City Escape Collection

I arrived in Gien this afternoon, tired — not from the distance, but from the weight of my pack. It’s a beautiful walk in theory, following the Loire’s curves, but today it felt like effort rather than ease. I realise more and more how much the heaviness of what I carry shapes how I experience each step. It’s not just the physical load — it’s what it represents: the desire to be self-sufficient, but also the cost of that freedom.

At the campsite, I pitched my tent facing the château. It felt like a reward — a small reminder that this way of travelling, however tiring, always gives something back. Later, I sat at the bar with a book from the 1920s — a story about a woman running her father’s bootlegging business in Prohibition-era America. It was oddly fitting. There’s something about these female characters who step into unfamiliar roles that speaks to me right now.

I’m beginning to notice how much I crave pauses more than destinations. Meals, a quiet table, a stretch of shade — these are what punctuate my days, not monuments or milestones. The moments I remember most clearly are the ones where nothing much happens. And yet, they leave a mark.

Tomorrow, I take the train. I haven’t decided yet how I’ll organise my morning — there are a few logistical questions still open — but it doesn’t matter much. I’m not here to tick boxes. I’m learning to let plans be softer around the edges.