Right, so you wake up in a meadow next to the Lot river, and the least you can do is take it with a philosophical attitude. I opened one eye, smelled the fresh air, listened to the little birds and thought: "If Dad takes a while to get going, I won't be the one to complain." The sun started to warm up and we stayed outside for a good while, lounging like furry lizards.

But finally, it was time to move wheels. We set off at noon towards Conques, which was five minutes away, although my doggy sense already suspected that five human minutes always end up being a half-day excursion. We arrived, and surprise: not a free space unless we wanted to climb to the village on foot from Mordor. So, the car went to the paid car park: six euros. I thought that for that price it might even come with a bowl of snacks, but nothing.

Conques is one of those villages that looks like it's straight out of a medieval story, with stone houses, grey rooftops and slopes that make even fleas sweat. The streets smell of old wood, freshly baked bread and tourists in contemplation mode. And what's more, it's on the Camino de Santiago, which explains the number of humans with giant backpacks and the look of "how much further?".

The abbey church of Sainte-Foy dominates the centre of the village with a "I've been here for a thousand years and plan to stay another thousand" look. Dad wanted to go in no matter what. He left me at the door, sitting like a marble saint, and I put on a responsible dog face so that everyone would think: "Look how well-behaved". Inside, it surely smelled of incense, cold stone and centuries of secrets, but I stayed outside, sniffing the bums of pilgrims and watching to see if anyone dropped crumbs.

As he had paid the six euros for the car park, Dad decided that we were going to get our money's worth to the last penny. So we went through every alley, every corner, every balcony with flowers and every cat that was playing mysterious. He took photos, videos, panoramic shots, selfies, portraits of chimneys and even of a stone that looked like a loaf of bread. We spent almost two hours, in a village the size of my imaginary running track!

We went back to the car and headed for Entraygues-sur-Truyère. We parked next to the river, ate in the camper (me supervising, in case something fell) and then took a walk around the village. It's not bad, but after Conques, any other place seems like a photocopy. That said, the confluence of the Lot and Truyère rivers has its charm, and the medieval bridge, now only for pedestrians, has an air of retired knights and dragons.

Then it was time to find a bed for the wheels. We could have stayed there, but it was too much inside the village. And Dad said: "There must be something better". And of course... the treasure hunt began.

We followed the river, seeing a lot of places that looked promising but each one had its drawback: too cold, too humid, too many fishermen, too close to the water, too little coverage... Come on, if I demanded so much to choose where to take a nap, I'd be sleeping standing up in the hallway at home.

We went through Estaing, which they say is beautiful, but Dad said we'd had enough dose of pretty village for today. So we carried on and left the Lot valley, climbing curves until my ears almost got blocked.

And almost at nightfall, boom: a picnic area by the side of the road. "Acceptable place", said Dad, which is the human version of "okay, fine". We parked, set up base and when we got into the camper it turned out that the traffic had almost died down, and the place isn't as ugly as it looked from afar. In the end, silence, some moon and the smell of cold grass. Happy ending, soft bed and synchronised snoring.

And I'm thinking: tomorrow another adventure for sure... or at least another car park with a story.