Around half one I hit a town called 'Arcey' where I had planned to have lunch and take a weight off. I'd eaten a croissant at 10am and it was time to feed the beast. Unfortunately Arcey turned out to live up to it's name and everything was closed. Market: closed, post office: closed. Restaurant: definitely closed (but we make it look open to really wind up less irlanderais).
At this point my left ankle, which had now developed a traitorous liking for only going 'up' and complained vociferously at anything else really stated to make itself known.
I had no choice but to hobble on so hobble on I did. Every little village I hit had no source of food that I could see (i think the French rural heads can photosynthesise).
Cut to 4/5 hours later and I'm limping very slowly along the side of what turned out to be a very busy road. Traffic is careening by uncomfortably close to me. I'm tired, my left ankle has me barely able to walk and I'm so ravenous that i'm angry at the world (I'd have happily fought someone to the death for a bag of crisps. I'm approx 4km from the campsite and losing light faster than I'd like...
A car pulls up beside me and a French fella starts talking French (French people do that sometimes). Here's a transcript of how I think the conversation went..
FF 'How's it going there? It's been days since I brutally murdered a hitchhiker and while you're not technically a Hitchhiker you're close enough. Hop in there'
Me "excuse moo. Parley francay tres pauvre. Je suis ok. Merci"
FF "sure it's no bother; I'm heading towards the gaff where I dispose of the evidence anyway, go on. It's no problem"
Me "Ah non Merci. Je suis, er Le walking( mimes walking in case that wasn't obvious from how I was walking) Merci beaucoup mais je suis ok. Au revoir"
(I start to walk on)
FF pulls up alongside again 3 meters on..
FF "ah you will, go on there. Let me just move this axe and butcher's knife out of the way there for you.."
I shrug and get in the car.
Events fictionalised a bit there.
Actually the dtiver was the ridiculously sound owner of the site I was going to and twigged that I was likely camping from the rucksack and my general cheapskate vibe. He stopped, unsolicited, by the side of this mad busy road and explained that he was the owner, showed me the id and everything. I tried to explain what I was doing and how i couldnt really accept a lift without breaking a ridiculous self imposed internal code but i didn't have the French and he didn't have the English for me to get it across. When he pulled in the second time I was really worried he (or I depending on your perspective) would cause an accident so I acquised and got in.
He drove me straight to the site which is cheap as chips, has hot showers and is scrupulously clean. Stupid as it may sound I've gained a renewed appreciation for how fast cars cab carry you distances that would take ages to walk.
I later made up the distance by walking (very slowly and gingerly) from the campsite to the village. There may have been a kebab shop at the midpoint but isn't it great when the tide (of kebabs) lifts all ships (stomachs). sure everyone's a winner :)
The next morning I passed on the good karma by using my fluent French to warn some cyclo-campers (not as cool or futuristic as they sound btw) from a camp spot that was ant-central. I actually did know how to say ants in French btw; I want bonus points for that. The cyclo-campers happily feigned incomprehension to see if I would eventually try to mime "ants" (which I did) before repeating back what I said with a minutely different pronunciation "ahh, less formics! maintenant je comprends".
Morale of the story: get into cars with strangers, sure it's great craic, not dangerous at all!
Keep her lit.
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