I spent two weeks on the Riviera, then two weeks in Chamonix, then I went South. I took some good photos, so I’ll let them do the talking. I decided to look for real estate in Nice, and after looking at apartments for three days decided it was just too pricey. Too bad. I like Nice. I went rollerblading on the Promenade Des Anges and loved it.

I was looking on ebay to get a new Tissot T- touch watch and have it sent to me, but I managed to find a titanium one in Cannes that I bargained for and got a great deal on. Also in Cannes I went looking at expensive watches and managed to have on my wrist for 30 seconds a watch that cost over $750,000. That was my idea of a joy ride.

As you can probably tell from the photos, I also fell in love with Chamonix. I did three days of rock climbing and one day of ice climbing on the glacier before the rains moved in and sent everyone home for the season. I loved this town and can’t wait to go back.

One evening, I wandered into a bar and saw three posters on the wall. Three similar posters, all images of a cog railroad leading to Mont Blanc. Just three simple posters, one reddish, one light blue, and one dark blue at night. I asked for the owner. I asked him if he knew what these posters were. He said yes, he did. I asked if the people in the town knew what he had on the walls. He said no, they had no idea.

These were the famous “Vers le Mont Blanc” posters designed and produced by Geo Dorival in 1928. There are only a handful of sets of these left in the world in excellent condition. I was so inspired that when I came back to the USA I looked online and managed to buy a set in perfect condition. I love them.

I went to Toulouse, where my plan was to stash my heavy pack (45 pounds, and I’ve been traveling with it for eight weeks already, so I’m pretty strong by now) at the train station and head to Andorra for a day of sightseeing. I get off the train and go to the luggage room. In the old days, you would go to the guy in the luggage room, hand him your luggage, and he would charge you one euro and give you a small receipt.

Today, things are different. The luggage guy is now the X-ray screening guy. He looks at the x-ray image of your bag and then you put your bag into the self-service locker, which works on a combination. I asked how much the locker cost and the guy said 6.50 euros (about $8, if you can believe it). I said I didn’t have change. He said no problem, they have a change machine. So I went to the change machine, put in a twenty-euro note, and got 20 one-euro coins. It was at this moment that I got the memo from my large intestines that it was time to visit the bathroom. So I rushed back to the locker, put in six coins, and watched the “6.00” appear in the window. One more to go. I put in the seventh coin and they all dropped out. I tried again, and on the seventh coin, again they all came back. Now I’m having the biological equivalent of a yellow terrorist alert, and it’s changing to red. I asked the guy, who’s watching me with a smile on his face, why I can’t put in seven euros. He says because it costs 6.50. I asked him if he had change for a one-euro coin. He said of course not.

At this point, the cat was almost out of the bag. I left my backpack in a locker with the door open and ran all the way to the other end of the train station, where the men’s room was blocked by plywood. A man told me it was “that way,” so I ran that way and found the parking lot. Oh boy. I hate this. My internal pressure valve is now firmly in the red. I asked the woman at the car rental window and she pointed me again “that way,” so I went that way and found the trailer that housed the “toilettes,” paid my one euro to get in, and managed to get some relief. Must try not to do that more than every five years – too painful. That’s why they make Preparation H, and I really don’t want to be a subscriber. I got change from the nice ladies at the bathroom, ran back across the train station, where I was able to put the correct change into the machine and lock my pack into a locker.

This is how France is. Half the population spends its time coming up with rules that the other half spends its time trying to figure out how to get around. Nothing really works. Ask anyone who’s spent much time in France and you’ll learn that nothing works there. The reason the country stays afloat is tourism, which they all take for granted, and which keeps money flowing in so that the government can continue to find new ways to make life difficult for the French.

That was when my troubles began. The conductor told me to get off at the wrong station (I’m sure I asked a stupid question and got a stupid answer). I spent three bloody hours in a small town that is just about on the end of the map in Southern France. I had to take the train back and wait for a bus, all of which took hours. After traveling the entire day, I ended up in Vieux Andorra at around 6pm, just in time to find a hotel. I had with me a camera, a credit card, a sweater, and about 40 euros in cash.

- by David Siegel