The end of the Way and the return of the Bad.

8am Monday morning. 

Eaten breakfast and boiled 3 eggs for the trip and I have left overs for the flight.

Bla Bla Car at 9:30am to Brive. Then hitch to the airport. The flight is at 14:55 to Stansted so no rush as it's around an hour by car to Brive from Figeac... It goes via Rocamadour.

***

For the first time Pierre and I had little to say on the journey. I was a little distracted by the scenery, the towns we were passing, he spoke little English and, obviously, my French is pas bien!

He offered to drop me at either the airport, at la gare or in the center ville: which I chose just as the dark clouds loomed hooded and sinister above Brive-la-Galliarde.

After a brief visit to the Office de Tourism to confirm my fears that there was no connection other than extortionate taxi's to the airport I found my way back to the centre where the heavens came down as I hastily tucked into a poke bowl on the sidewalk. Pohmaë sashimi style with fresh salmon, avocado, mango, etc, etc, which was quite excellent (considering the last time I willingly ate it was back when I worked at the God awful Yo!Sushi in the Trinity Centre, Leeds in 2013(which was average at best)) @ 14.90€. Then I had to hastily get myself to the city limits and hitch in the developing rain the long distance (20kms) between Brive-la-Galliarde and Brive-Soulinac Airport. After a lot of marching and a little worry - as the clock ticked closer to 14:55 - I finally got a lift from a vet returning home for an afternoon at home... Lucky man as I was beginning to feel France was like Hotel California - once you're here you can never leave (not that I really wanted too...)

***

I've crashed into the reality of England. I felt abysmal once more as I chucked more, and stronger, beer until the final 12 percent-er in the Brunswick - where Nick was bleached, Mollie was laying early evening sun(Johnny doing what Johnny does outside Emmerdale) and Paige kept pounting her lips as she always does. I crashed into a supper I hardly remember with those potatoes Nick gave me to add to the free range eggs, white asparagus and Spanish lemon I couldn't be bothered to attempt to convert into steamed potatoes , asparagus spears and a homemade sauce hollandaise.

***

No wild animals seen while recently on Le Chemin Saint Jacques which was unusual for rural France; luckily birdsong, woodpecker knocking and cuckoo reminding me I am insane.

***

6am Friday morning. A few days back from France and falling back into the misery of my way of life in the UK. Angry, judgemental and disappointed feeling that there has to be more here for me. More of the being I find on el Camino: but I don't believe it exists in this place, which only sits still and never moves a step outside along its narrow reality - a narrow introspective null set.