping from the sky.

We were back on the road! For the first hundred kilometres or so we followed the roads I had followed in three weeks earlier but from then on the roads were all new. We ended up camping somewhere on the outskirts of Auxerre in an apple grove at sometime after three am, exhausted.

The newly acquired flashing light... enough said. 

We stoked up in the city the following morning after a late start and drove the remaining couple hundred kilometres to Fontainebleau, the surrounding forests home to the birthplace of European bouldering and still some of the most famous blocks in the world. The sport has such a standing in France that circuits have been created, coloured arrows accompanied by a number, the former suggesting difficulty and the later providing a simple fluid order that the problems should be climbed in.

As we arrived in the provincial French town of Fontainebleau itself we saw several training yards for horses, a huge grand chateau and many up-market curbside restaurants but no sign of the bouldering. After difficulties finding anywhere we could sit and get charge and WiFi we took off again, deciding to try a slightly different tact in finding the blocks- guessing. How hard could it be, it's a renowned, world class destination for the sport right?

It turns out none of the iconic sectors are obvious from the road side. Sometimes you can gather there's boulders in the area but you can rarely actually see them from the road. We drove around for around 30mins and climbed at the first one we saw.

The climbing is definitely interesting. Apart from the classic, powerful slopers Fontainebleau is so famous for we found huge water jugs on some of the top outs and all kinds of tiny, intricate and complex holds that really beg the question of how they were actually formed. The formations are like nothing I've seen elsewhere in the world.

The next day, back in town, we finally found a bar with WiFi and did more research. We visited l'elephant, one of “font's” most iconic sectors, characterised by huge boulders in a beach like environment and three or four other sectors over the five day period we stayed. We mostly had good weather but the friction was mainly atrocious, particularly on the footing. It just can't be trusted.

Chateau Fontainebleau

It's common to see tens and tens of people in the forest in any given sector at any given time of day, from families to groups of friends that would easily be pushing sixty. This forest really is a thing of pride for the French and its awesome to see such a huge range of people enjoying a sport that would be considered “extreme” in many parts of the world. Some people are simply out for a walk. Families stroll nowhere in particular, their kids darting in and out of the maze of boulders. However, I'd have to say that well over half the people you meet in the forest have crash pads, an unmistakeable sign that they're there to boulder. Is great to see how much the people from the surrounding area appreciate their forest.  

Europe really teaches you how to find parks...

Inbetween

Late in the day, just as the heat was beginning to wear off I dropped Pablo off at the bus station. Then I drove the ten odd kilometres back to the campsite and read, reclined on a crash pad in the late afternoon sun.

This and similar rituals went on for three days. Early on the fourth day I packed up, said good bye to the nice family that run the camping on the outskirts of Sabiñanago and began my 1050km drive. Money had hit my travel card and I now had the capacity to do so.

I drove through several broad, silty valleys in the lower Pyrenees before the valley my route took me through started heading towards the French border. Before long it started ascending rapidly, making progress in earnest. After a while my way was impeded by a huge traffic jam, brought on by the closure of one side of the tunnel that crosses the main divide of the range and gives passage between France and Spain.

Despite elevation the bite of the sun was only impeded by intermitten cloud. I rolled the windows down, letting the air flow through.

Perhaps ten minutes passed before the light turned green and the cars from the Spanish side began to crawl through like ants, closely following the fifty speed limit, capitulating to the threat of the “control radar”.

I emerged on the French side to find a thick fog, preventing visibility further than ten metres in front. This was a strange experience coupled with the steep, unprotected drop on the southern side of the road. As I got lower the mist thinned, revealing a cold, dreary day in complete contrast to the day I had left behind in Spain.

That night, numerous wrong turns and sketchily narrow country roads later, I camped on the outskirts if Toulouse.

Open road... I saw a lot of this...

There's little to say about the day that followed. I drove twelve odd hours to meet Dan with only a couple of brief stops. I found one particularly nice French city, towered over by a huge bronze statue overlooking an impressive church but I can remember little else of note.

I arrived in Bourg Saint Maurice, a mere stone's throw from the Italian border and a long, long way from Sabiñanago at about 8:30 that night. I snuck up to Dan's tent and tapped the outside. At first he thought it was nothing, calling out initially but putting his headphones back in after no response. I kept tapping and after a minute or so he finally emerged to see what the hell was tapping on his tent. He was pretty surprised to see me, not expecting me to arrive until the following day.

We had a few drinks and spent some time talking to the members of a local metal band that were sharing the campsite. Before we knew it the sun was rising.

Needless to say we didn't do much that day. Dan showed me some of the surrounds and we just chilled out, catching up on what each other had been doing over the last month we spent apart with me in Spain and him in Bourg Saint Maurice paddling.

The next day we headed into town to rent Dan a via Ferrata kit to take on some of the crazy exposed routes fringing the town. And we never made it out.

We got in the car after leaving the shop, excited to venture into the mountains. Then the engine wouldn't turn over. I don't know why this shit always happens to us but it simply does. Five futile minutes of attempting to start it gave way to pushing the car to a nearby garage against the traffic down the town's major street. That in turn gave way to three weeks of complete redundancy, doing almost nothing at all.

Each day we made the twenty minute walk to town and WiFi and more often than not a further fifteen minute walk to the supermarket. After a week or so we bought a slackline and that also became a daily ritual, set up in the park by the river. However that was also soon to end. One day men with chainsaws and excavators turned up out of the blue and felled this once tranquil place of all it's trees, right down to the river side.

Our newest form of entertainment

A small fraction of our beer consumption during our stay

The new discovery; wine strength generic beers

Several times in that three weeks we learned the very definition of despair. After only a week stranded we went to pick up the car at our appointed time only to find out they had misdiagnosed the problem and our actual problem was going to cost 1300 euros to fix. We most certainly weren't going to pay that.

A section of the daily walk to the WiFi Spot

We went to our WiFi spot and deliberated what to do. Move continents? Start travelling by train? We had no idea.

After three days we ordered the part. It could only be shipped to the UK so we sent it through a friend who managed to send it to completely the wrong pace. It was a long two weeks not knowing if the part was even going to work and a period I would really love not to relive. Feeling both the summer and your time abroad recede before your eyes with little you can do about it is far from pleasant.