The route begins in a small parking lot, from where we fight our way up the mountain through undergrowth. Once we reach a small platform, we get our bearings and take a stony, narrow path from there.

We walk counter-clockwise, staying on the route shown by GPS. Stones become rocks, then there’s another passage where we have to climb. Now we’re higher up, the rounded peaks seem close enough to touch.

A forest section follows, through which the sun barely penetrates, making it cooler – the next stage. Here too, we ascend once more and reach an information board with three arrows pointing in three different directions.

We take a path that descends steeply between two rock formations. After a while, I realize this isn’t a path because it leads into an impenetrable area. The GPS indicates we’re heading into a ravine. So we turn back.

Up to the signboard to reorient myself. I walk alone in the direction that contains a warning. We don’t understand it and can’t translate it. But it seems this path holds dangers. I quickly come to a clearing, from where I continue over a large rock without any protection. There’s no path, just the rock from which the deep gorge opens up to the right. No safety measures.

I come to a halt. Our route ends here. Not officially, because it should continue somewhere here. We’re lost and GPS is no longer any help. Continuing would mean putting ourselves in a dangerous situation. This is our boundary.

I go back down to her, where she’s waiting for me at the signboard. She doesn’t have a good feeling. Everything in her body is telling her not to go up there. I’ve seen what she felt beforehand. I’m disappointed, but the only right thing to do is to take the same route back.

And we do. But only as far as the platform, from where we take one of the other routes, a wide and flat path, down to a parking lot. It’s a leisurely walk, not the steep descent we were expecting. From the parking lot, it’s not far to our car. A short way along the road and we’re there.

Back in the city, back in the chaos. The narrow streets filled with cars. Parked cars. Stationary cars. Creeping cars. In the air is the smell of exhaust fumes and the sound of muffled engine noises, interrupted by the very loud, cracking sound of unmuffled motorcycles.

We’re lucky and find a free parking space right outside the door of our accommodation, which I maneuver into with their help. My legs are heavy. My knees are shaking. My back is aching. We haven’t covered many kilometers, but it wasn’t an easy hike. And it wasn’t a fulfilling one.

As nice as it was to finally be out in nature again, I feel empty here. I don’t like the landscape. The places even less. The country is not my country. I dream of France, of Brittany and the lush green fields, the vastness and tranquility and the rugged cliffs of the Atlantic coast.