The South of France was delicious and frustrating. I was completely lost by the language barrier. Camping was a mistake. My body was so beat down from countless hours sitting on stone painting, that I could not recover by sleeping on the ground. I stopped my mental loop of “fuck France” by flipping it with “fuck Texas”. I didn’t want to be “that” tourist. Every where I went the Canadians had flags on their luggage and packs, so they wouldn’t be mistaken for U.S. citizens. Patriots? We would debate this. Flags are about otherness. Vive la France!