Today we crossed half of France, attempted an excursion frustrated by the rain, saw the famous Millau viaduct from above and slept next to a menhir and a Christ, like good devoted Gauls.
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We were looking for the beach and ended up digging holes, dodging barriers, and searching for water at a snail's pace. We slept where the vines have changed their look since the last time.
Today a new journey begins. We've left Berga, Grandma and Uncle Joan (who stayed behind cutting hair), and we've already crossed the border like true smugglers. I'm a travelling dog again!