Oui Oui Oui

I'm sitting on a bucket. I almost forgot to brush my teeth, though I was bound to remember it in this anxious sleeplessness I'm in. I pitched my tent on a lyceé's front garden in Albi, in a nook that is hidden in plain sight, or so I think, I don't know how it will look in broad daylight and with children running around, probably not as dissimulated. I'm really proud though! I feel like a spy, or a sniper, yeah a spy, just the thing for me, no one knows who you are, you walk around in plain sight, you hardly get killed, it's not like the movies, no confrontation, just watching. Behind me in the fenced wall which is just above people's eye, so that you'd have to be particularly undistracted to notice the red thing over the closed lyceé's wall. So many cars passing by, and people, and people on bikes, and always in pairs, some go fast. Why? It's late isn't it? I hold my breath when people pass by, or I wait for sounds, perfectly still, before quasi-relaxing. This isn't a brilliant idea, but the Fear of the Unknown stopped me in my tracks before heading out further alone through the nearly empty moist streets, the "nearly" part being the fear inducer. I'm wide awake, I don't know if I'll be able to go to sleep, I want to get out of here early, right now though, I feel safe, and this'll be a good story, worth it. • A funny day it was, my first day alone, "alone" has a strange meaning when you're hitchhiking though. A toothpaste tube lasts a surprisingly long time. When you're in your hometown and you take a walk outside it's like you're playing a solo piece for an uninterested lounge club crowd. When hitchhiking it's as if you're the conductor of an orchestra who are also the audience though you feel very little for whatever they do. • I awoke peacefully in my forest this morning on the outskirts of Bayonne. I took the bus in a Daze wanting to buy bottles of water from a super-market, only to find it closed and buying them from where I was initially, in a not-so-super-market. I idled at the designated spot flashing my "Toulouse" cardboard uselessly. A kind gentleman in a shitty car had made a curious face, and a swivel of the neck so drastic it seemed a perfect accompaniment to his honest smirk. He came back and told me I should be further up ahead and drove me there, a few dozen meters. No change, a basque woman stopped and said she's take me 5 kilometers down the road. In my excitement for someone finally stopping I didn't notice that 5 were a bit less than 300, so I jumped in. Some spanish empty talk, and she lets me off on an exit off the highway, she herself going to the hospital because of a wasp sting, hope she's alright... where I was now though the chances to get a ride were slimmed down even further, so in an act of temporary lunacy, and disregarding what I had learned in driving school, I walk into the highway, hoping to find a toll booth if walked long enough. I wouldn't have found one, it was impossibly far away on foot. Instead an orange man with a moustache and an orange van stopped me, said somethings I almost understood and then, for what seemed like and eternity of stillness, silence and inaction, we waited for the Gendarmerie. "What could they do to me?", "Is there any point thinking about it?", "Can't simply stop thinking about it though..." and "Wow, at this point in time there's really nothing to do at all" and "It's still early I guess" and "Nice weather". When they arrived, a guy got off a blue van and disdainfully refused to shake my hand and, in spanish, admonished me that "I can't do this in France". They drove me up ahead to another desolate intersection, and waited in hiding to see if I didn't try to go into the highway again. He could have been a latino detective in an american show. No one stopped, and no one was going to Toulouse, me neither, not today that's for sure. I'd have to find some way back, even camp out here somewhere if necessary. I wasn't frightened, I slept soundly the night before, got enough food, no big deal. My confidence in the Journey was shaken though. Would I have to abort it? Do I lack the courage? I stopped for a break, to eat something, but then I wasn't hungry. There was a bus stop, I'd find my bearings, there was a bus back, that always calms me down. Before I had been made to believe that Burning the Ships is the way forward, not so for me I've realized: I can dive much deeper if I know I'm strapped to a buoy. I changed gears, no one was going to Toulouse but a lot of people were going in another direction, what the hell was over there? I got so curious! I checked the bus map. I'll hitchhike through little towns, everyone's going to pass the next town over, surely it'll be easier. It was, I instantly got a ride from two girls but instead of taking me the next town over they thought it was a better idea to take me to eat barbecue with all their friends stuff me full of food and have me write the lyrics to 'Happy Birthday' in portuguese so we could all sing for the video. It was a lively time, with french talking, basque singing, some good conversational spanish (again) and charmingly bad english. The selection of girls was, like any selection of girls in the world, nice, some of them seemed like they would be nice to cuddle next to and talk for a while. There are so many of them in the world, it's astonishing, like this thread of rain that just ran down my tent. No way I'm sleeping outside of a tent at night with this lingering menace, I've got other things to worry about. And just like that it was over and they dropped me off at the next town, and alone and full again I was. I wouldn't trade this rollercoaster of desperation and bliss for anything, this is the place to be for me. A bit of walking and a quiet man pick me up and takes me past all the towns to the last one I wrote so that I didn't know where to next. His fast controlled driving on the mountain roads on his well kept old Mercedes with the windows rolled down, coupled with his relaxed demeanor that discouraged useless chit-chat in favor of silence and wind was the best ride I could have asked for from from Bardos to Saint-Palais. I bought couscous, set for food for days, I crossed the length of St-Palais on foot with my ridiculously heavy backpack on my back, which I tolerate more and more easily as time goes on. Though by the end of the town, which was pretty and in a straight line as most small towns, the weight was making my head hurt and I put it down at the entrance to the highway, drank some water, admired the scenery, smiled and stuck my finger out. A car stopped, I asked if he was going to Pau, halfway to Toulouse, and he replied that he was going to Toulouse. • A massive jump forward, what a day. We talked a bit, he was very interesting to talk to and not complacent like most people. He was my age, except successful, he did the things I'm going to do to be successful. I felt like the starving artist character in the dialogue. He reminds me, physically, of this guy I met once, same beard and sunglasses. We talked about things but one I remember well was about friends and how when you go somewhere new alone you produce a new best friend. I questioned this, he was content, he talks to his old new best friends. I, on the other hand, drift away, I always have. I thought he could be my friend, but after enough time there was silence, calm silence, and nothing more to be said an I thought: Friends are born of a space, not only of a gathering of two people. I ended up going all the way to Albi, half way between Toulouse and Montpellier, who cares about Toulouse? About spaces? I don't, I care about the Journey. • I arrived at night, rain. Go to a coffee shop to get out of the rain, buy an overpriced coffee. I used to pay for  coffee for the pleasure of sitting in a coffee-shop. These days, since they cost twice as much as I'm used to, I buy them to use their wifi and to take a shit, more bang for my buck. Perhaps only a free coffee can be appreciated for what it is. I prepared my food on the street, in front of a bank, the ones that have the cash machines inside and the lights turned on when closed. I felt myself become an Invisible as I start to fit the homeless personage and start to feel the aversion of passers-by's eyes. It is so easy to be a Chameleon. And that's how the Chameleon came to be sitting on a bucket.