Sorry to non-French speakers, no translation is planned for this one. It is a small text I wrote ten days ago when struggling in very hot weather with both of my feet injured and endless kilometers of 2-meter-high corn on both side of the road.

Parce que tout ne se passe pas toujours comme prévu, je voulais partager ces quelques lignes, écrites il y a une dizaine de jours pendant la période de grande châleur qui a battu des records décennaux.

La loose. Je traverse une passe galère.
J’ai les deux pieds blessés, 3 ampoules et un orteil ouvert.
Je suis dans un bled au milieu de nulle part.
La température explose des records pour la région : 31°C... à l’aube, dans la journée on tappe les 40°C.

Wednesday, 23rd: on the road again

Last week was quite a hard one. But let's get back to that night on the beach. I woke up to the early lights of sunset, then walked to the other seaport of the island, the one that handles most ferry boats. I get a ticket: one way, 1-hour validity. This is it, I board the ferry boat and enjoy the landscape. My stop is the first of the line, so when the ferry boats stops a few minutes laters, I grab my backpack and get off. Finally, Punta Sabbioni! Wait, I know this place already. Sure, I came here the day before, this is not Punta Sabbioni. Well, out of the 30 ferry boats running the line every day, 3 make an additional stop here, which appears on no map whatsoever. And as displaying the names of the stops, either on the stops themselves or on the ship seems to be too much to ask, there is just no way to know where you are.

Monday, 15th : camping

Days come and go, but none of them looks like another. Remember the girls I met at Como? Guess what, I met here again in Verona, and that was the sarting point for one of the most crazy weekends ever. But let's get to Verona in the first place.

The road feels like it will never end. I walk along the stopped cars of the horrible traffic jams, with explosion engines as music and the delicate smell of diesel particles. The sun crushes the whole scenery with an unbearable warmth, the kind that melts shirts and make mirages appear above the roads. No lunch break today, I have an objective to reach.

Je suis sans abri. Ce n’est qu’en le vivant qu’on prend la mesure du sens de cette expression.

Cela fait maintenant plus d’un mois que je suis parti, et si le stress que ça génère a un peu diminué, ça reste ma principale angoisse. Un abri, c’est un lieu qui permet de survivre. De préserver son existence en protégeant son corps contre les menaces qui peuvent survenir lorsque l’on dort : froid et violence. Lorsque l’on en a pas, on est vulnérable. Je ne parle pas là d’une vulnérabilité réfléchie, mais d’une vulnérabilité animale, que l’on ressent physiquement dans ses tripes, La crainte de terminer la nuit par l’attaque soudaine et définitive d’un prédateur pendant le sommeil.

Tuesday, 9th: Como

Como! Sounds like a sweet smile at the sky and at my heart. Well, let's make it straight at once, the city itself is not that nice. I mean, the old center could be typical if it was not the lair of brands of expensive clothes and the usual tourist specialties shops, selling for 10 bucks what one finds for 3 only 300 meters away. And let's talk about the villas. They are wonderful indeed, but there only is a thin layer of them along the shore, and if you go beyond you only get the typical suburban blocks.

Anyway, I arrived at Como around noon.

I'm starting to love McDonalds. No, really. I mean, their food is crap, sure, but come to think about it, do you know any other place where:

• You can come in and sit down
• You can use the toilets
• You can get free, often unlimited, Internet access
• You can often sleep at (if they have children games outside)
• All of this without even having to order anything?

Seriously, this compagny may not be the gastronome's friend, but it certainly is the traveler's friend.

Sunday, 31st

Tadidadidaaaaaa, taa, taa, taa! Western music, à la The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. Today is the day. Today, I will confront the Grimsel's pass, a 20 kilometers long chain of narrow valleys, climbing to a small lake at an altitude of 2100 meters. The path is an ancient mountaineer's path, carved in the inflexible rocks and the harshness of winter. It will lead me to the valley of the Rhone, like caravaners of the past centuries carrying goods from Switzerland to Italy despite the cold, despite the rocks and despite the snow. Fortunately I slept quite well, and I can get my stuff ready without any trouble. Grimsel's pass, I'm coming!

Friday, 29th

It is a pity I lost my notebook, as I have nothing to write down my thoughts and the funny things I come by, and mostly forget.

Anyway, big walk again. I know have Italy in my mind and wallet, so I try to keep up the pace, despite the dubious tricks put in my way by the guys who designed the walking routes. What tricks? Well, suppose you are at a town near a lake. Now you want to go to the next town, which is also near the very same lake, about 5 km away. Who in their right mind would think the best way to do this is to walk up the path to the nearby pass for 5 kilometers, then realize the lake did not raise with you and go down like 300 meters in a straight, high-slope, muddy little path with those kind of rocks that go wild and roll under your feet in a devilish attempt to throw you down the mountain?

Thursday, 28th

Dawn comes. Slept very bad. Been very cold. Nothing left to eat as I had not planned to be in a small town. Weather as gray as it can be, maybe even more. Road still wet from the night rains. Have to pack and go before the owner of the restaurant comes (opens at 8 am). Not an awakening for the fainthearted. I pick up my stuff and walk. No regrets, Spiez, I will not come back anytime soon.

Hopefully, bad luck never lasts if you do not let it. I find a local seaport with clean toilets and showers. I have the hottest shower, trying to wash out the memories of the night, and start feeling better.

Back to Rossinière! I slept very well, this church is definitely a child's dream come true. Warm enough, no annoying noise or lights, and nobody came. It is almost with regrets that I left it that morning. But the show must go on, and so must the trip. This Tuesday was pretty much eventless. Well, apart from the usual gray clouds and the occasional mist when one of them goes down and starts crawling its way through the woods. The injuries on my feet are healing up slowly and I hope they be gone within the week. Oh, and I happened to find the hills hosting the Teletubbies. This could pretty much have summed up the day, if I had not met Jürg and his wonderful wife in the end of the afternoon.