Gnome Trek. Episode 3: A Blog about Nothing in Particular...

This was to be our third trip in the Gnome and, quite possibly, the last for a very long while. It absolutely needed to go well. 

Which inevitably meant that something would go horribly wrong...

The first day did indeed go well (always a worrying sign). We headed straight for Axe-les-Thermes in the Ariège, a town visited with the kids, a skiing holiday, many a year ago. I couldn't recognise a bloody thing. Had all the buildings been rebuilt? Had the absence of snow changed my view of reality? Was my memory finally failing? 

Answers on a postcard...

Apart from the bubble lifts, all seemed alien to me.

Even in black and white.

Ok, so this was not one of the most isolated of places to stay, even out of ski season, but I was driving no further, so we parked up for the night next to a forest and directly under the ski lifts themselves. 

What could possibly go wrong?

During that night, contrary to all expectations; nothing happened.

For the following night we went further into the mountains, to the Plateau de Beille. This was indeed a stunning place to stop for the night. Little sign of human life, almost no sounds save the distant howling of wolves. And almost no bears.

We had parked next to a precipice for the night, with a stunning panorama before us.

The clouds started to collect over the distant peaks...

What could possibly go wrong?

That night, secure in our little Gnome; nothing happened.

The challenge the next day was to attempt to capture the immensity of the mountains, the depth of the valleys, in a photo. This is far from easy. If you have ever seen the Grand Canyon, you may understand. Despite seeing a myriad of photos beforehand, none give any idea of the true enormity of that giant hole in the ground. This was similar, albeit to a lesser scale. But equally impossible. So I had to give it a try.

We clambered up the mountainside, 

avoiding wolves, bears and, most formidable of all; tics.

The vultures gathered...

Buzzards actually

The picture was snapped.

Thus failing miserably in attaining the perfect shot, we headed west to our final stopping place, in Guzet, to watch the sun slide behind the peaks.

That night; it happened... 

No it didn't....

The next morning, the vultures had nothing to feed on...

House Martins actually

The flowers hung their heads in shame

nah, still not a vulture in sight

We ascended on foot to the peak the next day, to view Guzet from above 

and the flowers from below.

and the valleys from the side.

So what do you know? A few days away without disaster. The storms held off, the bears did not attack, the Gnome did not plunge to almost certain doom.

We had had a peaceful week and now it was time to return home to resume a 'normal life'. A 'new' normal that is, one where the mask has become ubiquitous, where any visitors are looked upon with suspicion, where seeing your own flesh and blood has become a distant hope. Where lies and corruption have become an acceptable way of running a country. Where mango chutney is nowhere to be found.

And now, the end is near, and so I face my final curtain.