Sleeping at the Refuge Des Merveilles

6:30 am. Thankfully, the night is over. I can fold my two blankets, collect my water bottle and earrings and slip out of the room and never know what the man I slept next to looks like. Fortunately he did not snore like Bill, my previous night's bed partner.

This is not me having wild sexual adventures in the French outback. At the Refuge des Merveilles, 79 people are sardined into four or five dormitories where the mattresses are literally pressed next to each other on long platforms. Bill and I shared a small room for ten with his wife and a wholesome Belgian family with enormous white smiles. Last night there were 45 of us bunked up together. I was delighted to discover that my assigned bed was bottom row next to the door. There may be the light from the emergency sign and footsteps on the stairs to the toilet, but there would be a source of oxygen.

The sun is still behind a mountain. The rocks are purple as are the clouds that glide like swans across the pale sky, their edges pinky golden.

"Is all we get for breakfast is bread and butter?" An English child asks.

Wait until they discover that a tiny pat of butter and a plastic rectangle of jam will not disguise the stale bread.

"What? It's stale bread, dude".

They've discovered.

"Is the reason Leon's not here because he's being punished?" asks an adult.

  A sarcastic voice garbled with dry bread crumbs answered him, "That's not a punishment"!

Furthermore, I might add that the chocolate chaude is just hot water stained grey.

Rather than repeat this disappointment,  I'll abstain and enjoy the view,
and save my 6 euros for when I get back to town. While I walk the 3 hours back to the bus stop I can pick myrtilles, wild raspberries and strawberries and drink water from the source.