The next morning we set out on foot up the mountain trail. Wonderful views greeted us, clouds caressing the higher slopes of the mountains that towered above. As we made our way, breathless, up the trail, we began to hear whoops and childish cries of delight echoing down through the forested ravine. Suddenly, a blue blur shot past us through the trees at an alarming rate. Some distance further on we saw the cause of all the commotion.
An all too eager queue of schoolkids were awaiting the dubious honour of being attached to a zipwire and chucked off down the ravine…they were loving it! The trees here were festooned with treetop platforms, rope bridges and zipwires. It was a kid’s dreamland, and they were making the most of it. As we made our way back down, child after child flew past us over the three stages of the wire laughing with glee, a wire which eventually took them all the way down to the river at the bottom of the valley. A fantastic place!
We stopped for a few moments below the zipwire, some metres before it terminated in a treetop protected by boxing-ring style padding, Miki getting some great shots of the kids flying overhead, arms and legs akimbo. (The kids, not Miki)
We left Camping Moudang (for that was its name) that afternoon, and stopped north of the Pyrenees for Miki to paint in a beautiful pastoral setting. With rolling hills and green and golden fields punctuated occasionally by a sleepy village draped across the landscape, it was a perfect source of motifs. Miki perched on her stool at the side of the road, some distance away. Me, bereft of a parking space, gingerly eased the Boomobile onto a soft verge that inadequately protected it from the occasional sales rep achieving terminal velocity at our expense.
Nevertheless, I heroically managed to produce several cups of coffee in the wake of their turbulence.
As I sat in the rear lounge reading a book, I would occasionally glance up to see Miki, deep in concentration, capturing the contrast between the wild mountains and the gentler lower pastures. I smiled, knowing she was in her element.
We left this idyllic source of inspiration in the late afternoon, travelling through Lannemezan and Boulogne (no, not that one) and by the evening, we had come upon the village of Samatan, and a lovely spot to overnight, by a beautiful lake – Luck was with us again! Alas, the only dark cloud on the horizon was the fact that my daughter was not speaking to me. It’s too complicated to get into here, but it saddened me greatly. I know I’d done no wrong, indeed, I’d warned her about the possible problems she had eventually encountered, yet still she blamed me.
I have thought long and hard about it since. I’ve always thought my relationship with my children was pure, untouchable. Perhaps I was being naïve. I imagine I must have caused my own parents similar pain, but it still makes it a bitter pill to swallow.
Text by Kev Moore
Drawing & Photos by Miki
Both on Planet Goodaboom
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