Orthez

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Coffee. Before seven. 6:59. Dark out. Sunrise 7:12 and the stars are out. PMU express. Tired this morning. Bit of a battle with myself. Trying to just let mosquitoes be. If they didn't go for the face for location finding, and buzzed in the ear! They buzz so that the male knows he has women near him. Nothing changes. Some got me before I realised that there were any in the room. Again during the day. Early evening: six. Thought it was a fly, harmless fly, it was not. How did the ancient sailors manage? Most of them probably died of strange diseases in sweat drenched places totally cut off for anything they understood: Batavia, Calcutta, Hispaniola.

Here's Johnny. That was a relentless day. But quite nice. I had to sit down once just prior to Orthez, which is another crap town. Many hills. Much sweating, searing heat by one. What's with this September? One by one they arrive and take showers, wash clothes, etc, but now it's me again. Alone. The outside noises only distant motorcycle and pigeon. A mosquito appears as I'm eating dinner: lentils, beetroot, onion, garlic and tomato.

There is no where to stay in the next town. Some Fete is on and the Municipal Gîte is closed too. Can't possibly walk 37kms to Saint Palais over many hills. Just not realistic. But I don't want to participate with a verbose Dutch lady either. So I will walk as far as am able and hitch to Saint Palais. Can't believe I'm so easily rattled by a carefree soul: it feels forced. And she keeps taking my photo too; I feel rank with this prophetic beard. Let it be.

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