One Hundred and Seventy One

Limoges Mission, Limousin Région, France


I'd snuck into Gareth's room via his window at quarter passed midnight. The dopey cunt fell asleep with his phone in is hand and I managed to obtain 4 hours of sleep before the morning was disturbed by the ugly voice of the alarm. We'd secured a lift to a town, 10 miles shy of London Luton Airport and began the early walk, mostly through abandonned train track into the shithole town. Naturally we were armed (to the teeth) with sweets, passports, £10, €1.25, sleeping bags and a 15pence energy drinks. I can't stress the importance of a good sweet collection when travelling.

trackwander

ryan

It was nice to be back in an aeroplane, Ryanair still amazes me. The scutters, the expensive whack food, the evidently overworked cabin crew and ofcourse, the pilots who always seem to fly in a similar fashion to wooden rollercoasters. We landed at Limoges airport, in the middle of fucking nowhere and in an airport smaller than most UK bus stations. With fuckall money. I pulled out a marker, Limoges sil vous plait, printed on card in drippy black letters. Off we went down the French Motorway. Pro Hitch bitches.

hitch hika

It took about half an hour for the first lift to arrive, A hippy dude in a green van. Somehow he knew we were English. I wasn't quite sure of the Hitch Hiking attire in France and could only compare it to Hitching in England. Our second ride was caught on a major motorway. We legged it over and opened his door, and shouted "parlez vous anglais? parlez vous anglais!?" to which he replied "non! En France, vous parlez Francias." I tried my best to converse with the man, but I got as far as telling him my our names and where we were from. To be fair it's completely justified with my D grade in GCSE French. The guy was sound, and dropped us off right in the middle of Limoges City. Worrd.

in the middle of somewhere?

grab dem lifts

Landing in France on Bastille Day was completely unplanned, but I can't argue with National Holidays and the French certainly know how to celebrate them. We spent a few hours exploring the town, and then made our way to the largest Public Jardin where apparently some shit was going down. At 5 minutes passed twilight, the streetlamps we extinguished and the town was covered with pretty fucken rad fireworks for 2 hours. After eating with Floreon and his mates, we went in search of a suitable place to sleep. The river banks of the Vienne were looking promising.

opposite palais de justice

bastille crunk day works

la gare de Limoges

As I woke up a Dog walker passed by and had to double take, we'd slept in a nice cove of trees on the banks of the beautiful River Vienne. We spent the day exploring more of the town and climbing street objects. Limoges is famous for its porcelain, so we busted out mad poses in various museums. It was hot too... Fucking hot. Lazing around in another country couldn't have come at a better time. We checked out a sewer before dusk, in flip flops, using a keychain light, Cave Clan style.

le wake up

porcelain pose

sewerfresh

When night had fallen, I figured we should check out the huge train depot in the city. I was surprised to find out how easy it was. Even in Limerick, Ireland, it was generally harder to gain access. It was good to not have to worry about palisade fencing, or infact fencing in general. We didn't stay long enough to get caught, but the attitude of authories seemed pretty lax to say the least, not to mention the complete lack of CCTV pretty much all over Europe except for England. We busted out drainor poses on the high speed TGV lines and then headed for food and checked out the next spot.

chicken

tracksides

The Cathédrale Saint-Étienne de Limoges is Huge. Earlier in the day we went inside to check it out, I hadn't been somewhere this big in a long time, and naturally I was looking for access to get high up on the towers. Master Wikipedia tells me the construction of the cathedral began in 1273 and finished only in 1888. The Renaissance loft and octagonal bell tower was built in 1534. We sat outside for two hours, waiting for the remaining tourists to disperse. A bar nearby would be shutting soon, and so we planned our access up to the top. The plaza was fully empty and we made our way over and up, deliberately looking away from the view until I was at the very top.

dang.

thas high

By the time I was down it was nearing 2am. Our flight was in 7 hours, we were miles away from the airport and the only route was through pitch black empty motorways. We decided to get going, we had no idea when the buses would resume in the morning and know from experience to not trust them. Just before leaving the city, we saw a baker in a small boulangerie. As he prepared for the next mornings bread, we knocked on the window and he let us in for some water. Onward we continued through the starlit motorway. Royksopp was blasting through my earphones, keeping me awake. My feet had deteriorated, they felt like sandpaper, but we had no choice but to carry on. I passed out in my sleeping bag next to the ATC tower at the airport.

cathedral toppa

high above limoges

Getting woken up to a landing plane is fucking annoying. Limoges was fucking rad. Shouts to Gareth Brown, Gay Airhostess Man, Green Van Dude, Mr Second Lift Dude who didn't speak English, Really annoying museum woman, Floreon and his crew, Bitchy tourist guide who wouldnt let us follow, everyone partying in the Jardins for Bastille. To this date, Limoges has been my cheapest trip, I spent £16.50 on flights (£8.25 each way) and spend €20 on food (basiclly £20 at the current exchange rate). We hitched to the city and therefore didn't pay any airport transfers, and slept rough, so £0 on accommodation too. Total expendature for a 3 day trip, £36.50. Fucken Word.

Paix, Ends.