After my narrow escape from the enemy I now resolved to escape from the grim, distance stealing mountains.
The lowlands might not look as pretty but I'd be able to make much better progress, particularly as I would no longer be pushed south by the trend of the range.
One problem was the enemy had disgorged me on the wrong side of the mountain. Looking at the maps I thought the best idea would be to aim for one of the passes to the north after which I could swing west freed from the poxy mountains at last. Again, in what would prove to be a recurring motif, this was not to be so easy.
Every pass I, er, passed, was a bit like this...
Gollum there just out of shot.
Far too dangerous for foot travel. Each one was a steep sided gully at least 2 km long with about 8 meters width of flat surface: just enough for a mentally bendy road, coursing river, and no pedestrians..
Eventually I found one which was more promising and despite a couple of hairy stretches later emerged from the hated mountains to be confronted by...
One more mountain. Well more of a hill really and being hydrated and well rested I made short work of this one and soon emerged into France. All good in the hood.
Side note: IMMEDIATELY after crossing the border every other adult I encountered (and some of the more contemptuous kids) had that gallic stereotype vertical gracity-defying cigarette thing going on. Gérard depardue would also always. ALWAYS, BY LAW. be on at least 2 tv channels simultaneously whenever I tuned in at a hotel.
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