August 26, 2018, France. I thought about stopping in Lyon, but the roadwork was daunting—too many diversions and closed roads. I continued on and decided to visit Rodez, which claimed to be on the way to Albi but turned out to be an hour detour on back roads. The drive was scenic, and it was a welcome break from the monotonous highway.

In Rodez, I admired the cathedral and the walled episcopal palace—beautiful brick buildings. Everything was closed since it was Sunday and a local festival to boot. I wanted some ice cream, but the service was excruciatingly slow—ten minutes per scoop, by my estimate. It seemed the French equated slow service with quality. Sometimes, though, it’s just slow.

I arrived in Albi around 6 p.m., walked around a bit, and decided to return the next day to see the cathedral, the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum, and the convent. That evening, I enjoyed the view of the bridge and the cathedral silhouetted against the night sky. I realized I’d dropped my gray sweatshirt and had a hunch it was at a fancy restaurant courtyard I had passed through. Sure enough, it was hanging there.

I was annoyed that France was having yet another holiday—everything had been closed for four days. I had hoped to find a baguette. No luck. I drove to a peaceful field full of sunflowers next to a pigeonnier (dovecote) outside Cordes. Another intuitive find. Slept very peacefully.

August 27. Woke up glad it was cool. Looked at the pond, a small stone building, and someone working on the property. Already getting hot. The bakery was closed—still part of the festival. Frustrating. Walked through Cordes. It was too hot, and there was a burning smell in the air. I didn’t feel like lingering.

Stopped at the mairie building and saw a hobbit-like house across from the covered market—a devotee of Guru Mai lived there. Looked at the views, bought a piece of chocolate that wasn’t impressive, and thought ahead to getting caramel in Toulouse. Admired the Italian Renaissance building facades built with wealth from the pastel (woad leaf) trade.

Drove back to Albi and stopped to hike up to a tower in Castelnau-de-Lévis overlooking the Tarn valley and Albi. It had served as a lookout during the English occupation. Then returned to Albi, starting with the cathedral. I paid to see the choir and treasury rooms. I remembered the amazing carved chairs in Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges, but this choir was less fantastic, though the statues were beautiful. I enjoyed the audio guide.

Next, I visited the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum and used the audio guide there too. I learned he began drawing during long convalescences after breaking both legs as a teenager (at 14 and 16). He loved horses and came from a noble family in Toulouse. His parents were first cousins, which led to his congenital condition. He was under five feet tall. One teacher said his drawings were terrible but his paintings good. Another liked both. He focused on circus acts and Montmartre, drawing brothels in a matter-of-fact, non-erotic way. He was deeply involved in the art of printmaking and worked with a lithographer who later appeared in one of his posters.

Visited the formal gardens, built in the 1500s after the bishop felt less threatened by the townspeople, whom they had once persecuted as heretics—hence the term Albigensians. At 6:30, I decided to head toward the Pyrenees. I drove to Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges and asked if the basilica was open but it was reserved for a private event. I ended up camping in a forest on the way toward Port de Balès, after deciding against a spot near a busy road. Still heard a lot of traffic in the morning.

August 28. I woke to a cool morning. Dreamy. I drove toward Port de Balès and Forêt de la Barousse, passing many cyclists. On the descent, I saw a lone goat walking steadily down the road, seeming to be searching for its herd. I considered intervening, maybe driving it back to the shepherd I’d seen, but didn’t. I was in a rush.

Walked for fifteen minutes in the forest and enjoyed the sound of rushing water. As I climbed, conifers began to replace deciduous trees. The air was clean and cool—unlike the smoky, hazy air around Toulouse and southern France. It looked as if there were major controlled burns or even a wildfire.

Headed south and stopped in a lovely town built along the Ourse stream. The town had many water fountains and the stream ran playfully through it. Spotted a mysterious house called the Maison de la Source, with gargoyle-like statues. I walked up to the gate but was deterred by 2 signs: Chien Méchant and Attention au Chien. Having been bitten by a dog once, I wasn’t interested in repeating the experience.

I drove on to the McDonald’s where I had written my blog late into the night on May 14, posting my first blog entry for this trip. I used the internet to check in for my flight, and mid-process, had a terrible bout of diarrhea. I spent twenty minutes cleaning up in the handicapped bathroom. Thank God for small favors—there was a private sink, and I could clean the floor and seat. Hand-washed my underwear and shorts. I felt filthy—not having showered in two weeks, aside from lake dips.

Went out thinking I’d find a stream but instead decided to tackle the car. Around 11:15, I started cleaning—vacuuming, throwing things out, and packing. Worked until 2:40 a.m. Left exhausted and sweating. Drove into Toulouse to get a tuna and egg sandwich (La Maritime) and caramels from La Compagnie du Chocolat. Spoke with the owner, who told me he planned to go to the U.S. to sell his fudge—richer and less sweet than American versions. Sadly, they weren’t making caramel for the summer. I tried another brand, but it wasn’t nearly as good.

Bought other chocolates and said goodbye. Visited Saint-Sernin Cathedral, got a gelato at Amarino, and tried to brave the 91°F heat. Also got pastries from my favorite place, though they’d declined in quality. The panna cotta melted before I reached the hotel. The shop had changed ownership the previous year.

Checked into Ibis, hauled my luggage into the room, and returned the car early. The agent was friendly and told me that Eddy, my buddy at the Citroen car rental place, had returned home but might come back to work there. Back at the hotel, I spent forty minutes trying to wrestle the inflatable mattress into its bag. The receptionist helped and we mostly succeeded. Tried to sleep by 9 p.m., but couldn’t—the bed was hard, the covers too warm, and the pillows terrible. Much worse than the Holiday Inn I’d stayed at in May. At least I had a shower.

August 29. 6:20 a.m. came too early. I had ordered an Uber, and the driver was great. He gave me a one-euro tip someone had given him, since I had no change. The luggage cart was unlocked, and I got lucky and kept the change. I lugged my overly heavy bags onto the scale, praying that they’d let me go. They said they would charge for the overweight luggage, so I opened my suitcase and stuffed all the heavy items into my daypack. That seemed to do the trick. Exhausted, I stumbled through security and headed to the gate, resting in a seat till I had to board. Normally I walk around a lot before getting on a plane, but I was too tired. It had been an epic adventure.