Today was one of those days when “nothing” happens… but plenty still does. Because when you're a travelling dog with an indecisive human, every kilometre brings its own theatre.

We woke up in Vernix, our little green nest of silence, and this time we set off at a time that wasn't embarrassing to admit. There were no monuments to visit, no bunkers, no historical beaches. Today we had to move because we have a plan… well, a plan according to Daddy Edu: something vague, flexible and to be decided at the last traffic light. But the direction was clear: south.

We got in the car and hit the motorway, toll-free, of course. We covered about 80 kilometres, which in our world is equivalent to three long yawns, two changes of position and a look of accusation per minute. I have to confess something: lately, I've been finding travelling in the car awful. I don't know if it's tiredness, French air or a lack of ham bribes, but every curve gives me the evil eye.

We stopped at a service area halfway for a stretch of legs and lungs. Daddy says it's for me, but I know he also needs to move his bones before he turns into a statue with a beard.

By midday, we found a beautiful spot that wasn't even on Park4Night. A clearing in a forest northeast of Rennes, with shade, silence and the smell of damp earth. We ate in the campervan and then went for a good walk among tall trees. I smelled roots, leaves, branches, fox pee and a suspicious mushroom that wanted to adopt me. Time passed so quickly there that we could have stayed to sleep. In fact, Daddy saved it on Park4Night, like someone saving a biscuit for later.

But at around six o'clock he decided it was better to get a little closer to Rennes, which we want to visit tomorrow (if we're not distracted by a cheese or a roundabout). We opened Park4Night again and found a curious place to sleep: in the middle of the countryside, next to a canal and next to a lock called *Écluse de la Charbonnière*. Locks, for those who don't have a nautical nose, are like water lifts that raise and lower boats through the canals. This one has an old house, wooden gates and a postcard feel from another century.

We are surrounded by 360-degree views: fields, trees, water and sky, without buildings or city noises. It feels like we are alone in the middle of the planet. Well, until Daddy took me for a walk along the canal and we saw that there was quite a bit of activity: humans running, cyclists with faces of voluntary suffering, dogs in explorer mode and walkers who greet us as if they'd known us since nursery school.

Now the sun is setting, the canal is still, and the campervan is becoming a den. Today we didn't see any cathedrals or beaches, but we moved on, ate well, discovered a secret forest and ended up with water nearby. I call it zen tourism on wheels. Daddy calls it "we'll see tomorrow".