FRANCE

As soon as I crossed the border into France, I was greeted by a cheery “Bonjour!” that seemed to echo with a hidden, sinister chuckle. My tires had barely touched French soil before I was plunged into an endless sea of pine trees, with the relentless soundtrack of cicadas chirping like a million tiny death rattles.

At first, the landscape seemed almost idyllic, a postcard-perfect scene, with towering pines stretching as far as the eye could see. But after a few kilometers, I began to wonder if I’d accidentally cycled into some enchanted forest, the kind where lost travelers never return. Luckily, the land was mercifully flat and the roads were blessed with cycling paths that seemed to stretch on forever. It was as if the French have a deep respect for our courage, or just because they enjoyed watching us suffer a little less. The paths were so well-maintained and abundant that I started to wonder if I’d stumbled into a parallel universe where cars were the endangered species, and cyclists ruled the roads.

South-West France

West France Beach

The west coast of France welcomed me with its beautiful, warm ocean, the kind that calls to you like a siren song. After arriving at the campsite, I made a quick hike for the beach and was instantly captivated by the high, rolling waves. I couldn’t resist diving in, and once I did, there was no going back – I was like a kid again, playing in the surf and forgetting all about the miles I’d pedaled to get there. The ocean was surprisingly warm, a comforting contrast to the icy waters I’d encountered in Portugal. It felt like a reward, one I wasn’t in any hurry to give up.

French Cousine Disaster

Once I made it from the water back on land, my stomach had a say and lead me to the nearest restaurant. Once there, I spotted a menu item that mentioned something that sounded suspiciously like “Anchovy,” a topping I’m infatuated with, so I eagerly placed my order for the pizza. What arrived was not a pizza with the salty little delights I craved but a dismal creation covered in salmon, liberally stuffed and laid out in a ghastly display. Despite my ravenous hunger, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. Surely not worth €17 that it cost me.

The next morning, hoping to salvage some dignity, I stumbled upon a crème brûlée at a market near the campsite. In my state of desperation, I didn’t realize it needed to be heated. I ate it cold, which did nothing to ease my already tumultuous stomach. This misstep was soon followed by the ultimate indulgence: a beer and a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, because who can choose between those two guilty pleasures?

When I finally boarded the ferry that carried me across the channel, I have spent the entire crossing glued to the toilet, barely escaping a watery fate that nearly made me miss my exit. It was as if my digestive system had declared war, and I was its helpless prisoner.

After a rather unpleasant ferry ride spent entirely on the toilet, I barely made it ashore before the need struck again. With dusk settling in, I quickly searched for the nearest place to camp. I found what seemed like a secluded spot near a cycling path and set up my tent, hoping for a quiet night’s rest. Morning came, and as I unzipped the tent, I was surprised to see people passing by – I wasn’t as hidden as I’d thought! As I packed up and hit the road, two rangers on motorbikes sped past, likely looking for the camper who’d pitched up in the wrong place. I guess someone reported my little hideaway!

Cicada’s Exoskeleton

Fort Boyard

I continued my journey north, pedaling towards the charming city of La Rochelle. To my delight, I found a campsite almost in the heart of the city—a perfect spot to rest and explore. That night, the camp erupted in laughter when someone let out an atomic fart, a shared moment of humor that echoed through the tents. The highlight of my stay was finally visiting Fort Boyard, a childhood dream come true. The imposing structure was just as awe-inspiring as I had imagined.

The next day, as I was preparing to leave, a group of adventurers arrived on their bikes, speaking Spanish. I greeted them in Spanish, and they were delighted to meet a fellow Spaniard—or so they thought! When I mentioned that I was actually Czech, one of them surprised me by responding in perfect Czech. He had lived in Prague for years and told me that Czechia was his favorite place. It was a small world moment that added an unexpected connection to my journey.

La Rochelle Sunset

Meeting an Old Friend

As I continued onwards, I made my way to visit an old friend, Michael, who I hadn’t seen in 17 years. We first met during my very first job in London, where we both worked in a kitchen. The thought of reuniting after so many years filled me with excitement. The cycling path that led to his place was incredible, winding through a forest that was once an old railway, now beautifully transformed into a route for cyclists.

Michael had bought a stunning house in a rural area, a perfect escape from the hustle and bustle of city life. That night, we stayed up until 4 in the morning, lying under a magical clear sky, watching shooting stars streak across the night while drinking a Japanese whiskey. It was the perfect setting to a long-awaited reunion.

Michal & Michael

Mont-Saint-Michel

As I ventured towards the northern French coast, I couldn’t resist a stop at Mont-Saint-Michel. From a distance, it looked like something straight out of a Warcraft movie – a breathtaking fortress rising from the sea, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. But as soon as I got inside, the magic quickly faded. The narrow streets were so packed with tourists that I nearly suffocated, shuffling along like a sardine in a tin. With no time to spare, I made a quick escape before I got trampled by the masses.

On my last day, just as I was packing up my tent, I noticed something unsettling – a bunch of ticks crawling all over my gear. I thought I’d taken care of them, but later found out I was hosting a tick convention on my leg. I spent the entire morning playing “find and remove” with those little bloodsuckers.

Determined to end my trip on a high note, I visited Utah Beach, the historic World War II landing site from Operation Overlord. However, realizing the ride to my ferry to England would take longer than expected, I cut the sightseeing short and started pedaling like my life depended on it. Naturally, Murphy’s Law kicked in, and my pannier bag decided to commit suicide by diving into my back wheel, slicing one of the spokes in half and curving the wheel in the process. But Murphy underestimated my resolve! I managed to catch the ferry just in time, with my bike barely holding together.

Utah Beach

Ferry to UK

As I left France, I was pleasantly surprised when the border guard, with a big smile, bid me farewell in Czech. A fitting end to an unpredictable adventure! One thing is for sure. I will miss my daily breakfast routine of four chocolate mousses, French pastries, and a bottle of orange juice every morning. Who knew that such a sweet indulgence would become my fuel for survival?

Au Revoir, France!

With French coast fading into the horizon, I felt a mix of relief and nostalgia. I reflected on the whirlwind of experiences I’d had. France had given me unforgettable memories, from breathtaking sights to unexpected challenges. Despite the ticks, tourist traps, and Murphy’s meddling. I left with a heart full of adventure and a taste for chocolate mousse that I’ll never forget. Until next time, au revoir!