Jas de Pratmau

We packed a picnic and headed to a farm beyond the village of Montségur.

 My phone pinged with a pétanque message from Joel, another from Jo, asking if I was in and could she come round for a coffee to ease her hangover after last night's village fête, another from Rousseau asking if I was in town and fancied and apéro.   I replied  on est à la montagne to them all.  

This was our day together.  

We've tried to find the caves on the north face of the Frau for several years.  This turned out to be another fruitless attempt but it didn't matter. The path crossed an excited stream and rose steeply through pine forests which gave way to beech and then the high summer pastures patched with snow. For every metre we climbed (850), Bernie did the triple.  

Nico explained, in a physical education teacherly way, that only humans produce lactic acid, animals don't.  They just feel tired. Just as well for the dog. 

Back in town, Bernie jumped out of the boot without a wince while Nico and I limped around the cathedral for a beer at Atmos.