Speeding tickets

The best parking spots are rarely advertised. By definition, they can't be. Call it the Lonely Planet-phenomenon; once something is being advertised to the masses, it loses much of it's luster.

All white, all German.

All white, all German.

I discovered this spot by accident, on my way to some remote cliff. Surrounded by nature, yet close to the road. Everything within a 15-min drive radius, yet far away enough to feel secluded. Always a few vans around, yet it never feels crowded.

Often 4G, sometimes 3, but I'll live with that.

Sometimes a shepherd comes by in the afternoon, it's presence forewarned by the tinkling of the cowbells and the occasional, poignant bark of one of the sheep dogs.

At a leisurely pace the herd passes through in their never ending quest for fresh grasses, utterly unimpressed by the presence of some white vans.

Just passing through

Just passing through

And this all at the grande price of €0 per night. I'm slowly recouping my investment.
With time aplenty and my mind at ease my phone buzzed.

Text from dad: "A gift from the French government."

Attached was a speeding ticket. 

It failed to put a dent in my mood. As I stared out over the hill towards the distant shores a pleasant hiss reminded me that there were much more important things to take care of. 

The bacon was nearly done. 

Side-mirror reflections.

Side-mirror reflections.

Tree

Tree

(Almost) mosquito-proof

(Almost) mosquito-proof