Today we left before 10 am, which for us is getting up early, like we were milkmen. We didn't hang around the fortress of Bellegarde. We saw it yesterday and although it's very big, it doesn't change much from one day to the next. We went down the road like two medieval knights descending.

The day promised much: sun, blue sky, and the smell of adventure with sunscreen. Our plan was to go to the beach. Yes, in all its glory. But of course, here in the south of France they have an obsession with barriers. And I'm not talking about toll barriers, but those they put in car parks so that no one taller than a toaster can park near the sea. Two metres, two ten... we need two thirty-five. What's the problem? Are high-top campers discriminated against?

We tried a couple of places. In one we turned around with dignity. In another we turned around with shame. But in the end... bingo. An open car park, no barrier, no threatening sign, and near a virgin beach. Virgin of beach bars, umbrellas and shouting humans. We parked, got out and... total relaxation.

Papi Edu lay in the sun like an Iberian lizard. He also took a dip in the sea. Although it was an express dip, the kind you get in, shout, and get out like a shot. The water was freezing. I looked at him from the shore as if to say: "You're crazy, human". Then I amused myself by gnawing on some wooden sticks I found there. They weren't bad, they crunched nicely. Normally on the beach I run, jump, dig, gobble up half a broken shell... but this one had a weird kind of sand. It wasn't good sand, it was like annoying little pebbles that got stuck in my paws. I walked as if I was stepping on invisible traps. So I lay down and watched. Very zen.

At midday we went back to the camper, ate, and in the afternoon we went back to the same place. I took one of my toys and tried to bury it in the sand. As I am a meticulous dog, it's not enough to dig from just one side. You have to do it from all angles. Result: more than once I kicked a good handful of sand in Papi Edu's face, who was lying next to me. He complained, but didn't move. In the end the hole got so big that I got inside as if it was my personal basket. Very cool, a luxury.

The sky started to get silly, but it was just a lonely cloud looking for attention. Then, around five o'clock, his gang arrived: it got cloudy, the wind got cocky and we took off. I was already starting to get sand between my teeth.

We had two important missions left: water and sleep. The tank was drier than a bulldog's tongue after running a marathon. With Park4night we found a fountain, but it was pouring water slower than a snail with sleep. Even so, little by little, we filled the tank. Papi Edu armed himself with patience. I armed myself with a nap.

Afterwards, it was time to find a place to spend the night. In this area it's a mess. Between anti-camper barriers, rumours of caravan thieves and natural areas that were already occupied by others like us (it reminded me of Norway, where there are more campers than trees), things weren't looking easy.

And Google Maps, as always, treated us as if we were an armoured tank with tracks. Every now and then it sent us down impossible roads: little roads between bushes, with curves that looked like they were drawn by a drunk and widths that weren't even wide enough to open the door. But hey, our 4x4 camper can handle anything. And so can I.

In the end we decided to go back to a place we already knew. We slept here more than four months ago, when we were coming back from Italy to Spain. It's a large car park, with no neighbours, with beautiful views and that feeling of "I've smelled this before". The big difference is that then the vines were bare like wet chickens. Today they are green, full of leaves, and give shade, life and that rural touch that my Papi Edu loves.

So here we are. Surrounded by silence, vines with hair, and fresh memories. It hasn't been a day of great monuments or epic landscapes, but of small achievements.