Alegria or bust

 After three nights and two days waiting for it to stop raining I set out from Eugi on the road for Pamplona. About ten minutes into the journey there was a heavy shower and it felt like Eugi was giving me a proper telling off. Who was I to think I could get away without getting wet! The name of the Hostal I had been staying at was Itxeberri which is a Basque name meaning new birth. It was very difficult to tell who worked in the Hostal and who the customers were, people came in and out all day long. They were all extremely friendly and very generous with their food and drink. But I was having a hard time understanding everybody cos they all speak at the speed of sound! I'm trying to catch up on my Spanish with Duolingo, but it is incredibly slow and good for describing suitcases and trains, but doesn't really translate the kind of things I like to talk about.  Cycling on the Spanish highway was pretty good. Lots of room, hard shoulder, good surface and all the drivers, especia

 It rained quite a bit through the night, but thankfully stopped around 9am. The forecast was for it to continue again within the hour so I wasted no time in getting everything packed away. Whilst folding up the tent I came across this impressive creature. Wether he'd actually spent the night in the tent with me or just got caught up in the tent while I was folding it, I cannot say! Once under way on the bike I have everything in waterproof bags and I wear a waterproof poncho, so, as long as I can pack and unpack my stuff in the dry, the rain is not too much of a problem. Once packed up I called in at the bar for a coffee and to get any news of the road ahead. It was all good, but by the time I was back on the bike it was raining again. My objective for the day was a hostel in the town of Eugi 26km away on the other side of the mountains. Nothing for it but to get stuck in. There are two possible routes to Eugi, one goes via Urupel and the Col de Paradar, but I was told it was very

 Some of you may know this as a very cool album by Van Morrison, but for me, today, it symbolises a real pinnacle of the trip. Since hearing from Dutch Mike in the campsite about the ominous weather front approaching I spent the morning prevaricating over an extra long breakfast and more conversations with other travelers, notably Laura, a lovely Swiss woman who is picking grapes at a local vineyard and who suggested that it would be very easy for me to get work there for a couple of weeks. I could have been easily swayed, but in two weeks the weather would be even more unreliable so I felt I should keep my focus at least until I get over the border to Spain. I didn't leave the campsite until three in the afternoon, but I was rewarded with blazing sunshine, an excellent road, and the most beautiful countryside. I'm not going to make any comments, just judge for yourselves! High street St Etienne de Baigorry Medieval bridge on the way out of town. This is the back of a shop sell

As I traveled along the Velodysee from Mimizan to Vielle Saint Girons the vegetation became significantly more Mediterranean, typified by this cork oak tree, of which there were increasing numbers.  I stayed in Vielle with Ian and Sylvie for two days, being thoroughly spoiled and re charging my batteries.  We went to an awesome Atlantic beach with a powerful surf, and explored a local fresh water lake. It's a very beautiful part of the world. We also had several discussions about the best route into Spain. In my twenties I'd visited St Jean pied de port and done some walking in the Pyrénées nearby and I have wanted to return there ever since. So on Saturday morning I set off towards Bayonne, an easy ride of about 50ks. It's a good job it was an easy ride as it rained most of the way.   The further south I traveled the more noticeable was the graffiti. And I had to take a photo of this one 'cos it encapsulated for me, not only the dilemmas of my own personal journey to N

 The principal cycling route along the west coast of France is called locally the Velodysee (vélo being the commonly used name for a bicycle, and Odyssey being what it is). It's also classified in the EU compendium of cycle ways as Eurovelo 1, and it runs from Brest in Brittany to Hendaye on the border with Spain in the South. It's one of the most famous routes in France and one of the main reasons I wanted to travel down the Atlantic coast and not inland. From Soulac I managed to get as far as the junction for Hourtin, about 50kms, where the path is closed from mid day every day because of the fires. I met a Frenchman at the junction on a "trike couché" or recumbent trike, and we traveled together by road to Hourtin. It was surprisingly hilly so when we got there I pulled over for a break, he kept going and I tuned in on the internet to watch some of the Queen's funeral proceedings. It was compulsive viewing but I eventually dragged myself away to get on with the

Pont L'abbé de L'Arnould was a great little town and I didn't want to leave. It took me until noon to get out of there, after a trip back to the bar and the bank to top up with cash and food for the weekend. The cycling to Royan was pretty much plain sailing  and I arrived about 5pm at the ferry port to cross the Gironde estuary. The crossing takes about 30 minutes and the single ferry goes back and forth all day long. It doesn't even tie up at the dock but the captain keeps the engines gently turning, pushing the boat against the quayside whilst everybody gets off and on. I wish I'd taken a video of the disembarkation. There were hundreds and hundreds of cyclists coming off that ferry. They kept coming off long after all the cars had left. It was a very inspiring thing to see, and made me feel that perhaps there is a little hope for our planet after all. It was a beautiful day and the crossing was exhilarating, everybody, including quite a number of dogs, out on de

 Over breakfast André and Marie Edith helped me plan the route for the day. I was heading for the Marais Poitevin an area of canals and polders known in France as Venice Verte. To get there André left me on one of the national cycle trails. It followed the Sevre Niortaise river to the city of Niort which I had to pass through to get to the Marais. It was a beautiful route  but it was taking forever and at one point I noticed that there was still 30 k to go along the trail and that it was only 12k by road, so I changed track. Well I thought I was doing ok because there was a hard shoulder, it was a dual carriageway and there was plenty of room, but a lot of the drivers didn't like me being there and I got a lot of horn blasting, including from a police car. But they didn't stop me and there were no signs of a cycling prohibition. Anyway I got to Niort real quick and I was relieved but disheartened to get off that road. It was the first time I had encountered anything approaching

Meditation, like love, comes in many forms and disguises. There was a huge Buddhist university at a place called Nalanda in northern India which is now a world heritage site. It is thought to have been destroyed by invaders from the West around a thousand years ago. Many of the monks took flight northward towards Tibet via Nepal and many of the practices found today in these areas are said to have their origin in Nalanda. Meanwhile Buddhism in India was virtually extinguished. Tibetan Buddhism is notoriously complicated and you will find every possible permutation available in the practice of meditation; eyes open, eyes closed, mouth open, mouth closed, standing, lying, walking you name it. So last night's thunderstorm took me to a place that I think is called Pratyahara in yoga. This is where we reflect only on the input of the senses, sounds, smells, touch and visual impressions. A thunderstorm is certainly a powerful and auspicious event for someone who likes meditation as it is

 Thouars is a strange mixture of semi industrial/ agricultural and medieval, quite a long way from any other big towns so it was no surprise to discover that there was a Decathlon store in town. Before I left England, I bought a gas stove from decathlon that uses their own proprietary gas cartridges on the basis that they cook really well and they have shops in a lot of towns across France and Spain. What I hadn't counted on was the energy war that's taking place in Western Europe right now and that these cartridges which are a mixture of butane and propane are currently unavailable across France. They also didn't have shock cord or waterproof dry sacks which I wanted, but was lucky enough to find in adjacent army surplus store. Nulle pointes Decathlon. There was also a Lidl store on the same road so I stocked up with vittals for the next few days. This of course meant that the bike which had been gradually getting lighter, was now heavier than ever! Leaving town on the cyc

 I stayed two nights with Holly and Rob, making a bit of music and visiting the nearby town of Bauge and France's oldest surviving apothecary. It's in a huge old convent building that was run as a hospital and is now an impressive museum. Holly and Rob's place is so far away from towns and main roads it is peaceful, quiet and there is no light pollution at night so the skies are really profound. I would love to have stayed a bit longer but my mind is on the possibility of colder weather moving in to the Pyrenees from the beginning of October, and there is some difficult cycling country to cross before I get there. So I set out for Saumur on the river Loire on Monday morning, in brilliant sunshine. It was a great route along back roads all the way and because of the previous day's rest, I made good time. There is a large island where the road crosses the river, and this was what the northern side of the channel looked like.  Quite shocking as the river is normally one of

 I'm going to change my approach slightly from here on as it's getting difficult to keep up. So much is going on and I'm meeting so many people that it's getting more difficult to find the time to devote to the diary. So here's a brief synopsis of where I've got to up until today. After a comfortable night in the hotel at St James I spent a day in the town resting and catching up before checking in with another amazing warm showers couple, David and Caroline. Originally from Paris David has become the mayor of St James and his wife works there as a beautician, as far as I could tell. They fed me and gave me an education in contemporary French music. We had a great night together with their son Vincent who is soon heading off for a year in San Francisco having just finished school. This is the back of their house one of only five in the town to survive a fire in the 18thC which destroyed the rest of the town  I traveled South and soon found my way into a "Vo