Sometimes...

Sometimes you just think that everything will go worse and worse.
It started well, though.
New Year's eve has been good, in a hutt, at 2500m (almost 8400 f).

Packe's hutt, from the name of an English pyréné-ist who funded the construction, at the top of a saddle, near la Coume de l'ours ("Bear's valley"), at heart of la vallée Toy ("Toy's valley").

We ate foie-gras, drunk white wine and enjoy beautiful sunsets and poetic moonrises.

The way down was great, we saw a partmigan (Lagopus mutus) and walked on the dark ice of a frozen lake. The weather was warm, like an early spring in the middle of winter; that's when you think about global warming.

And then, we drove back. I arrived at my house at night, unpacked my backpack of my my mountain's stuff, packed it with my city's stuff, ate a south-western soup; that's when you sleep the best, after a long day from mountains to plains, having seen family and friends, and when you think you won't see them before a while.

The train starts in time at Pau's train-station. We ran along snowy mountains and cold streams, then sunny plains, then the mediterranean sea, and then we stopped. A women had just thrown herself under the wheels. So we waited 5 hours, I missed my train in Nice, we slept 5h in Nice in a couchette, waited 1h to take the train to Vintemiglia, Italy, waited 2h to catch the train to Genova, waited 2h to take the train to Rome, arrived at Rome with 1h30 of lateness, spending the 6 hour of this last trip between two railcars. In Rome, I payed a 50€-fine for not having enough coins to pay my metro's ticket. Eventually, my travel lasted 35 hours from my house to my flat. Almost as long as going to New-Zealand.

Fortunaitely, my future Arctic supervisor remembered me and is going to send me some ar(c)ticles.