Look back and remember

These days I'm putting hand to gps tracks made during my walk. When I offered to fix it for a pilgrim, I imagined it as a task that I might like. It is actually much more than that.
Anyone who knows me knows that I work everyday on cards, tracks, maps, satellite photos and amenities maps varied, and this often puts me in a position to imagine in my mind's eye the ground I see drawn to the screen of your pc or on a paper "paper". This helps me a lot when I walk: understand that a number of airlines are a dune at the foot of which runs the path that I must follow is critical, if I don't want to end up splattered on a provincial. Follow, step by step, dot after dot, the steps taken two years ago is moving.
Because it is no longer imagine but to relive. Review and breathe the cornfields, ripe in the Sun, the water of large canals, straights as the eye can see, and blinding colours in the Sun and tormented by the rain, feel on the tongue the smell of fresh water, so different from that of seawater. Hear in your ears the screeching of Seagulls that I felt I was going to commit an indiscretion that could cost a lot more than a scare.
Review the white peaks of the mountains that are approaching more and more. The rock on which we did break with Roberto, eating chocolate, as our accompanying dog was waiting for us. The water of the Durance which greet you on a bridge at dawn, after having followed for so many days and crossed several times. Review the giant antenna Repeater that made us a benchmark for 3 days. Feel the warmth of the Sun beat me on the face just before attacking the climb towards Notre Dame du Laus and feel an urgency to get fresh water to a private housing. The reflection of the Lake Serreponçon with the sun still asleep there is reflected inside. The break banana wrought iron of a cemetery at the foot of the cross. The dreadful idea of crossing a Gorge passing on the pipes of a pipe for water and stinging nettles on her legs, once you get there. Taste like cherries, more good because educated people with my own hands. The smell of the Earth of rice paddies, the gray sand of "sabbioni". The warmth of the affection of those who welcomed me into her home. The joy of seeing my parents, sitting in a bar in Peyruis. The frustration of loneliness in Beziers, the great depression. The fear of truck approaching and the relief of the miracle. The direction of magpies that yelling at us while we trudge uphill with Roberto in the footsteps you crawl from the cows in the mud. And where are the cows? MAh! Lost in the Woods and other underwear coming out of a castle … good thing those I recovered, though! The warm and human places including didn't know existed: Argeliers, Homps, Marseillette. Gluten-free bread of Marseillette, so good! The coolness of the House of Georges and the affection of his family. The snails attached to the dry stems of grass in front of a church. The taste of the cheese with the laughing cow spread on a corn cake and topped off with a little magic dust with chili. My shoes greet in front of the Church of St.-Gilles.
Enough of dots on a screen to relive this? Sometimes it takes … Maybe because the places you see walking you are engraved in my soul as you do the little things I enjoy. I will always be grateful for this trip. All the time.

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