Sac au dos à travers l'Espagne

In this vivid travelogue, a French wanderer sets out on foot from Irun, choosing the slow, deliberate rhythm of a light backpack over the noisy speed of the railway. Through sun‑baked plains, bustling stations, and the winding roads that link Malaga to Granada, he records the everyday sights, sounds, and peculiar customs that define nineteenth‑century Spain. His voice is wry yet affectionate, noting everything from the tiny bicorn‑capped gendarmes to the lingering scent of roasted herbs that hangs over the villages.

The narrative balances humorous critique—such as the absurd theatrics of the railway guards—with moments of genuine awe at the country’s landscapes and resilient people. Readers are treated to colorful sketches of market stalls, humble meals of onions and chickpeas, and the languid hospitality that greets a traveler willing to walk the distance. All the while, the author’s reflective tone invites you to consider how a slower pace can reveal a nation’s soul far beyond the fleeting glances of a speeding train.