Back into France

33.72 miles | Total miles: 15,865.32

My alarm rang at 6:00 a.m., and by 7:00 I was out on the road. It was a beautiful morning. Rain and thunderstorms were forecast for the afternoon, but for now the streets were quiet—almost empty because it was Sunday. I love that feeling. The stillness of a place before the day fully begins.

I made my way out of Geneva, already starting in the outskirts, and before long everything turned into countryside—fields, farms, and small roads winding through a dreamy and slow landscape. It felt peaceful.

About an hour in, I crossed back into France after passing over a bridge in a valley. And just like that, France welcomed me with a climb uphill. Soon it felt hot. Because rain was expected, I hadn’t put on sunscreen. At some point I realized that was probably a mistake—but by then I was sweating so much that applying it would have been a whole production.

Not long after, I noticed I was on the Camino again. The signs appeared, along with hiker rest stops. I always like that feeling—crossing paths with another journey inside my own.

Then I saw someone down in a ditch beside the road and wondered what was going on. As I passed, Michel pulled up with a small cart attached to his backpack. He’s from France and walking the Camino de Santiago. I was genuinely happy to meet him.

Later I ran down to Frangy and made a quick stop at a store for more hydration just before it closed. Lucky timing. Coming back out, I met Gérard and Pierre—two funny men curious about my run and happy to chat for a moment.

Then it was onward in the heat and humidity. I realized I was only about a kilometer from Champagne. Funny to be so close, and at the same time feel absolutely no desire to drink any champagne at all.

Soon I reached the Rhône.

I followed it, crossed it, stood in awe of it. There was something enchanting about being beside that river today.

Around mile 27 I had to make one of those decisions I know so well by now. Two paths. Google suggested one, but the other looked much more like the path I wanted to take. I chose the one close to the river—a gravel path—and decided to simply walk it and see where it would lead. Sometimes that’s all you can do.

It was incredibly hot. Sweat running nonstop. Enough discomfort to feel every single step.

It’s interesting how much the mind imagines outcomes—possibilities, problems, detours—when we really have no idea whether we’re on the right path or not. Worst case, I thought, maybe two or three more hours moving until I find another way.

Then, about a mile before the point where I would have found out for sure, I met Pascale and her dog Winnie. She told me: yes, stay on this path, then right, right, right—and I’d get exactly where I wanted to go.

Perfect.

It still felt like forever until I reached the campsite.

When I arrived, the woman there—whose name I sadly forgot because my brain had melted in the heat—handed me an ice-cold glass of water. It tasted amazing. I decided to pay for a bungalow instead of pitching the tent. It stayed dry, and maybe it will stay dry overnight too—but tonight I’m tired, and a bed feels like the right decision.

Like most evenings, I’m dealing with upload issues. But eventually the work gets done.

Thanks for checking in. Au revoir, Andrea