I'm not going to lie: today we took it so easy that even a jet-lagged tortoise would have overtaken us. Papi Edu and I got up without rushing, had a leisurely breakfast, and when we finally decided to get our arses in gear — well, the car, more like — it was already one o'clock in the afternoon. Even snails don't travel so late!

We set off southwest, which sounds very adventurous, but was really more like a Sunday drive with a toll included. Papi Edu grumbled a bit when he saw the barrier, but then cheered up when he saw it was only two euros and a bit. For France, almost a bargain.

We stopped at a Lidl in Saint-Gaudens (another place with a name that sounds like it was invented by someone playing Scrabble) for some quick shopping. I took the opportunity to inspect the car park and leave my olfactory signature in strategic places, because a bodega dog with principles doesn't travel without marking its territory.

Then we looked for a corner on the edge of the field to eat in the camper van. Papi Edu prepared his food and I watched the process attentively, with a fixed gaze and my snout in radar mode. Nothing fell to the floor, damn it. Then a short nap — because there's nothing better than sleeping with the smell of fresh grass and a hot engine — and we continued on our way.

We stopped to refuel at an Auchan, where the diesel was so cheap that Papi Edu suspected international conspiracies. I only know that the smell of petrol made me want to sneeze three times in a row.

As we drove on, the landscape began to change. And there, on the horizon, the Pyrenees rose, with their mountains like gigantic walls covered in clouds. Papi Edu smiled, and so did I, although mine was more of a yawn.

We arrived at a village called Asté, next to Bagnères-de-Bigorre (yes, that name sounds like a sneeze). The picnic spot where we were going to sleep was closed to vehicles, but right next to it we found a small car park. No charm, yes, but quiet, and at this time of day that's worth more than a castle with a view.

It was already getting dark, so we got into the camper van, each in our place: Papi Edu with his reading and me curled up in my blanket, dreaming of mountains, new routes and a lost chop on the floor.

Sometimes you don't have to do anything to feel like you're travelling. All it takes is the purr of the engine, a good place to stop and the promise that tomorrow maybe, just maybe, we'll start before one o'clock.

Oh, and tonight it's time to change the time. Many humans celebrate this as if they'd been given a new mattress: "one more hour to sleep", they say. Papi Edu looks at it with suspicion, and so do I. Because in our camper van, the hours don't add up: they stretch, they curl up, they escape. So we'll see if we sleep one more hour... or one more hour awake.