CEUSE, France -- My frequent partner Alex Honnold thinks I'm a lazy sloth. I guess I can't blame him.

I can easily sleep 12 hours straight after a hard day of climbing, then do almost nothing for the entire day afterward. That's how I recharge for another day of battle on the rock.

I delight in rest days so much, in fact, that I sometimes wonder whether climbing is little more to me than an excuse to rest. If Alex and I don't climb more than anyone else at the cliff, he reminds me, "You gotta earn your rest days." I argue that I'm just playing it smart because, after all, training and climbing break your body down; resting is when you actually get stronger.

For the last two weeks I've lived among climbers from all over the world corralled in the same campground here at the base of one of the best limestone cliffs on the planet.

The average skill level of climbers here is absurdly high. Right now, for example, five of the best American sport climbers and at least a dozen more of the world's best are among the 100 or so at Les Guerins Campground. Impressive, sure.

But what's really off the hook is that these folks know how to rest. I mean, some of these climbers are sending 5.15, so they're obviously resting par excellence.

At Ceuse, the rest day is even more appreciated than at most sport crags because guarding the beautiful, blue-streaked stone that draws climbers like flies to a barbecue is a grueling, 50-minute hike. The standard Ceuse rest day looks something like this (though countless variations exist): sleep late (aka get stronger), drink coffee, eat, read, buy groceries, check Internet/work, dine, wine, then it's beddie-bye time. Before you know it, it's game on again. As always, time always passes faster than it should.

The Internet sesh is always the crux of rest days, especially in Europe. What I wouldn't give for a Laughing Goat or a Trident in any one of the nearby (and exceedingly charming) provincial towns. Or, for that matter, the major ones like Gap, the closest city to Ceuse.

Instead, resting climbers are forced into a slice of Americana called -- drum roll, please -- McDonald's. That's right, MacDaddy's offers the most reliable (and ubiquitous) Internet connection in France, Portugal and Spain, and I assume other European countries as well. Thus, a portion of nearly all rest days is spent in an air-conditioned, fast-food atmosphere that reeks of grandes frites and little French kids.

But the less-than-savory ambiance doesn't deter fellow Coloradan Daniel Woods (one of the world's top boulderers), who told me on our last day off, "McD's is the No. 1 rest-day spot. You get your McChicken and you just chill."

But what do climbers do on rest days, if not pound Big Macs? Swedish Eric spent one rest day last week skydiving for the first time.

"I almost passed out in the airplane because I was so scared," he said, laughing. But normally his rest days are "pleasant."

Sanam from Italy cherishes resting perhaps more than any other climber in camp. She spends her time making breakfast and going swimming. "In Ceuse I make crepes with Nutella and bananas. I love rest days; they're the highlight of my climbing existence."

The Israeli camp is choked with banter and carefully prepared cuisine, the Polish play the guitar and sing, the British relax and drink beer, and seemingly every camp has a slackline and empty wine bottles.

Whether you're a newbie or a veteran, whether you climb 5.7 or 5.14, whether you're in Boulder or Ceuse, every climber's gotta rest. C'est la vie!

Contact Chris Weidner at cweidner8@gmail.com.