French driver!

In the end, the nice German girls that saved us from Alsace had to drop us at the last gas station before Lyon because they were going around it. Which allowed France to save face by providing us with a local driver. And an interesting insight. He started trying to dodge by asking how we would strap me in the car, and Weirdo started explaining him the harness trick when the driver cut him midsentence: “I actually have a baby seat”. Continue reading French driver!

Through the no-man’s-land

Getting to Brive was going to be tricky. We were leaving the heavy duty highways that had German drivers on them for the low-density franco-french highway of the Massif Central. It’s the middle of France, I bet you didn’t know that.

We needed to get to Brive the same day before 14. So I got Weirdo to get up at 6, load me, still sleeping, and the stuff and get to the hitchhiking spot already. I woke up already there, in one of those typical caf├ęs where he was hard at work having breakfast.
Continue reading Through the no-man’s-land

Party in Toulouse

We were going to Toulouse for a big 3-days-party about wine, duck, and making fun of vegetarians. I settled for the duck.

It was a succession of grilling, going to bars, picnics in the park, all of it with no other kids my age. Thanks Universe Amalia was there to play with me.


Was nice to see the southern Uncles and Aunties, but I think it’s adventure-time again. I wonder what’s next. Weirdo’s too hungover to tell me.

It rained a lot

Hitchhiking 700 kays on a Sunday afternoon

That bastard Uncle Hugo bailed on us at the last minute. We were supposed to go hiking in the mountains with him, but he probably decided that getting drunk with his buddies was a better idea. We found ourselves with no plan for the week. So I decided we should take Auntie Amalia home in Paris and spend a few days there. After not debating at all about the means of transportation, we all agreed to hitchhike up there. It was Sunday midday, after a 3-days weekend.

You guys might not be familiar with mixing hitchhiking and Sundays. So here’s a couple of facts for you: Sundays means no trucks, no professionals, and a whole bunch of families on a weekend trip with cars filled with junk to the ceiling.

Common hitchhiker wisdom: You. don’t. travel. on a Sunday.

In particular after a 3-days weekend.

And that’s exactly what we set out to do. Insane, right?

Continue reading Hitchhiking 700 kays on a Sunday afternoon