Well shit!

The warm September summer sun made us decide not to travel further south just yet. And so we gondola through beautiful Burgundy. Enchanting picture-book landscapes with rolling hills, small forests, lush green meadows where white, brown and colorful cows graze happily and yes, there are finally vineyards along the way.

Equally enchanting picture-book villages with old, French-rustic stone houses are lined up one after the other and waiting to be discovered. An extremely relaxing journey through a region that we have always rushed past quite quickly.

The only upset - only for me, of course - is when the Kangoo doesn't manage to pull the caravan up the rather steep climb to the great view at the Holy Madonna during the lunch break. The path is gravelled with light brown pebbles and has alpine undulations, the tires spin on it and nothing works on the very last meters in altitude. We hang just before the summit with a fabulous view, but so crooked and crooked that even with the best will in the world, no cheese remains on the bread.

What now? Back down again because you can't turn around. No problem, the caravan pulls the car down the mountain all by itself! Now just make sure we stay on the gravel road. We roll downhill very slowly, centimeter by centimeter with a lot of tiptoe sensitivity. Unfortunately, I can no longer be interested in the wonderful view. The stones spray left and right when Zappa has to step on the brakes. It's a good thing he got the ones from the chateau back home in such good shape.

Then, after what feels like an eternity, the tires have grip again and a sufficiently wide area opens up where the hero can turn the team. I'm about to wipe the sweat from my brow in relief when a speeding van shoots around the next bend and a young wild man stares at us with his eyes wide open in shock. He probably didn't expect oncoming traffic here on the way to his lunch break high up near the Heilgen. At least he reacts quickly, hits his brake pedal in time and comes to a stop an inch in front of our turned motorhome. Young people have to be lucky sometimes. We are now looking for another place for our siesta.

There are usually not so many places to sleep in cow country, which is why we drive to the Saône. For the ritual morning ablution we go into the fog-shrouded river and I have to admit that it gets a little scary for me in the haze because I'm afraid of losing my orientation on longer swimming trips.

However, when we arrive at a place on the bank today, we are horrified to discover that someone has seriously pooped in the middle of the place! Yes, I have to put it so drastically and no, I didn't want to take a photo as evidence. Thick, brown and steaming in the sun, the sausage lies at our feet.
The garbage lying around everywhere also annoys me. Because I think people probably want to come to these places more often, maybe spend a sunday swimming here or relax and fish for the huge carp. Then why don't I take my dirt back with me, but spread it picturesquely over the entire area?
And now this pile too. Exactly where we could stand with the caravan. Precisely and as measured in the middle of the square!

As is well known, the hero knows no pain and, with the help of a roof tile bordering the local fireplace, sends the shit into the water with a loud splash. Then he takes the sock with the huge hole that his big uncle always looks out of as a glove and collects the remaining trash out of our sight. There is also a large amount of toilet paper scattered all over the bushes. What a mess! Sometimes you just have to wonder.
Well, we see this as our small contribution to the tourist tax.