It's 37 degrees celcius in Nice right now, where I am sitting. 37 degrees celsius is one of the only instant temperature conversions I know off the top of my head, because it's the mean temperature of the healthy human body. That means it's 98.6 degrees in Nice, where I am sitting. H and I arrived from Berlin via EasyJet, only to find every hostel, hovel, and hotel room within 10 miles of Nice booked. So for now we are stuck living under the inadequate fan of a grungy internet cafe waiting for our 6am train to Barcelona. We plan to stay up all night with our bags and sleep on the 10 hour journey. Nice is like Panama CIty, FL meets Spring break, meets North Africa.

Harrison has decided that his knee can't handle the camino, and so he will retire to Dublin for the week that I walk through Spain, only to meet me again in Porto, Portugal. No new pics tonight because the effort of digging my card-reader out of my backpack would just make me sweat more if that's possible.