From the Alps I made my way south once more, this time towards the eastern edge of the Pyrenees mountain range nearing the north of Spain. I had agreed to be a volunteer helping to construct a greenhouse as an eco-build project and was looking forward to all I anticipated learning in the next few weeks.
So began my simple journey from Embrun to Quillan, and the many mini disasters that came with it!
The train I was catching to the town of Gap where I would be meeting a ride-share was a little late, the ride-share was then an hour late. The driver, a fun hearted guy in his early twenties, was struggling with directions and missing turnings. This all resulted in my missing the next ride-share I was planning to catch, but soon became a secondary reason for my journey faltering that day.
A little walk to a bin at a service station, followed by a quick turn and a couple of steps somehow ended with me becoming the victim of gravity. Knees and hands hitting the ground, ankle twisting in an impressive but far from natural fashion as I toppled over the edge of a high kerb.
I did not realise quite how bad the ankle had become until my ride-share host, flustered in all his lateness, had dropped me on the edge of town in Aix-en-Provence to await my next lift (one which I’d booked after missing the first change over), halfway to my final destination. My ankle had become so large and my foot so painful to stand on I was beginning to think something may be broken.
It is moments like these I am truly thankful for the technological world we live in. Not knowing which taxi I should call at this location plus, not knowing how to order said taxi in French, I made a silent hope for my data allowance as I downloaded the Uber app.
This played out successfully, and I soon found myself hobbling into the A&E ward with the help of my wonderful driver, who had even gone so far as to offer me a sweet to cheer me up on route and parked in a no stop location to help me in with my bags!
It’s fair to say the next seven hours did not pass quickly. Sitting in a whitewashed room, watching the traffic of medical staff and the ill and injured going in and out through one set of automatic doors or another. I was beginning to reach a state of mild despair an hour or so after my x-ray, when I was wheeled away for my ten minutes of time with the doctor.
Thankfully nothing was broken, just badly sprained. I was given a splint and found that the bright side to seven hours of waiting with my leg raised meant it was already a little less painful to walk. So out I hobbled, two steps, stop, bag lift, stop, two steps, stop… until I was sat outside, trying to determine where to stay and how to get there. I had chosen a Saturday to injure myself and now well into the evening Uber rides seemed much harder to come by, and much more expensive.
By around 10:30pm I found myself sat in a large, soul-less hostel bar, the kind that was made for many and looked fortunate if it welcomed few, devouring as much of my €26 (minimum order amount) Indian takeaway as I could before hobbling upstairs and finally closing my eyes to the day.
The next morning, having had confirmation I was still okay to join the volunteer project despite my injured state, I managed to book an early ride-share to continue toward my destination, ate breakfast and ordered another Uber to the meeting point.
Half an hour after the meeting time I had learnt the importance of ensuring communication in advance, to make sure the driver still planned to travel. And so, at this point unwilling to spend any more on yet another Uber I began a slow, painful, disheartening hobble toward town.
Halfway there and having already taken double the recommended time for the whole distance I put my bags down and sat on a kerb, needing a break and still to arrange another way to get to Carcassonne (the nearest big town to Quillan and where I would be able to catch a bus to my final destination).
Always determined to find a bright side or a positive outlook on any situation, I found myself struggling. Morale hitting a low as I sat, body and mind exhausted, trying to work through my limited options to a solution.
Just at that moment I was approached by the man who had given me the Uber lift that morning, wondering why I was not on the way to my next destination. He just so happened to have parked across the road waiting for a new job. Offering a good ten minutes of his time he tried to help me find transport, gave me his telephone number in case I was still struggling later, but most importantly, restored my faith that things always work out somehow, that you never know who or what may appear just when you need it the most.
Back on my feet I continued toward the centre, had a new ride-share confirmed for a few hours time and sat at the bus station to wait. And after one final half hour struggle to find my driver after she arrived (due to the challenge of the language barrier), I was finally settled in the back of a car and heading south west once again.
My bus from Carcassonne to Quillan was wonderfully uneventful, my host Renee greeted me at the bus stop, then drove the five minute journey out of town to their house. One day later than planned, with an appreciation I would surely not have felt if all had run smoothly, we pulled into their drive. Greenery to the left, an old garage on the right, mountains spread in the distance encircling us. I opened the door and stepped out with relief, knowing my next chapter was finally to begin.
