A rebel without a clue.

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 dista...

Be content to follow rivers: they are not artificial, although dredged or straighten, but the water has no human cause? Roads, fields, etc, are lines we have drawn, boundaries to be protected and bastions to be erected. All here is maize. In the fog I perceive machinery standing ready. There is definitely more hills. I'm fully into dawn walking. Here we are on the outskirts of Hagetmau. Had to go all the way to the swimming baths to return with a code for the door ... This makes no sense. The Office de Tourism is nearer! Stranger. Must be a Basque idea. Feeling a little distant from the real me today. Which is a common malady. Earlier bought a stew at the Relais Basque, which was made from tongue, but it was a little underwhelming if this is piquant in Basque? Too much meat recently: makes me lethargic. I was hungry, but I paid the price and felt ripped off. So what. Stupid mind. Too much beer. It's getting to me. That's the problem. One beer becomes two, becomes a few, i...

Dreamt I was trapped in no man's land in a holding cell - Quarantine or Lazaretto - nearly within Soviet Russia. One false move and I'd never be seen again. Trip wires everywhere and troop movements too. But I was eager to get in. The cell was surrounded by borders filled with bedding plants. I wasn't alone. I awoke in panic, as it felt real, looked round and saw I'm in a cell ... The Dutch lady said this was a bath house in the early 20th century, but it screamed cell to me. Now I wait for coffee. Day fourteen. Might find Saint Jean too close to departure date for comfort. Definitely think It'll be Monday morning walking too , if I don't have Sunday off walking. Can I keep walking, walking, walking. Five more days. Then I can say, in my life, I've walked the entire length of France : bully for me. Some people would revel in knowing that they'd manage to cover all this distance. But I can't help thinking it doesn't mean anything at all. I end up...

Another long day. Stopped twice to eat food I was carrying. My sack is very heavy. Actually it's the same as it was on leaving Limoges, but seems laden with rocks. This is a mental thing. And perhaps the heat is effectively hampering my day. Giant tiger mosquitoes in the Gîte ... I'm a pin cushion. Centre of Mont-de-Marsan it's where the young of France hang out. Higher pitched voices call out to one another by the Halles de la Madeleine. Stopped for a extrapale Oldarki. It is a lager. Euro-Lager, but need one ... French girls smoke longingly. It keeps them lean and chic ... Bullshit. Inside you're burning up baby. My pickle is beer today. Burnt or pickled but not both. The older Dutch ladies reappeared and I'm to return with Sausages: so much for no meat. Just passing through this town. Back to beggars, so it's quite large. Nearly in Basque country and nearly into the foothills of the Pyrenees. Not only sausage but saussion picante a la Maison times two. Sec...

That was a killer. Mostly straight. Attacked by insects from dawn until dusk. Saw no one else until just after 22 Kms, by the ancient chapel - part of me said linger the other part said "are you mad?". The trees were always pines, except when there were no trees. And then it was a desert. A Landes is a Moor and it sure felt desolate. But extremely energy sapping. Also boring when you can't see any bends in the road ahead. No features just a flatness with some trees clinging to the exposed nothingness. There is nothing here at all. Got to Rochefort and two quick beers at the Bar/Tabac where the keys for the gîte are kept. No point trying to speak French I'm buggered. Cook food, drink wine and eat food and drink more wine. So much for no more meat ... Confite de Canard. Very tasty. Drained off the fat. Enough potatoes and rice for breakfast. Coffee at the ready too tomorrow. Day off from those Bar/Tabac establishments. Was joined by a French man who had been camping -...

I thought I was following a figure in white or a white deer. It is the horizon I am following. Maybe it is Apollo or Hermes I seek? Or there is something of myself in this elusive figure. It never gets closer; always beyond my grasp. And I can never catch the figure because the being is me. Let it disappear this desperate following. There are no copper coloured slugs this morning. Yesterday, while leaping over purposely fallen trees and branches, I hesitated to step on one. The sun's rays reach through the ribbon of flittering oaks, delineating The Way from the pine forest and pink heather grows in the gaps. Finally birds begin their chorus - it was silent except for the distant rumble of Autoroute de Gascogne. But it is still without a breeze and the fern radiates back the sun from amongst the pines.

Today is forecast hot. 31°C. It's clear too. A full complement of stars are out while I head for petit déjeuner and coffee. Usual approach. Tried not to wake French guys, but I dragged a chair and burst a paper bag over the fretful gentleman. This establishment is just a bar. The Tabac is across the street. No TV or Lotto or PMU. He got very worried when he realised there were not enough beds for him, wife and mother-in-law ... That's some triplet. There is a TV ... He just forgot to switch it on. Now this is the car I dream of driving. Although last night I dreamt of Whitby and Hull. It's usually dark, dank and rotten in the dreams I contend of those places. And Hull was hell like, except for some excellent converted factory/bar. But, again, I was wearing zero - nothing on to hide my modesty and I was so was very nervous - especially with Glenn driving. Two large coffees. Bloody 24hr none news. It's all planned. What is news? Is it really necessary to a peaceful day? I...