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Pic de Garces

“Pass me another one” my sister demands, as I reach my hand into the bag of madeleines. I think to myself how disappointing it is that we spend our last day in France eating these old small lemon cakes. We question our current idle status and decide to seize the day’s remainder.

The small house in which we called home for the past eight days would not satisfy my craving for adventure. I walk out to the patio while I immerse my hand into a can of Paprika Pringles. Mountains towered over me capped with snow.

Climbing the monstrosity before me will be the task of the evening. 2,211 feet later, we have scaled the peak.

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