So I spent Christmas with a family in Arles - a french christmas consists of occosionally taking a break from drinking way too much by eating way too much. We were also invited for champagne in the castle, by what apparently is one of the richest families in France. What characters! I felt like I was on another planet. Apprently, having more money than God frees up your leisure time to cultivate eccentricities and personality quirks! But it was good times and I left Arles the next day happy that I had followed the quebecers back onto the mainland. On the advice of another quebecer I met working in a hotel in town, I set out for the Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, where I had been informed that there might be some work in a youth hostel. So that is where I ended up - and sure enough, there was work, but I would only stay a few days because the youth hostel was very poorly named. I was the youngest person there by about 30 years; The old man that ran the place insisted that everyone go to bed at 10 o'clock - it was, in short, more of an old age home than a youth hostel. Also, the hostel was lost in the Camargues, far from any form of civilization. So I left and made my way to a town called Nimes, where I took up residence in another youth hostel, in desperate need of rest after moving continually for far too long. However, though I would find rest for the soul, perhaps, I would not find rest for the body, as I had found the party capital of france - and just in time, too, because new years was only two days away.