Around 5 years ago my friend and ex-colleague David moved to live in Paris. I told him I would go and visit, as I’m sure lots of people do when friends move abroad. Time ticked by, I had other plans with my annual leave, and there was a global pandemic, but finally, I managed to get all of the excuses out the way and make my way to visit.

We had discussed doing a little backpacking trip while I was over, and it turned out that David is a distant relative of Robert Louis Stevenson, whose book ‘Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes‘ is considered (According to Wikipedia, I’ve yet to actually read it!) to be a pioneering classic of outdoor literature. in the book, Robert travels the Cévennes with what’s described as a ‘modest’ Donkey. Unfortunately, David couldn’t get his hands on a donkey, so I took it upon myself to embody this modest creature for the journey, if only in the sense that just like a donkey, I am also both smaller and more stoical than your average horse.

The excitement began with a ride on the TGV from Paris to Nimes. I got very excited about this train and now consider it possibly the best way to travel. Over this sort of distance it’s quicker and easier than flying, with better views, and no associated environmental guilt. The only thing I could imagine beating it is one of those mad Japanese magnetic levitation trains. I’m not a bucket list guy but have recently realised that as a lover of Honda, Shimano, NJS Track bikes and Japanese-made instruments, its a country I’m very keen to visit some day.

We stopped in Nimes briefly before getting another train to Ales where our three days of walking would begin. Ales was where we would hit our first little challenge of the trip in that it seems to be a town in which every other shop is a bakery but only one of them opens at lunchtime. After a little wandering, we managed to find a saucisson baguette and wandered out of town.

We soon headed out of Ales up into the hills, through some dense tree cover which kept the views hidden to begin with, but also sheltered us from the sun. I’d learnt from my Scottish heat stroke experience not to mess with the sun, and we made sure to take regular breaks and drink loads of water.

It was great to have this time to catch up with Dave out in the hills. I think sometimes in daily conversation we skim through stories, conversations get cut short, and there isn’t always time to get really in-depth. When you’ve got all day to walk and talk it’s easy to go a little deeper into things, whether meaningful or just chatting nonsense, it’s nice not to rush.

Before reaching out first camp stop we had decided to stop at a water fountain in the tiny town of Aigladine, only to find that the fountain was out of order, but a kind local had left a sign pointing to some bottled water placed in the bushes near by. This every day hero has probably saved countless hikers from getting into difficult sitations with water. Small acts of kindness go a long way.

On chilling near the defunct fountain we met a local with the friendliest dog ever, a massive shaggy retriever who seemed to take an immediate liking to us both. Meeting friendly dogs is one of the best things. Another positive of this interaction was the owner of said dog pointing us in the direction of the best nearby camp spot. Daves’s French was incredibly useful at this point. I don’t have much more than an awkward ‘Parlez Vous Anglais’ and would have been lost without him. It’s amazing to see a friend learn a new language and speak it with such confidence and fluency, and I was consistently impressed and proud at how well he spoke considering the last time we’d spent much time together he had been learning the fundamentals from language cards on his desk.

The spot that ‘dog man’ recommended was perfect, with nice flat pitches and plenty of rocks around to secure stakes in the soft ground. I’d taken my Lunar Solo hiking pole tent for this trip and gotten a cheap hiking pole from Decathlon, as tent poles aren’t allowed in hand luggage. It’s continued to be an impressive bit of kit, especially on these warm nights with the doors tied open and a view of the stars. It was so hot in fact that we both opted to take a silk bag liner rather than a sleeping bag, this was *just* warm enough, and ditching the sleeping bag made up for the amount of water we needed to carry. In true French fashion, Dave had recently cleared out the entire camping aisle of Decathlon and got this white tent which I nicknamed the UN shelter. It later earnt itself a new nickname, but was very photogenic and looked like a nice place to sleep.

Day two was the biggest day of the journey and turned out to be a total beast. Ever the optimist I told Dave that I’d be awake at 6am and ready to get moving early. This turned out to be total bullshit and I think I slept in until at least 9. This is the sort of thing that would wind me up if it was the other way about, but he didn’t seem to mind too much.

Anyway, we got going eventually, straight out into the heat and up a massive climb where we bumped into a bunch of French hikers also down from Paris. In a way, I enjoyed the language barrier. Sometimes I can catch myself interjecting into conversations and then worrying that I’m being a bit rude or not a good listener, but in this situation, I really enjoyed being forced to listen in and try to make some sort of sense of the chat. Much to their amusement when my ears pricked up on hearing random references to ‘Bradley Wiggins’ or ‘Arctic Monkeys’. They were planning to cover the same route as us so we walked together for a little while before going our separate ways.

The big talk of the day was whether the mid-way restaurant would be open, with it being Bastille Day we weren’t sure. On arrival the door was open and Dave and I couldn’t believe our eyes. Hearts sank when told that the kitchen wasn’t open, but were quickly lifted again at the offer of a charcuterie board of cheesy, meaty delights, and a few beers. It turns out there is actually some sort of law in France about having to provide bread with meals and not charging for it. We got through a fair bit of bread.

On leaving the retaurant absolutely stuffed with cheese, sausage, pickles, bread, beer, orangina, and a cheeky ice pole to top it off, we carried on down to a river in the bottom of the valley for a little wash and a paddle, and headed up for the last hill of the day.

The last hill of the day was over 500 meters elevation and with some seriously steep bits, along with a section in which the route marking seemed to dissapear almost entirely, leaving us in dense overgrowth and with a vague at best sense of direction. This was a good example of when to begin using a compass before you become lost, but given the ease of following the rest of the route we hadn’t expected this hard to navigate section. A bit of bushwacking and zigzagging later and we made it though to meet another fire road. absolutely stung to bits and full of thorns but we made it, and carried on the slog up the steep fire road to the high point and camp spot. Dave being the saint that he is later highlighted this section on Komoot.

The views from here were incredible, and we looked out over the Cévennes watching the sunset and enjoying a bottled beer we’d carried from the restaurant. At this point, Dave’s UN shelter earn’t its new nickname of ‘Bug Lantern’. It turns out a white tent with a light on inside is quite exciting to the insects. This was great for me, as they all seemed to flock towards Dave. If you don’t like insects, find a friend with a white tent and pitch near them.

The trip had been going so well, and we continuously mentioned how we’d had so many wins and not a single loss… That was until packing down camp to get moving on day 3 and immediately wandering down the wrong fire road without checking or realising that our route took us onto a less visible track in the opposite direction. Amateur hour! This ended up adding a couple of kilometres to the day but had a huge silver lining, after the detour and getting back on the route we’d both decided it was time for the morning movement and found a gorgeous wild poo spot. I love a poo with a view. Obviously, dig your hole and hide your mess and all that. Anyway, we decided the routing error was another win really, because if we’d gone in the correct direction at first we’d have had nowhere near as scenic a shit. If a modest donkey shits in the woods, does it make a sound? (yes.)

We had a long way downhill back into the valley to end this journey, and Dave was really flying along, he has much longer legs than me, and I was having a hard time keeping up for a while. We were heading down to a river in the bottom of the valley and I think he was partiucularly excited about getting in for a swim.

We did have to navigate some more very overgrown and thorny stretches of trail before reaching the river. The route was marked by little dabs of yellow paint on trees and rocks. Sometimes you’d see one every 10 meters, sometimes we wouldnt see one for a kilometer, and it was quite funny when a big tree with a yellow mark on it popped out of the undergrowth after spending half an hour wacking through huge brambles with a hiking pole, as if to say ‘you were about to think you were off course, werent you!’

By the time we got down to the river, we were pretty done in by the combination heat, wacking brambles, and steep downhill, and there was no question about getting in for a dip. Dave went right in bollock naked and I decided that putting my swim shorts on would make me look like the odd one out, so I joined him in an act of nudist solidarity and got my kit off. I may or may not have a rather risqué photo, which will remain tucked away in the depths of my hard drive.

The river was warm and the sun was shining, which gave the opportunity to freshen up a bit, wash my clothes and lie in the sun waiting for them to dry. I felt so content in this moment, I could have led there forever, or at least long enough to become severly sunburnt. Luckily we had a few more kilometers to walk and a train to catch, which spared my skin. We strolled along the last few road kilometers to our finishing point, and with that our little randonnée was complete. Its amazing how only three days of walking can feel like such time has pased in comparison to ‘normal’ days. It really slows time down. Maybe if you walk non stop you live forever. Or maybe your feet go to shit.

We took a little local train back to Nimes and had a few hours to kill before catching the TGV back up to Paris. Nimes is a beautiful city, and I’d love to go back and see a concert at the amphitheatre. Megadeth were playing the week after we were there and I feel like that venue would be a great place to see a noisy metal band. I like the idea of being entertained in a place where people have been being entertained for a couple of thousand years.

Dave scouted out a great little restaurant right by the amphitheatre, and we enjoyed steak and frites whilst watching the end of the day’ stage of The Tour. I had been a little out of the loop of this year’s race, but Dave is a true cycling fanatic and I’m thankful that he got me into it just as the race was getting exciting. we sat and sipped our beers, watched the tour, and then sauntered back to the station to settle down on the train home, content at what had been a really beautiful few days.

Coming soon… Part #2 – Rob vs Paris, but before I have the time to write any more I am off on a 1000km cycle tour around the north of England and the Scottish Highlands, culminating in watching the downhill world championships in Fort William. After all the time hiking recently, I’m excited to re adress the Hikes/Bikes balance and get some time in on two wheels. ✌️