Vous r'prendrez bien un peu de varappe (ariégeoise)?

oh, juste une lichette, alors!

Jusqu'ici rien de bien nouveau et toujours le même plaisir à se retrouver ; à penser et se dépenser ; à discuter et se disputer. La long-due visite, programmée pour la fin février mars avril a finalement lieu "comme prévu", si ce n'est que la neige a décidé de ne faire cette année qu'une timide apparition suivie d'une retraite anticipée. Nos options ski, raquettes, igloos et huskies font pschit! - comme dirait Jacques Ch. - et sont promptement remisées.

extraordinaire vue sur la vallée de la Courbière depuis la Roche ronde.

À grimper, donc, puisque le soleil et les changements climatiques infligés par les ballonnements de nos ongulés domestiques nous y contraignent! Non à l'élevage qui favorise la pratique de l'escalade qui dérange les charognards qui mangent les carcasses des ongulés tombés au pâturage d'honneur. En forme d'instantanés de quelques-uns des secteurs les plus proches (dans un rayon de 10 km), voici un authentique et véridique résumé fait en mots et avec de vrais morceaux d'images de ce qui a fait cette semaine casi-(dolo)-mythique:


Jour 1 - couennes et mini-grande à la Roche ronde:
La pluie insiste pour préparer le comité d'accueil et recevoir notre cher A. dès son arrivée. Il faut donc pour démarrer en douceur, opter pour un secteur bien orienté et connu pour sécher vite. La Roche ronde a de bons arguments: une poignée généreuse de voies faciles plus techniques que physiques, une exposition plein sud et bien aérée - pour ne pas dire "en plein vent" - et une marche d'approche suffisamment raide pour laisser le temps à la paroi de sécher! À l'exception de quelques gouttières pléthoriques et des sueurs froides résultantes sur deux sections fines de Ballet-brosse et Thé au harem (6a+ et 6b), les voies sont praticables et agréables, du 5 ou 5+ (une bonne flopée) au 6b (dont la très belle Amarcord, tout en finesse).
En résumé: après-midi ensoleillé, vues magnifiques et échauffement plutôt probant. Vus l'approche et le pied de voie, la Roche ronde n'est pas un secteur pour aller grimper avec des enfants (ou si, mais sans moi!) mais c'est une option formidable et pas trop fréquentée, surtout quand on pense au voisin Calamès... On a d'ailleurs raconté notre aventure à trois avec J. à la très jolie Pénélope, longue et homogène dans le 5, il y a quelques temps.

ballet brosse (L1: 5, L2: 6a+) vu d'en bas ; depuis le très confortable R2: toute l'humidifficulté se concentre sur une quinzaine de mètres!

Jour 2 - couennes à Génat:
On se lève du bon pied, le temps est beau et (très) chaud, avec un je-ne-sais-quoi d'orageux dans l'air: les mouches sont co-connes et nous tournent autour sans pitié. "On est de bonn' bonn' bonn' bonne humeur ce matin, y'a des matins comme ça!" On décide donc d'un commun accord de miser sur une approche extra-courte, avec prairie et arbres slackline-compatibles inclus en cas de coup de mou.

A. en pénitent gris, prêt à sonner l'angelus.

Bref, on met le cap sur Génat. À un moment donné, on se dit qu'on pourrait pousser jusqu'à Auzat mais on a la flemme. Pour parer à toute éventualité de coup de chaud, on prend du casse-croûte et de l'eau, histoire de se poser à un moment: personne ne va nous faire changer d'avis. - Si un expert en géologie nous lit: le calcaire de Génat varie énormément entre abords immédiats de la grotte (assez typique, bien sculpté, de beaux trous et quelques fissures mémorables), dans la grotte (le pack classique gros dévers tricolore avec colonnettes, on ne touche pas à ça!) et plus loin sur les côtés (dalle à aspect sédimentaire, tout en ronds et en plats déroutants mais vraiment agréables dès qu'on y est habitué...) Qu'est-ce que c'est? Comment ça s'appelle? D'où ça vient? Merci d'avance! - On revisite avec plaisir des voies connues qu'A. découvre avec plaisir (Palo, Malo, Clair de lune, Uranus, l'Anti-Génat, Banans slip...) tandis que la chaleur a peu à peu raison de la maigre somme de nos volontés individuelles. Las, la faim se fait sentir, puis la digestion attaque. On en est à la sieste post-prandiale quand nos anglais préférés débarquent: Sam, G. et J., en tenue de combat et prêts à en découdre. Ça tombe bien, il nous reste une petite poignée de voies faciles à tester autour de Hale Bopp (6a old school qui coupe un peu la digestion): la belle Corvus (6a+) et la teigneuse Corax (6b), concentrée dans un pas de bloc long et beaucoup plus dur que ce que la cotation laissait imaginer...
En résumé: longtemps réservé au grimpeurs dans le 7 et le 8, Génat offre maintenant deux jolis secteurs de couennes du 4+ au 6b+/6c qui valent le détour, grâce à la passion, au travail et aux efforts de Gérard Jalbert, qu'on a croisé là-haut dernièrement, qu'on salue et qu'on remercie au passage!

Futuna et G., têtes en l'air et nez au vent ; J. de retour d'une longue envolée ; un topo non-officiel mais à jour signé Un(t)raveling!

Jour 3 - grande(s) voie(s) à Calamès:
Visite éclair de notre chère C. qui, ayant laissé les filles avec leur papa, nous rejoint pour 24 heures et une séance d'escalade promise elle aussi de longue date. La C. est comme les frères FÖRM allemands de la blague (un autre classique des années 80, tiens: Monsieur et Madame FÖRM ont trois fils, comment s'appellent-ils?" - Jesus, Hans, Hubert Förm", bien sûr! Pardon, je me laisse aller...).

La C. à l'attaque de la L1 de Rio.

En un mot elle pète le feu, elle  bouffé du lion, elle a grave trop la patate. Pas question de passer sa journée à piétiner au pied de voie en attendant son tour en moulinette: elle est motivée pour aller faire une grande et pourquoi pas deux grandes en parallèle? Bin, okay, qu'on y répond: allons-y! On se prépare un peu, on choisit nos objectifs rapido et sur le coup de... 14h20 (si, si!), le soleil caché derrière un voile gris, un petit air d'il va pleuvoir, on décolle direction Bédeilhac et son petit parking, avant de monter jusqu'au secteur du Pilier des Cathares où nous attendent Rio et Ryobi (cinq longueurs équipées, 180m d'escalade facile). Il s'agit de deux lignes parallèles dans le V, V+ et exceptionnellement 6a, équipées mais avec "un peu d'air entre les points" (la L2 de Rio est très aérée: si vous n'êtes pas confort ET détendu dans le 6a, faites-la en second et faura poser quelques points entre les points!!). On a rassemblé le matos à la hâte et pas vraiment prévu de faire de la grande voie, il manque donc un relais pour une équipe et une paire de mousquetons pour bien faire... Qu'à cela ne tienne, Wallis partira avec Arnaud sur Ryobi avec un set complet et la corde à double, pour alterner les longueurs. Futuna passera devant sur Rio, assuré sur une corde à simple et au gri-gri par C. Grâce aux lignes qui ne se lâchent pas d'une semelle et à la qualité de la dalle, on se fait coucou et on taille le bout de gras d'un relais à l'autre, distant d'à peine dix mètres.

La Wallis en rando dans la L2 de Ryobi.

On craint la pluie que l'on guette du coin de l'oeil ; Futuna se répète en boucle "ttre dans une voie... 15h, c'est pas une heure pour se mettre dans une voie... 15h, c'est pas une heure pou" et pense déjà à l'orage, aux rappels à quatre sur deux brins, aux éclairs qui rayent le ciel et aux boules de foudre qui lèchent la paroi en sifflant comme des chimères, aux cordes emmêlées dans un buisson ardent malgré le déluge, coupant toute retraite comme la neige s'accumule en congères au pied de la falaise, où les animaux sauvages attendent leur heure, bien que rendus fous par l'odeur du sang... Bon, rien que de très habituel: pour Futuna, 15h c'est une heure pour arriver à la voiture, pas pour en partir. Qui l'ignore est une mouette! Ryobi rejoint Rio au R3 et offre de continuer l'aventure au-delà du jardin de L5 pour sortir au sommet par le V+ du Pilier des Cathares ou le 6a réputé patiné et grincheux de Rio. Comme il y a une troisième cordée (de trois jeunes aussi enthousiastes qu'inexpérimentés) sur le Pilier - ils terminaient leur L2 comme on arrivait au pied de voie, on décide de leur laisser "leur" dernière longueur et de monter tous les quatre sur la "nôtre" (celle de Rio), malgré la mauvaise réputation du 6a. Futuna se prépare bien à l'aplomb du premier spit et ouvre le bal. Premier mini-pas de toit. Ok. Deuxième pas de toi, le réta est pas donné et la suite est vraiment lisse, mais soit.

Le A. plus très loin du R3 commun.

La plaque finale, couverte de lichen, est fine et très très fine, mais finalement en serrant les fesses ça passe. Relais, C. monte derrière, bientôt suivie par A. et Wallis, tous en moul', tous contents d'être arrivés au bout et tous surpris par cette dernière longueur bête et méchante. Il s'avèrera plus tard qu'on s'est décalés un peu trop loin vers la droite, comme les électeurs ont trop souvent tendance à le faire ces derniers temps) et qu'on est sortis au sommet par le méchant 6c d'Arabesque, très belle voie dure et assez homogène dans le 6b+/6c, dont on avait testé la première longueur il y a deux ans avant de battre en retraite sous le toit. Avec celle-là faisable aussi, il nous reste quand en plus du 5+ du milieu, un autre 6b+ et un autre 6c à enchainer... Le projet en restera là pour l'instant.
En résumé: les grandes voies de Calamès valent le détour, sont équipées sans excès, rappelables, assez logiques, sur du (très) bon caillou et permettent de sortir en crète pas loin du château, de saluer le bouc, la bête, le truc à cornes qui campe a sus anchas allí arriba, et de redescendre à pied par un sentier bien raide en pierrier, puis depuis le col jusqu'au parking en vingt minutes. Point d'eau et toilettes au parking, quelques grottes remarquables avant et au premier secteur (dont celle des demoiselles, très profonde et explorée dans ses moindres recoins...

C., A. et Wallis dans leur interprétation respective de "tu l'as vu mon réta en 6c?", performance à représentation unique - complet.

Jour 4 - couennes à Baychon:
Après une nuit épuisante de Colons de Catane et de disputes sur fond de l'état du monde, de l'usage du monde ou encore de l'usure du monde, Wallis décide de rester travailler au frais, pendant qu'A. et Futuna vont à la chasse au mammouth - désolé, parfois mon magdalénien intérieur reprend le dessus - cocher un nouveau spot sur la bucket-list des sites de grimpe à moins de dix kilomètres de la maison: aujourd'hui, le calcaire raide et prisu de Baychon! On est en 2016, on est en avril, on est en plein soleil ; la montée est courte mais vraiment raide, parfait pour la mise en jambes ; seule ombre au tableau: il n'y en a pas du tout au pied des voies. On nettoie donc méthodiquement tout ce qui se présente, de droite à gauche, du 5+ au 6b, y compris la redoutable (6a+) dont le crux déroutant et dégoûtant nous demande un bon quart d'heure de contorsions à chacun pour ne finalement ne pas convaincre... Ouf! pour enchaîner, "faudra rev'nir!", et la très belle Scorpion d'Orient (6b pas volé) qui alterne dalle très lisse, beaux équilibres, quelques pas obligés, un soupçon d'adhérence et un final péchu sur grosses prises. Ouf! pour enchaîner proprement, "faudra rev'nir!". L'arrivée de G. et J. accompagnés d'un autre A., non moins cher mais bien fuxéen celui-là, rallonge un peu cette courte session mais la journée avance et A. a 5 heures de route devant lui et un dîner à Bordeaux ou une garden-party à Poitiers, à moins que ce ne soit un mariage à l'îlé de Ré? Une douche et un Martini à la cuillère plus tard, il est prêt à partir: s'il troquait sa Peugeot pour une Aston Martin, le mythe serait là et bien là, en chair et en charme. "- James, attends! - Je dois partir, on m'attend..." Fondu en noir et générique.

photo de groupe au sommet, retardateur oblige ; A. et C. parmi les fleurs des champs ; Wallis rencontre la bête, le VRAI gardien du Calamès!

Soudain, on s'est retrouvés tout seuls. Notre petit reparti, face au nid vide, on a un peu pleuré, bien sûr. On a écouté le téléphone pleure et un jour les oisillons prennent leur envol ; on a mordillé la semelle des pantoufles qu'il avait oubliées pendant quelques heures, en hurlant à la mort et en griffant la porte avec désespoir. Faut dire, on fait rien que des bêtises, des bêtises, quand l'est pas là. Et puis heureusement, le tourbillon du quotidien nous a repris dans sa folle farandole: la niche, le bol de croquettes, la ba-balle, le canapé, plus belle la vie sur le canapé et puis re-la niche... Mais quand même, qu'est-ce que c'est bien quand A. vient nous voir!

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* c'est triste à dire mais il n'y a vraiment rien eu dans ce post de suffisamment ambigu ou débile pour mériter une astérisque et un renvoi final... Donc sans plus de cérémonies, on vous propose en exclusivité LE lien essentiel pour grimper en Ariège, choisir un secteur, suivre l'actualité, se débarrasser d'un ami un peu envahissant ou d'une crise de goutte articulaire: le site web du CAFMA! On ne l'avait pas encore cité, c'était un oubli impardonnable, le voilà réparé. Bonne grimpe à toutes et à tous...

in the sun and on the rocks...

...to celebrate the centième Un(t)raveling!*

the sign that said it all: both where you are and where you're headed.

On that sunny Saturday morning, after an early walk to the market to buy the legendary fougasse fraîche from le baker man with a moustache (not the Georges Brassens, hein: another man with a moustache, also very famous and admirable in the commitment to his own fine art/craft), we met dear J. shortly before eleven, as she parked her car in the garden devant la cuisine. We checked our gear and chatted a little bit before getting in the c15 with votre serviteur in the back, among the bags and ropes, ballotté dans les curves like a poor boarder collie... Awoooof! Enfin, about 3 miles later, we parked at the end of the chemin de derrière le chateau, in picturesque Contrac, took the stuff and started the pleasant half-an-hour approach to the foot of the route. Although we are aware of our issues with digression, we believe it would be convenient to squeeze in here a short anecdote about the rare privilege we had then: to witness a unicorn mare grazing in the sun with her unicorn fowl. Both were proud, strong yet elegant members of the local breed of unicorn called the brune des montagnes ariégeoise à corne bleue. A surprisingly good picture was shot and we are happy to humbly contribute through these columns to the progress of mythozoology. Or was it zoomythology?

the Roche ronde in all its splendeur ; the close encounter of the troisième type ; the steep approach to the pied de voie.

For obvious reasons - which would be ridiculous to reveal here, though we'll sure enough do it anyway through an opportune rhetoric figure such as la prétérition -, we had agreed to go and climb Pénélope. This short multipitch named after Ulysses' wife offers about 110 m and four pitches of very easy (V, V+), homogeneous climbing on generally good rock, with  nice views all the way up to the small but impressive summit (the Roche ronde herself) with a 360º panorama from the top. It seems unnecessary to highlight here that Pénélope became famous by waiting for her sailor man Ulysses who went to war and came back by the chemin des écoliers or maybe doing l'école buissonnière, as you prefer... While she waited for him, Pénélope had to stand in the middle of a truly odious tempête politique and keep sitting at her loom at the same time - which is quite un morceau de bravoure, if you think about it: to keep standing while remaining seated.

the ground from the first belay ; the iris overlooking the vallée de la Courbière ; the promising second pitch ahead.

Pénélope then went viral among Ithaca's main social networks when she committed to weave a seemingly endless shroud during many days and over 1001 nights (this last bit of data may not be absolutely accurate: Wikipedia could ask for some references here). Once you know all this, you quite easily can figure out by yourselves how the absence of the sailor man out a sea, the rock face of the Roche ronde hoisted to the wind and the curly metaphor of climbing ropes threading themselves along the pitches under a sun presque méditerranéen... how all these - well - convinced us to pick this particular climbing on that particular day with that particular friend (see that prétérition thing? told ya!)... Anyway, there we got, after thirty minutes of steep hiking and perfect warming-up: the pied de voie, flat and comfortable between the bushes of boxwood and the jeunes chênes encore tendres et souples, like in a novel by Jean Giono. We started sometime close to 12:30 and cruised along the first three pitches of nice and fine V. The Futuna took the lead, then the J. and the Wallis climbed second in la foulée.

the comfy-ish second belay ; the promising third pitch ahead ; the beautiful view of the Loulou de Poméranie high in the sky!

No big surprise here, even though the rock regularly appeared to be less compact than expected, requiring a bit more time and prudence before grabbing, pulling or stepping up. All this "knock-knock! who's that?" game around each single dubious flake or chunk along the way didn't seem to disturb the lizards catching tan, but it sure made our progression slower. And talking about tan: due to the above-mentioned slow progression, our shoulders, elbows, noses and all other pieces of skin exposed to the sun got burnt in quite a guiri-gamba-sangria fashion. The soleil brille, the imprudence brûle! said an old Fwench ad. We reached the third belay before 14:00. The place was extremely comfortable, with a fantastic view, a lovely petit tapis de gazon to nurture the bare feet and some bushes to hide behind.

Wallis out of the third pitch, just on time for the photo shoot ; blue steel Futuna ; the well-deserved picnic on the way down.

Almost too good to be true, we paused and enjoyed the power of now**! Took the time to drink and take pictures before attacking the most-expected piece of meat: the short and final fourth pitch with its mighty overhanging V+ crux! Oooooh! It was even less than it sounds, just an awkward, counter-intuitive left hand hold with the correct (excellent) foot, and one could reach a beautiful right hand before pulling one's ass - and crawling one's way - up the hump to a welcoming slab, then onto a short petit dièdre. One would then suddenly be landing on a grassy slope ten meters below the summit and picture oneself as a groundhog taking a nap entre les rhodos en fleurs...

the West panorama from the summit of la Roche ronde, with the col de Port and the picturesque Saurat dans le fond.

Oh, the places you'll go! Oh, the lovely trail back home! Oh, the nice view from below the shade of the pines! and, of course: Ooooh, the rôti de porc tranché and the Saint-Nectaire fermier in the fougasse fraîche from the market, soft and farinée with the petit goût de four à bois! Carrying a bottle or flask of red wine on multipitch climbs is something we've been willing to do for a long time and we'd like to solemnly swear here that we shall eventually implement it someday! Time: now; place: here; signed: us.

sweet J. mastering the final crux of pitch four: with quite some style and few doubts!

Et voilà. The way back and down was easy and chatty, the drive back and down home, short. We recommend Pénélope to all enthusiast climbers who do not look down (nor get bored) on low grades, even though the plethora of routes in the area doesn't make this one a major local climb. An important point, though, is the possibility to walk back down to the sector in about fifteen minutes, instead of engaging in a long and pointless abseiling down; especially if you consider the presence of loose rock and fragile flakes that wouldn't need more than that to set free from material attachment and try to levitate like enlightened yogis...

the valley de la Courbière, feat. Rabat-les-trois-seigneurs and Surba.

This route is still a good option if you've climbed most "equivalent" Calamès' routes (Pilier des Cathares, Rio, Rioby and such...) or need an introduction to multipitch climbing with easy grades, generous equipment and low engagement. If you're looking for a good warm-up before going to Sinsat or the Dent d'Orlu, consider climbing Zigzag (90m, 6b) and the other few around, just further right: you'll appreciate (need?) an appetizer a bit more vertical, physical and technical, with no long run-outs yet but with more air between bolt and bolt. Avis à la copulation (90m, 6b), at Calamès, is just superb and rewarding!

Finally, we also warmly recommend Pénélope - of course - à tous les Ulysses de banlieue, to whom we wholeheartedly wish to enjoy this spécial' cace-dédi´!

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* it's almost unbelievable, but it's true: without much noise, with a spoonful of sticking-to-it-like-two-modafackaz and a good dose of everyday life, we just completed Un(t)raveling's 100th blog post, about two weeks before Un(t)raveling's two-and-a-half un-birthday... So let's face it: the end of 2015 and beginning of 2016 have been some sort of a blogging no man's land, but we promise (ooh, twice in the same post! risky risky...) to get our writing-shit together and settle back into a decent Un(t)raveling routine at once... You're warned, so stay tuned!


** my apologies to Eckhart Tolle, for I did it again: I re-re-mocked the Power of now. In my defense, at least this time I didn't made fun of the eagle's answer, high in the sky, to the "what time is it?" question... Ooops! See? It's just done that same thing as it did before! Wicked paralipsis trick!

Zen and the art of getting older in the CouchSurfing-Sphere

Act I: the yak, the tick and the climber

So, two months ago, this 20-year-old dude contacted us on Couchsurfing, asking for information about climbing in our area, "because he's planning a trip with his girlfriend in spring or summer to France and Spain and it would be cool to meet and we can host them and go climbing together and such!". We answered the day after, sending him links and beta (including the fantastic CAFMA webpage, the local online climbing Bible) about the main crags, the stuff to do and to see, our best locations and tips...

one of our latest all-times fav' local crags: the La roche ronde, in Contrac-upon-horses.

The average mail (let's face it: you see the kind of posts we write on this blog, you can imagine the length of an email of ours...) that took a good hour to write: what kind of rock, what kind of climbing, the weather, where to sleep, park and camp, how to make it to other must-climbs of the Pyrenees (Catalunya and Aragón) from here and “Blah blah blah, tell me more, tell more, like do you have a car? A-ha, a-ha, so on. Keep us posted, dude, we can help with logistics and if we're available when you’re around it'll be a pleasure to meet and such...” Two months passed: dude was silent as a trout. So the other day, as I checked our CS mailbox, I wrote to him this two-line message “How’s it going, bro? How’s the plan doing? Take care, etc”. In MY language - which less and less people seem to speak, I reckon - this is a coded message meaning: “Fuck you, man! You ask for info, I provide first class info, you ask for a couch and some climbing fellas, I say okay! Now what’s wrong with you? Is it so fucking hard to answer: “Thanks for your time, I’ll be checking that and I’ll write back soon!”, within -say- a week? Or am I too old-fashioned? Would have taken something like 43 seconds to write that. Well, I am - definitely - too old-fashioned. After sending my coded message, I went back to normal life and then again, it was Oh, so quiet.

the goats take you down to their place near the river ; the trees show you the way and the owls are not what they seem...

The whole thing became hilarious when the dude answered after two days. He wrote this (exact quote): “Hey. Sorry for late text back. I don't yet know what I am going to do. What kind of equipment you have that I could use together with you? :-)"

Excuse-me-I-beg-your-pardon-What-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-the-kindergarten-teachers-on-your-home-planet? Ok, let me get this clear: not only didn’t you answer nor said the magic word (the one with T, h, n, k and s), nor the other magic word (the one with P, l and s), not even one damn sentence in 2 months... But now, while you still don’t know what your plans are, you want to know what climbing gear WE have that you’ll have a chance to use when you’re around? What for? To save on checking-in your luggage? Or because your car is too small for a rope and 15 quickdraws? Or you’re planning a climbing trip but you don’t have your own gear yet? Don’t get me wrong here: we’re okay to share stuff, we’re happy to help and we’re willing to meet visitors and introduce them to our beloved, beautiful Ariège. But “bro”, in my opinion, you gotta serious issue with defining priorities when it comes to dealing with people you don’t know and you intend to get favors from... The climbing gear is not only a matter of sharing and being generous, it is also a pretty damn fucking bloody matter of SAFETY and it’s your life insurance when you’re climbing. How come the first thing you want to know about us is how much life-saving gear you can borrow from us?

the long way up to one of the best kept secret crags and the buccolique pure and fresh petite spring along the trail...

Picture the scene: “Maan, I wanna go fishing from your place. You gotta boat? Got fishing rods? Can I borrow your worms? You provide sandwiches for me lunch? What about your wife? Think she can row upstream?” So, I personally know I sure wouldn’t rely on an absolute stranger’s gear to lead climb a route. Plus, what's gonna happen after the dude stopped at our place? He is going climbing with somebody else’s gear in Rodellar? Then with another one’s in Montserrat? Terradets? Margalef? Couchsurfing: making the world a better place, one belay device at a time! Now, that’s a hell of a badass climbing trip: a promiscuous climbing-gear party! If we’re lucky, broda freeloady will do the same with our CS toothbrushes (the ones in the bathrooms, not the ones to cleans the holds)... Look, I know, I know! Been there before: when you depend on people’s generosity, things can get complicated, really. No need to send you (re)watch Dogville to make my point.

the yaks (dris) the butter allegedly came from (pic courtesy of us, 2007).

(like this time in Ladakh when a yak shepherd invited me and friend Ber' for tea and - great treasure, priceless treat! - put a little bit of rancid yak butter (actually, yak's cows are called dris) he kept on his heart in a tiny metal box under his shirt, right in our cups. The dense flavor of the extremely sour, (halfway-to-rotten) clotted yak cream haunted me for days. There’s still a hole in my stomach where it landed: some sort of a meteor crater-looking fibrous scar. I obviously tried hard not to let my whole body shout out loud "disgusting!” in silent non-verbal language, but I might have failed. And I probably offended a couple of other Ladakhi people later on when I politely refused their dri butter in tea...)

It's true: you can't always decide beforehand your degree of involvement in adventures whose level of unaddressed risk is higher than you generally would accept. I’ve done hitch-hiking every now and then. And some drivers who gave me a lift scared the crap out of me, true story! Like I thought I would never get off the car alive. And was lucky to, believe me... I’ve seen guys at the climbing gym or at a crag clipping all quickdraws backwards, abseiling down without a back-up friction hitch, not tying the handy fisherman at the other end of their rope and so on... I’ve even gently mounted an ATC onto the rope slack between a climber (on a overhang 10 meters high at that moment) and his dreadful belayer who used the grigri upside-down: would he have fallen, the slack and improper use of the grigri would have taken him to the ground at about 100% of probability. Ended up belaying the climber safely while he went all the way up to the anchor, then down to the ground in one piece, telling the belayer why they should always double check their safety settings before climbing and why they should consider taking a 2 hour climbing course...

hitch-hiking Quebec: I wouldn't give that Me a lift! (pic courtesy of us, 2010)

Either through CSing or just in real life, I’ve used some strangers’ microwaves or teapots that almost killed me. Needless to mention those bikes I borrowed which had no brakes at all (no Kim, as far as I remember, yours worked just fine and I never thought my life was in danger: thanks for that!)...

So yes, to get to the point quickly: I can take you to the crag in my car, fair enough. You can sleep on my couch, eat my food, use my wifi, use my bathroom and pat my cat: be my guest! You can use my tips and check my climbing books, you’re welcome! And of course, we can climb together and you can use my rope and draws, fellow climber! But:

Is that really the whole point of Couchsurfing?
Saving YOUR money at MY expenses?
Is that about YOU using others’ stuff like a hungry tick landing on a dog after too long a winter?
Is the concept of sharing THAT fucked already? Do you only care about how cheaper you trip is gonna be thanks to random strangers?

Sadly, this is only one of several similar CS experiences we’ve had in the past few years, with some equally young and cool, easy-going CSers whose mission is to “live life to the fullest, wooo!”. And it’s - somehow - disappointing. Yeah, I know what you must be thinking by now: I’m an old fart and I’m not as cool as I used to be. And obviously, this is not the community, nor human kind. It's two individuals and their circumstances. I know! Nevermind... I’ll be outline for a while now, on a long walk in the woods, mumbling the Dharma bums’ mantra again and again until my mind is at peace: “CouchSurfer #247, equally empty, equally lovable, equally a coming Buddha; CouchSurfer #248, equally empty, equally lovable, equally a coming Buddha; CouchSurfer #249, equally empty, equally lovable, equally a coming Buddha; CouchSurfer #250, equally empty, equally lovable, equally a coming Buddha”...

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Act II: the re-return (to sender)

The Roche ronde, with its je-ne-sais-quoi of Piccolo Dain...

After several readings of his message about not knowing what he'd do, not acknowledging anything he received and asking to borrow OUR gear, I tried to calm down. It generally takes nothing but time. I then answered, as politely and sincerely as I could, in order to transmit the general ideas expressed above: about answering, even with three words, about getting his shit together and knowing what he wanted instead of asking for things with no apparent consciousness of anything nor anyone but himself and such. All this, without any sarcasm, harsh judgement nor wtf? reaction, and concluding with an enthusiastic "and let us know when you got clearer plans as we'll be happy to meet and help anyway!". I may have dropped a little irony here and there, though. Interestingly enough, what the dude didn't bother doing in 2 months (answering a damn email!), took him less than 15 minutes this time:

"I feel quite bad that you think this way. But probably you're right.
You just took things so serious.

I don't know my plans yet.
I'd have contacted you in the future and told you how, when...

I just don't even know what to say now.
I'm sorry. I feel real bad. But yeah okay.

P.S: I'm not the person who feels awkward.
Probably we just look to things different."

Wallis om fire and on the tips of the feet!

So, yes, the conclusion is: he feels sorry BECAUSE I think this way. Not because he behaved like an a-hole! And I took things so serious. What does that even mean? That I should have assumed he was asking for tips just to make me waste my time? That he usually contacts random people on CS to ask for things, as a hobby? That I should have gone on being the enthusiastic idiot who accepts everything and is cool with anything, instead of being honest and putting a limit to his pointless asking? Well, dude here is just not acknowledging at all what is at stake: his asking and asking and asking for more instead of putting in even one single thing! No kind words, no interest whatsoever, no plans, no good vibe... Just asking for his damn vague interest. Then, finally, comes the hilarious PS: I'm not the person who feels awkward. (!!!!) Well, you definitely are the person who SHOULD feel awkward, sweet heart! Like the problem is mine? To conclude on a tolerant and empathetic note, he added we probably looked at things differently. Yeah, so you're also implying that I am being disrespectful of YOUR culture by asking for any basic sign of a little bit of education? Like I should have felt honored to even receive your email in the first place?

Progressively, I started to remember situations and understand how the same kind of subjective, selective perception of things, brought us to conflicts. I mean, I sure enough just re-invented warm water*, but I understood something. I'm sorry I made him feel bad and I reckon it was not a big deal for me, I just felt pissed and said it. But it's not gonna be a big deal for him either. He'll survive it, he'll live long and prosper. But what if we both learnt something? He decided to ignore giving me any news nor feedbacks about my first message, stuffed with positive feelings, enthusiasm, good will and a decent pile of tips and ideas... He chose not to acknowledge it for over 2 months. My second message, nevertheless, much shorter but expressing reproaches and sharing negative feelings, was read and answered to in about 10 minutes! How amazing is that?

steeper than it seems? yes, indeed...

The relative weight and consequent response we - unconsciously I hope and want to believe - decide to give to a negative stimulus, seem to be much heavier than that we tend to give to a positive one. Not as a rule, but probably at some moments or in some states of mood, of tiredness, of stress, while experiencing anger or frustration and such. So, that would be my own little re-invention of warm water over these last few days, and an exercise for next few weeks: to focus on reacting and giving feedback to more positive stimuli than negative ones. And definitely, yes: the dude and I sure enough look to things different. Maybe even, let's say it's cultural. Or maybe, possibly, he's 20 years old and I probably was somewhere close to being like that seventeen years ago (holy crap, seventeen years ago!). But it's not a tragic thing and it's certainly not "too serious": it's an opportunity for us to grow as we go through life! Meeting people who look to things different, hearing them and sharing points of view is a gift. I was not angry, I merely expressed myself and I'm happy I did: I learned something and he might have learned something too... I may have used "a-hole" at some point in this article, though. But I never said it to him and don't actually think he is. It was more of a comic resource than judgmental. I just believe he's young, not very aware of how his decisions and attitude impact others... Needless to say he never ever answered that last message I sent back, with an excerpt of my recent paper on "the selective response to negative stimuli, the mood-loop feedback and their consequences on social interactions in human societies at large: an introduction" (it's supposed to be a joke along the warm water thread, second-degree, ha ha! and "joke along the warn water" dangerously sounds like something Jimi sang. My dear Nico B., this one is for you!). And how we should all focus more on what's good than on what's bad, everyday of our lives, in order to eventually generate a better, healthier mental and emotional environment for all of us, fragile beings, to move around and strive into...

next time you fail to onsight a route, take the opportunity to witness how amazing the view is from just below the crux...

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* I'd be thankful if somebody could tell me the proper saying for that in English: a kind of self-derision when you suddenly realize something that has probably been around for ages but is an absolute revelation for you at that moment. Literally speaking: "a small step for man kind, a giant leap for me!". We also call that "to re-invent the wheel" and I could look for it myself, but it's more fun to have somebody telling it to me. And no, it's not laziness...