Today, Dad decided we were going to get up early like real heroes... and we set off at eleven. I suspect that for him any time before lunch is "very early", but I'm not going to burst his bubble, because then he says I'm a dog with no motivation.

First we went through Nasbinals again, that town that almost greets me by name. But this time we didn't even set foot there: straight south, following the wise advice of our digital guide. The plan was to go to Lake Saint-Andéol for a walk around. I was already imagining ducks, puddles, aquatic gnomes or something like that. Well, we arrived, we see it from the window... and no trace of paths. Just a very neat, very serious, round little lake, looking like it's been there since the dinosaurs were ordering the menu of the day. No excitement, not a frog saying hello, not a bank that said "walk me". So, we didn't even get out. I barked a silent "next" and Dad started the car.

We continued down the road to La Canourgue, which is advertised in the brochures as the little Venice. I could already see myself in a gondola barking "ciao" to the humans... but the canals were drier than my bowl at eight in the morning. However, the old town had its charm: old houses, narrow streets and that "if you run a bit you can see it in half an hour" air. And that's what we did. I sniffed every corner in case there was a hidden canal, but not a drop. Venice zero, rural charm one.

Then another series of curves to Sainte-Enimie. We arrived before two o'clock, after about sixty-five kilometres by car, if we count from our heroic morning departure. We parked in a huge car park next to the Tarn river, with signs that said something like "this sometimes floods, so don't cry later". But with today's sun, the most dangerous thing I saw was a kamikaze ant.

We ate in the camper: Dad his bread and cheese, I received my food with its gourmet touch of pâté, because I'm a dog but not a brute. Then we went down to the village, which is a lovely place tucked into the canyon as if someone had dropped it there and it had stayed still. Cobbled streets, stone houses, shady corners... and views that don't even need a filter.

But we hadn't finished winding our way through the day. We went back to the car and continued along the Gorges du Tarn Causses, which is basically a huge canyon that the river and millions of years of geological patience have been excavating. I, who am a dog but cultured, watched the landscape as if I were in a documentary with epic music.

In ten minutes we arrived at Saint-Chély-du-Tarn, a tiny village with a postcard complex. It only has a bridge that connects it to the universe, a church and many well-placed stones. The place is so scenic that it seems that at any moment a druid or a Japanese tourist with a tripod will appear.

Then back to the car, looking for a place to sleep. We followed the Tarn, tunnel after tunnel, majestic curves and rock walls that made you want to howl for the acoustics. In La Malène we crossed the river and came out a little bit of the gorge. Dad had spotted a great place in the middle of nature and I could already see myself marking my territory with poetry... but when we arrived: human invasion! Hundreds of cars, camper vans and people as if they were giving away ham or had hidden a legendary Pokémon. No idea about the event, but it certainly wasn't for quiet dogs like me.

So we changed plans and continued west. Another spectacular route, rocks that looked like giant castles and curves that in Italy would have a number and a t-shirt. We went down again to the Tarn gorge, crossed at Les Vignes and went up the other side. There Dad was already sweating just from turning the steering wheel and I was the motivational co-pilot.

In the end we found our paradise: a wide clearing among trees, with a ray of sunshine resisting before hiding behind the forest. Absolute silence, no cars, no humans, no mysterious events. Just the two of us and the world smelling of green and peace.

Here we stayed to sleep. If we get up early again at eleven tomorrow, I can already ask for a professional dog-grimage diploma.