i saw the drunk stumble toward me, and greeted him with a smile. It was late in the afternoon with only a few hours of light left. Cool alpine air danced through the mountains and around me, crisp on my lips as i stood on the side of the small highway.
Sentences slurring like a gutter he introduced himself, and asked what i was up to. In broken French i gave an abbreviated version of my adventure, i was from Canada, hitching France, and headed to Lyon. The words were slow to register, whether it was a hindrance from the booze or because of my blasphemous command of the language, that remains uncertain (but i'm big enough to admit despite his astounding obliteration, we are safe in assuming it was the latter). The questions continued, how far i'd come, where i'd been, and the truth seemed a bit far fetched for our conversation. i neglected the thousands of kilometres, continents crossed, and simply said, Nice. Nodding before i'd begun my single worded answer, i doubted whether he heard, or was listening to me at all. His eyes swept from me to my bag, to the lonesome road, and he became animated with concern, where do you sleep!?
Raising my hand with a grin, i turned my arm horizontally and showcased the outdoors, then charaded zipping my sleeping bag up under the stars. He put his hand to his head in dismay. But rain!?
i only shrugged, and brushed away his worry with unconcerned gestures. Hiccuping as he laughed, the drunk lurched forward, and steadied himself on my shoulder. Cheap spirits stained his breath as he rambled on, pointing back to the small village Castellane i had passed through earlier. Above the town he indicated to a large cliff face, and tiny structure atop, repeating church, church. It took awhile until i got the jist, that if it rained, the door to a small chapel was always open, and i could find shelter. He mumbled more, that there was some kind of music that happened there but i'd be safe. With a friendly embrace he bid me farewell and weaved himself away down the sidewalk.
It wasn't a bad idea, my journey through the alps thus far had been rather slow, and while the skies were clear now there had been rain in the past few days. It's always a gamble when hitching. You either push forward to see what providence may provide or seize safety when you find it. i gave the road another forty-five minutes, before packing up, and marching back to Castellane to take advantage of the tip.
Wandering through the gorgeous village's winding streets remains a highlight in my adventures. Romantic, ancient buildings tracing along the beautiful blue river Verdon, nestled deep into the mountains, the town was a gem. Afternoons like that fuelled my travel addiction. When my fill exploring was met, i made my way to the edge of town and found a staircase at the bottom of the mountain. The steps led to a steep path where i shed my jacket. Higher and higher i rose, breaking here and there, taking my time in an attempt to not break a sweat.
At the top was an adorable little chapel. A handful of tourists wandered about snapping photos and i manoeuvred myself to a bench to take in a view of the river, read, and wait them out. As the pages turned one of the couples left in a rented car only to be replaced by a van full of tourists. After an hour or so the Sun began to sink behind the mountains, and the peak was vacated.
Without bothering to finish my chapter i sprang to scout my accommodation. The door popped open with ease. As soon as i crossed the threshold a wave of prickling static shivers ripped across my skin. Something was wrong.
Dark and cramped, the room reeked of old incense. Seventies lighting fixtures mimicking candles dotted the walls. Their aged oranged bulbs flickered in a death rattle, throwing confused shadows to dance about the ceiling. A few small pews lined the sides of a thin walkway leading to a large cluttered altar. Every imaginable space on the wall housed ominous religious iconography, bleak old paintings, and crude crosses. Nothing in this house of God felt inviting. It didn't take long to understand what the drunk had meant regarding music. Eerie hymns emanating from blown speakers echoed about the room. If the spooky space wasn't difficult enough to sleep in, the looping creepy songs pushed it over the edge.
In total i spent less than a minute inside before escaping back to the bench. Looking down to the river below, i was too far to turn around now. In truth, it wasn't that bad. It was uncomfortable, but logical, an old place of worship with a shitty stereo, nothing too out of the ordinary. Not that scary, i'd definitely spent the night in far worse.
Rationalizing turned to reflection. i'd come such a long way since my childhood, where, to say i had spooked easily, would be a gross understatement. i was terrified of everything, heights, small spaces, spiders, pointy things, scary movies, and of course, the dark. As i leaned over the railing still watching the water, i remember systematically facing, and overcoming each fear when i was twelve. Regardless of how confident i was now as an adult, there was no way i was planning to sleep inside that church- unless of course there was rain.
i convinced myself it had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with practicality. Why would i sleep on an uncomfortable bench indoors with shitty music on loop when i could sleep under the stars? Made perfect sense. Plus on the off chance someone came up and hassled me, i imagined they'd be far more forgiving to someone sleeping rough on a yoga mat outside than squatting in a place of worship.
Under the gorgeous mountain peaked sunset i continued to read for the next hour, waiting for the cover of dark before i set up my menial camp. While i read i remembered a conversation i had with an American i met while hitchhiking China a few months prior. i was staying with a few mountain climbers who were mapping out a set of virgin peaks. A group of genuine dirtbags (a friendly term in the community, meaning good natured though hardcore rock climbers) making a go of it abroad. Out of them, Chris and i became fast friends. Our friendship sparked while playing jazz guitar together. During our jam we fell to conversation and were quick to find odd similarities, and synchronicities. As we spoke our words picked up pace and we began rattling off favourites; books, bands, and hobbies, until he asked "Dude! Do you ever break into abandoned buildings with a laptop and a horror film and just utterly scare the shit out of yourself?"
"...uh, no dude. No, i don't do that."
"Oh!" he seemed stunned, it was the first thing aside from rock climbing we didn't have in common. "Well, uh, you should! It makes the movies way, way scarier!"
We laughed the awkward moment away, but the idea had stuck. While i had been beyond terrified of horror films as a child (i remember seeing a trailer for Scream on television and couldn't sleep for a week), i was now well over that and enjoyed scary movies. As fate would have it, a few weeks later my host in Kazakhstan was also a horror film enthusiast, and loaded my laptop up with things to watch. As the Sun disappeared and memory faded back to thought, my gaze returned to the creepy chapel. This would be the perfect place to terrorize myself...
The little church's music would be too annoying, too distracting to watch inside. Besides, if i was playing with madness, the hallowed ground had potential to keep the forces of darkness at bay. Could go either way, but that was enough of an excuse for me to stay outside. i rose to my feet and surveyed around for a good spot to watch. Past the church was a massive cliff face, peaking out like the tip of a triangle. For someone who used to be terrified of heights, it was perfect.
Eyeballing the flattest, and least rocky spot, i laid out my mat. i was a few metres from the edges on either side, and felt safe enough that i wouldn't roll to my death in my sleep. There was no beating around the bush, i was going to watch The Conjuring, a film i had been saving for some time. Rumour had it that that this was the most terrifying modern horror film in some time. That this film had been made somewhat as a challenge by director Daniel Wan after being criticized that his Saw films were nothing other than gore porn. Alleging his inability to make something scary without leaning on shock, and squeamish torture.
The Conjuring relied on none of those tropes. No blood, no guts. And it was truly horrific. Whatever had possessed me to watch that film in that location was almost as cruel as the evil haunting the poor family in the film. Before the opening credits rolled, i was already regretting my decision. As i stared into the darkness behind my laptop screen i realized that while i had originally positioned my camp for safety, i had only served to corner myself off a sheer drop. While nothing could sneak up from behind and "get me," i also had no way to escape. My heart sank, weighted by both my own hubris and stupidity. Wide eyed with the hairs along my arms on end, i could only laugh at myself and continue the film.
After enduring an onslaught of relentless tension for what seemed like ages i brushed my trackpad to reveal how much time was left in the movie. My heart froze as i realized my original estimation of being over halfway was way off. i was only twenty minutes into the two hour plus film. Seconds inched, and it was torture the entire way.
The movie continued and the second i settled myself down again an enormous light peeked over my shoulder, sending me out of my skin for the umpteenth time. Glancing behind, i was relieved to find an elegant moonrise and not someone's flashlight. Save, it was no ordinary moon, but an enormous oranged Flower Moon. As Halloweenie as they get, and i was spooked again, in the most gleeful way. It couldn't get any creepier! The worse things got, an animal's howl in the distance, sudden church bells, the more i laughed. Chris had been right, despite being dreadful this was fantastic.
Under the moon i found safety in the absurdity, breaking the barrier of panic, and fell to fits of laughter. The brilliance of the campy-horror film formula became so apparent, how they harnessed the duality of terror and belly laughs. Bring in the jokes to balance the horror. What a joy it was to laugh, at oneself, at fear, and at the entire scenario of choosing to put yourself in such an uncomfortable state. i was so in the moment and oddly, so joyful.
Was i safe? No! i was on the edge of a dark wild forest, by a creepy church, deep in the French Alps, away from anyone i knew, with no cellphone, and no means of protecting myself.
Was i actually safe? Hell yeah! i was camping near a town, had shelter available, and was so fortunate to be watching a fantastic film under a beautiful starry night. i was enjoying not only a cinematic masterpiece, nature, but being genuinely myself, a goofball seeking adventure, a story, in a gorgeous foreign land.
When the film finally ended, i laid back under the stars and moon with my adrenaline pumping. It had been worth it. Not only to test my mettle, but to enhance the experience of a great film. i couldn't help but feel proud of how far i had grown from that scared little boy. i had come so so far. As the moon glowed down, and the forests creaked, i knew, as chuffed as i was, i was definitely too scared to sleep. So i did the only rational thing i could think of to quell my fears, and watched Men in Black until i drifted off. Nothing screams safety like the protective force of Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones, and a couple comforting laughs.
Thanks for reading,
Wazoo!
-Mr. Write