I thought sleeping next to a road was going to be like trying to have a nap on a roundabout full of lorries, but no: not a single horn, not a single trailer singing engine songs. Almost total silence and dreams of giant bones. In mid-morning – because getting up early here means the sun is already warming your back a bit – we started the camper and set off for Nasbinals. We passed Aubrac without stopping, like authentic travellers in a slow hurry.

In Nasbinals, Dad went into “professional excursionist mode”: fully packed backpack, boots, walking sticks that look like antennas, and me with my expedition lead. We were going to be a pilgrim and a dog-grim for a day, walking those eight kilometres to Aubrac along the Camino de Santiago. The scenery looked like something out of a postcard with sheep: rolling meadows, old stones and cows with a philosophical look.

Everything was going very well until, after about three kilometres, bang! Prohibition signs: no dogs, no donkeys, no horses, no bikes, no unicorns. Only humans walking. All because the path crosses private fields where the cows roam free and don't understand breeds or good intentions. The alternative route: asphalt and a look of resignation. Fine.

We walked a kilometre along the road to an intersection where a pilgrim tribe appeared: four humans with a huge backpack… and another dog. As there were no prohibition signs there, they went straight through the field. Dad looked at his phone, saw a possible path and said “follow them”. The terrain there was anything but smooth: tall grass, stones that look like traps, camouflaged puddles and even a couple of fences that had to be jumped like champions. I, as a good dog-grim, went ahead setting the style and dodging cowpats with elegance.

We almost became buddies with the others on the road, but they had a tortoise-with-a-backpack pace and we were going at a motivated hare's pace.

After about two hours we arrived at Aubrac. The village is odd: four enormous buildings that look like hostels, restaurants or mountain monasteries, but almost everything is closed except for the official hostel. Dad went into the church (I guarding the door, like a good canine porter) and then we ate on a bench: he had sandwiches, I had tinned dog food with gourmet pâté. Michelin level.

To return we didn't repeat the same field route. To avoid stumbling, jumping and philosophical cows again, we chose the alternative along the road, which is also easier than crossing private meadows. Luckily there was a little path next to it, because the cars that pass at ninety don't stop for an elegant dog-grim like me. Although traffic was minimal, just a few stray vans.

We arrived again at the point where we had sneaked through the field on the way there and, from there, we repeated the original stretch to Nasbinals. At six o'clock sharp we landed next to the car: tongues out, tired paws, and the smell of sweaty human at maximum level.

Finding a bed on wheels was the final mission. We tried a place with pretty views, but no coverage: Dad said that living without the internet is like living without coffee. So we continued to a picnic area in the middle of the forest, between Aubrac and Nasbinals. No panoramic views, but absolute peace, no cars, no humans and no bad-tempered cows. There we set up our little house and lay down happily.

Me: exhausted but proud dog-grim.
Dad: the same, without blisters and with a half-smile.

And tonight, finally, no cars, no bells and no signs prohibiting barking.