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Getting Creatively Lost: A Ramble Through France

Final Post: Heading Back to Paris

From Loubressac to Autoire.

The next morning, I got up early to catch a taxi to the train station across the river, in Bretenoux, where I’d catch a train back to Paris. I was sorry to leave the valley, and I felt a tightening in my chest at the approach of my time to go home. But it was time to go home.

I’d walked a hundred miles in ten days, about my speed. I’d seen beautiful countryside; smelled the fresh, fragrant air; got a closer sense of the people than I’d had before; poked around ancient castles and churches; eaten spectacular meals; drunk wine I wish were more available in the states (in the nearby Cahors, they have a way with malbec); and tested myself physically, a little. I was lonely, often, but often not. And when I was by myself, with no one to talk to, I thought about life, my family, and how I could be a better husband and father.

I couldn’t have asked for more.


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