The End of the Way. Pt.3.

This morning youths are showing they gave no damn for the night or dawn; good on them. Penultimate jour pour moi. Sat in voiture sept of le TGV from Hendaye to Bordeaux St Jean. Need one night in a Gites d'etape or relais before bon voyage a au revoir. Again France explodes in my face at how expensive anything is: €3.50 Croque M. No way am I even considering that. A cheese toasty for £3, bechamel is a blanc sauce. Shared a room with a French pelerin so €60 was not helling heavily weighing. Yesterday was a day of traveling and sleeping and purchasing travel tickets. Suddenly it is too expensive to roam unplanned. What ever happened to last minute sales?

But it is of no matter. The conductor blows his whistle and I can look at the many positives of my pilgrimage: I did it! One way or another I reached a goal that beckoned me unasked. Now reach out for cafe noir.

Coffee is literally more expensive than beer on a TGV. I moan, but it is just some beans roasted to a very high temperature in vast drums: not artisanale. The world is hooked on a profit margin that creates a down turned frown. How many more coffees would SNCF sell if there was a reduction in cost to a respectable level? Is France so financially bust?

Part of my adventure is discovering I love France, but it is too expensive to return broke. Spain is more threadbare but usually food and drink don't leave you penniless. The juxtaposition of Arco to TGV as an example of each countries legacy. Mostly I have been attempting to leave France without it costing me anymore than possible.

My mind is at ease. Some demons arose yesterday but I told them shoo! I meditated and thought of NOW and all the good worth/work/penance/perchance to dream a little since 21st. A long day of chanting on the train and checking into boarding houses built by Fawlty Towers femme Basile or Joan Cleese.

What a great adventure. I loved France the best really but some of the material people just need to hear the other heart beat of the world which is away from the maddening crowd. Madding. But away from the cluster fucking of the cities the mind is at ease. Two speeds 33 or 45. Choose the vinyl for your mind.

Between Le Puy and Figeac I listened to no music, watched no news (consciously) or tv, read a paper, listened to persons repeating bad news or good. A girl on the train has Marshall headphones turned by twitching thumbs to eleven and eventually rippings her sides with a spread of yarns told gallically; Fluide Glacial.

Passing Biaritz and Bayonne today and another I missed out on yesterday San Sebastian/Donostia ; one day Basque I will bask.

Travelling by budget airliner is a little sinister. You pay for a ticket on a plane but not a seat? Can you just stand instead of forking out some seatage?

We Got Back The Plague.

Blue Joni Mitchell to breeze away the clouds. That I am open; gratefully her voice enters my thoughts and relieves. It brings out my tendernesses. Daniel, have a happy ending!

A competition to see who has the strongest biceps on coach seven. The North African lady, with a child, has massively inverse case. What illicit substances are being shipped; oh terrible stereotyping! Feeding a baby at 8:10 we wait for the TGV to pull out of Gare de Dax. I look and notice volumous breast; averting our eyes, oh Lord.

Cynical and drunk.

Bordeaux. It has come to this. Finally Marmarlade with bitter oranges. Luckily I have found a heaven on Dimarche: Marche des Capucins. Back where I started on 22nd May. Cafe Noir and petit dejourner Chez Christopher. I carry home a reflection of sausisson Auvergne Le Carré Gournand. Reminds me of Borough Market circa 2008.

Two churches, one Tourist Info and now tram and bus to Herbergement pour pelerins and fingers crossed they have a bed. A nuit next to cemetery/cimetiére opposite Nationale Police La Bouscat. Route 29. Petit déjourner included for ten euros, but not open so need to return at 4pm to get my h'ebergement pour la pelerins. Enough time to see a little of Bordeaux. HA! If I could afford a cuppa cheval blanc to celebrate all these roads leading me to le grand chateau rouge.

Last night, after a much needed shower, I discovered I have worn a callus rough skin at the base of my back. My cocsic is like an old leather satchel and it is a wounded trophy I am content to have. Is it time to relax for in my new body. Enjoy summer 2013. Pizza in Bordeaux? Pizza Pino. Linda made me come for a pizza I am sure.

Randomness of the return trip to Wetherby is quite just the onroute positivity. So if France is frantically more expensive it has a flare and manner that more than make complete this if this is the vibe you're searching for. With bucks you can feel like a king until the pension runs out.

Fled the sweltering afternoon sun for the peace and tranquility provided in the relaxing surroundings of Les Refuge pour Pelerins de Compostelle provided by the Association des de St Jacques de Compostelle en Aquitaine here in Bordeaux; worth getting the tram C and bus 15 to 4 rue Blanqui in a suburb Le Bouscat. Four beds and Zen like silence. Food provided with donativo paid. Left to my own devices until 8am when I set off to the West on route one to fly away. Such a sweet tastes of nectar only a stones throw from the busy, expensive and bitter core; Bordeaux seems nice but I just wish not to be drained for three days running since I passed into Santiago; finally.