The Wild Coast of Marseille 

By Angus Cunningham
On a discreet mountain edge overlooking the village of Morgiou, I thought I’d found the perfect spot to bivouac, but things quickly went downhill from there on. It started with the occasional sounds of rummaging in the scrubland above me. This happened each time I was quiet, purposely prolonging movement. When the last remains of daylight vanished, the prospect of what could be lurking out there in the dark, really began to cloud my sanity. What previously was a sublime mountainous view overlooking a tiny French village, began to feel more like a hunting ground, though I wa...