A rebel without a clue.

Mint by the roadside fills my mind with beautiful thoughts so refreshing. The sweat was so strong at the end of yesterday the salt stung my eyes until I was blind. Foot hills to the Pyrenees and now I know it. Amazing views all along the vale from the top where the GR65 and GR654 merge. But now I couldn't find any beds so I have a demi-pension €35 evening meal, bed and breakfast above the bar. I am grateful. I will have no money left by Saint Jean. Zero. But I know I'll be OK there.

We have so many saints we don't know what to do with them. Like an over stuffed sofa we're very uncomfortable. Down and through up and over, down and through up and over, ad nauseum. Pasture, cows and corn for miles. Until the end. Into low land around the river. Arrived without any idea what to do. So walked around quite witless. It's a promontory so had to climb many steps. Everything is closed. There is the remnants of a Fete happening. I put my head in the church. Silence. Then I struck for the tent. Asked if anyone spoke English. Now I'm with Isobel who has the Chambre D'hotes. But now I have no money and I'm locked away in the Tour Montréal.

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 -...