The Hills Are Alive

Rather than bore anyone with a story of a four and a half hour traffic detour in central England which made my bus trip from Leeds to London twice as long as necessary and has been added to my listed of Worst Bus Trips Ever (clocking it at a stunning number two after my horrifying jaunt through northern Turkey), I will go directly into my movie-like life in Southern France. Despite my degree, I am hard-pressed to find the words to accurately describe the serenity that has descended upon me since arriving.

The only truly frustrating aspect of my life is that I would like to be spending more time working (I realize this should not be a complaint) and running. Unfortunately, my work is such that I simply help my family speak English at every meal and whenever possible, while they do the same for me with my french. And of course, I would be running every day, but I left my running shoes in Scotland, probably the second worst part of this trip after the 9 hour bus ride from hell.

But enough first world problems. I'm sure the pictures below will make everything I've said in the two previous paragraphs seem completely banal to anyone who is not living in an equally stunning area. All of these pictures were taken while on a hike with my family to have a picnic in the mountains. This is probably about a 15 minute drive from the house.

It was difficult to actually get these pictures to come out, because the sun was so bright on the snow-capped peaks that they tended to fade into the background. Our hike began at a tiny 12th century village and continued up past the base of a hill which contained a 12th century castle.

It isn't easy to see, but on the top of that outcropping of rock, the ruins of a castle look out over the valley photographed above. This is my family: Henri, Marie, Audrey and Gabi (the dog). 

The obligatory close up, artistic shop of something with beautiful scenery in the background. I have yet to figure out why I am so fond of this angle, but I have a large collection of photos like this on my computer.

The path was not always so lovely and well-marked. There were times when the snow melting had created what felt more like a creek than a path and we spent a lot of time straddling it and awkwardly hopping along. Gabi, of course, spent the same amount of time running madly around our feet and covering us all in mud.

Unfortunately, I didn't get a picture of our picnic, but it included: an entire chicken, pate, sausage, baguette, salad, mandarins, mini-cheesecakes and, of course, wine.

This was one of my favorite parts of the trail. As we came down around the bottom of the cliff, the view was obscured between the rocks and trees until we turned a corner and the entire valley, the Pyrenees and the little town where our car was parked were spread out below us like a painting.

The view upon turning the corner. Essentially, flawless. I really could not have asked for a better way to spend a Sunday than a picnic in the Pyrenees with a lovely group of French people discussing politics, people, travel and the mountains. C'est la vie. Truly.