It's hard to believe that it is July 23rd. Happy birthday to my nephew, Gabriel today! I've traveled way more quickly than I had anticipated. I was not scheduled to reach Dampierre-sur-Salon until August 3rd or so. I just realized that the blog I posted on July 11 did not upload, so I'll have to repost as much as I can in the time I have.
After walking from Guînes to Licques, Francine Guoffroy found me on the side of the road. She took me home, fed me dinner, and insisted that I stay at her lovely home for the night. Then, the next day, she took me on a tour of the region and to lunch, then drove me on to the Abbey of Notre-Dame de Wisques.
At Wisques, I met Soeur Lucy, the only nun who is allowed to leave the walls of the convent. She is the liaison for the convent where the other nuns are cloistered. I'll admit that I had a hard time understanding how these nuns could live the cloistered life until later. The sisters at Clairvaux-sur-Aube explained that the cloistered nuns had a different calling, a call to intercede for the world in prayer. Seven times a day, the sisters at Notre-Dame intercede in prayer. They live in a small community within the walls, only 26 nuns in all. The prayers take the form of Gregorian chants and ancient prayers and songs. It's really quite lovely. But they are separated from the world. There is always a wall or a fence or a grill between them and the rest of the world, in order that they might consecrate themselves to prayer. It's a different world.
At Wisques, I met Dominique and Soeur Marie-Thérèse(a nun who teaches epistemology and history of scripture). Sister Marie-Thérèse was holding a conference for the cloistered nuns at Notre-Dame. They offered to take me to Laon and to Reims where Sister M-T was incredibly knowledgeable about the history, the art, and the architecture of basilicas, cathedrals, and churches!!! Amazing!
I stayed with Dominique's family one night in a village called Nesles. Dominique's husband, Stéphane LOVED Sam, since Sam reminded him of a cocker spaniel he had seen in his favorite childhood stories.
The next day, Dominique's daughter Marie and her husband drove me back to Reims where they were performing with a small theatrical troupe. I continued on my way, along the canal from Reims to Sillery (where I met a group of champagne vineyard workers who were playing petanque and who invited me to dinner with champagne to drink, of course) and on to the village of Beaumont-sur-Vesle.
At Beaumont-s-V, it was getting quite late and I had not found a place to stay when I ran into an older Belgian couple in an RV, a 'camping-car' as they call it here. They were concerned for my safety, and since the local hotel would not accept dogs, the couple insisted that I camp next to them in the town park.
On Sunday, July 11, Jean-Claude and Denise Michel dropped by the park. Jean-Claude was on his way to the canal to walk his dogs when he saw Sam, fell in love (with my dog) and made me promise that I would not leave until he had returned with his wife, who loved cocker spaniels as well. They had a black cocker spaniel and a griffhound(?).
Of course, being so very French and absolutely hospitable (not to mention in love with cocker spaniels), Jean-Claude and Denise invited me to lunch and offered to take me on to my next destination. I am now beginning to realize that lunch with French people is not a simple, one-hour affair. It is a day-long event. J-C let me use his computer to blog (which subsequently did not post) while Denise ran to the store to pick up a few items for the barbeque and meat for the dogs! no kidding! She actually bought fresh meat to fry up for the dogs, especially Sammy. They even gave me a package of dogfood for him. Talk about spoiled! Ils ont gâté mon chien, les français! (These French people have absolutely spoiled my dog!!!)
After lunch and a stroll along the canal, J-C and Denise took me on to Sommesous, way off the track and further south of Chalons-en-Champagne. It was literally a truck stop in the middle of nowhere, but J-C, being a retired policeman thought it a better place to leave me to fend for myself than in C-e-C. Sweet! really, they thought they were doing me a favor. They thought that perhaps I could meet a family in an RV and catch a ride. Jean-Michel had informed me that a young woman had been murdered recently in the area and that he could not rest easy if he did not take me further south. The killer had not been apprehended at that point. He said Chalons-en-Champagne was too dangerous.
I didn't have the heart to tell them that I was way off course and that I was trying to retrace the footsteps of Segeric the Serious, since they were trying to help. So they bought me a coke, waited for a bit, and since it was after 5pm, I told them I'd figure it out and sent them on their way home.
After Jean-Claude Michel and his wife Denise dropped me off in Sommesous, I trekked south through the blazing temps to reach Mailly-le-Camp at dusk. Poor Sam. We had to stop every few hundred meters or so, to allow him to rest and recuperate from the heat. It was 97° F in the shade that day. We try to stay in the shade as much as possible, but there are stretches which seem interminable under the broiling sun.
At Mailly-le-Camp, I finally found a park just before dark (nearly 11:00pm) where I could set up my tent for the night. The hotels were closed in this little military training ground town.
On Monday, just as I was decamping, a horrific storm set in. Gaelle, a young woman who had invited me over to watch the World Cup the night before (and had offered to let me camp in their backyard), invited me in to weather the storm.
We talked for a while. She made me a cup of coffee, and I took a short nap sitting up on the couch while the storm raged.
After the storm dissipated a bit, Sam and I got back on our way. I had to continue heading South and East to get back to the via francigena.
Just as I entered the little farming village of Trouane, it began to sprinkle. Just at that moment, Mme Jeanne-Marie Thomassin picked us up and offered to make me lunch! Sweet! Now, the French know how to enjoy lunch. Most people still have 1 1/2 - 2 hours to eat lunch (usually the largest meal of the day).
And being a 'practical woman with her feet on the ground' as Jeanne-Marie said, she asked me if I needed a shower. I said "no", but she offered me a towel and a bar of soap, and pointed me in the direction of their barn (where they had a shower for the farmhands) and told me to relax while she made lunch for her husband and his helper.
It was fantastic, of course. Salad, baked chicken with zucchini and tomatoes and potatoes in a béchemelle sauce, bread and cheese, and fresh raspberries with crème chantilly (whipped cream), and a white wine, too.
After lunch, since it was pouring down rain, Jeanne-Marie decided to take me all the way to Brienne-le-Château. When I arrived at the Office de Tourisme, a young gal greeted me. When I explained that I was a pilgrim and had a dog, she gave me the key (though dogs are not allowed) to the 'local de nuit', a small, rustic apartment behind the bakery which had 5 beds, a small W/C and a tiny shower.
Since no one else was expected, she gave me the key. It was FREE for pilgrims. They also use it from time to time for homeless folks. It's owned by the Mairie (mayor's office) and was quite clean. I found an entry in the guest book from Anne, a pilgrim whose blog I read before beginning my own journey. Anne made the trip completely on foot, by herself, in 2008. She's Irish. And when I saw her journal entry in the guestbook, it was like meeting an old friend along the long, empty road.
After the rains subsided, I took a stroll through the village towards the old château, which had been converted some years ago into a psychiatric hospital. This was Napolean Bonaparte's stomping grounds. He had gone to military school here.
During the Revolution, the château was seized by the people, its owner put to death, and so on. But when Napolean came into power (after defending the region quite brilliantly against the Italian invasion), he invested money in the region and established a new military school in the town. He is definitely the town hero in Brienne-le-Château!
The next day, I dropped off the key, dashed into the bakery (where the owner personally came out to give Sammy a treat), and continued along the via francigena toward Bar-sur-Aube. We trekked from village to village, stopping at churches and cemetaries along the way for fresh water. Not far from Bar-sur-Aube, Eric, a local worker offered to take us on to Bar-sur-Aube since it was turning into another blazing hot day. I accepted.
At Bar-sur-Aube, I waited at the presbytery, but they had no room in the inn- ha ha.
So a deacon from the church showed up and took me on to my next destination, the Abbaye of Clairvaux-sur-Aube, where Saint Bernard built the largest Cistercian abbey in the world. At Clairvaux-sur-Aube, the church was destroyed during the Revolution, the abbey seized by the people, the monks put to death, and eventually (during the Napoleanic years) turned into a prison. It now remains a maximum security prison. The 'abbey' consists of 2 houses across the street from the prison walls, which are run by 3 eldery nuns.
Oh, I wish you could meet these precious saints! Of course, there are rules. No dogs allowed. The deacon dropped me off and took off immediately. Great! They don't take dogs. Where was I going to stay? I asked if I could set up my tent in the yard.
The nun I call 'Sister Harbaugh' was quite firm. There are rules. And then Sister Anne-Christine showed up. All smiles. The woman almost never stops smiling. Filled with grace, she offered me a drink and a meal with a very sweet 'why don't you sit down and we'll figure this out in a moment'. The next thing I know, they were offering me a house to stay in. Again, since no one else was expected (usually they house the families of prisoners -- very cheap--- only 8 euros per adult and 2 euros per child), they made an exception to the rules for me.
And guess who was on the phone asking a reporter to come by and bring his cocker spaniel named 'Max'! Yep! Sister Harbaugh! She LOVES cocker spaniels! As usual, Sam was quite spoiled as the 3 elderly nuns pampered him. I have to say that I felt so much love from these nuns, it was overwhelming. I was sad to leave them the next morning.
However, I had the rare opportunity to join them in morning prayers in the 'oratoire', a small prayer room, and then continued on my way, so happy to see how they demonstrate the love of Christ for every family member who comes to visit a prisoner there. They just gushed love and kindness and joy. The average age among the three was 75 years old.
From Clairvaux-sur-Aube, I continued toward Châteauvillain along a gravel road (following the guidance of Sister Harbaugh). It was a lovely morning. Along the road, I met an Italian by the name of Richard who was biking from Bar-sur-Aube to Langres. He stopped me for a photo. He had heard of the crazy American girl and her dog who were trekking to Rome!!! Incredible!
By late afternoon, between Cirfontaine-en-Azois (where we rested for sometime in the shade watching the town prepare for the July 14th celebrations) and Châteauvillain, it began to blow. The winds were insane! I had a difficult time staying on my feet and Sam was being blown across the road, luckily still attached to me by leash.
And then the rains started. Oh la la! Quel orage! What a storm! I had no choice but to continue on. On a positive note, the temps dropped by more than 20 degrees! Woo hoo! It was cool out, so we didn't mind the rain so much...until it really began a deluge.
By the time I reached Châteauvillain, we were drenched. We had trudged for over 3 hours in blinding, heavy rains and unbelievable winds. I just accepted it. It was a relief from the heat, so who was I to complain? I considered putting Sammy’s little rain gear on, but it would be pointless. I considered putting my own rain gear on, but I was already drenched, so we walked on in the rain, hour after hour. It was what it was. I was content. Luckily, I had had the presence of mind to call ahead to the Syndicat d'Initiative to ask about a room. It took hours to arrive, but we got there around 7 pm, after closing time, and the local girl had stayed just make sure I had a key to the room they kept for visitors. It was warm and dry. With only a toilet and sink, it was a site for sore eyes. Though the beds were horrific roll-away beds, the place was clean with a few food items on hand, and it was FREE! We crashed immediately.
I was too tired to get up and stroll through the walled city until the next morning, which was gorgeous. Châteauvillain is fantastic, with its moat and its ancient walls and narrow, winding streets. I took the time to run a few errands in the morning. Of course, by then, the locals had heard of my arrival; the crazy American girl with her dog who arrived in a torrential downpour the night before.
Most of the treck ran along an old logging road through the Fôret de Châteauvillain. A pleasant walk in the morning, since the rains had cooled things a bit, the day turned into another scorcher as Sam and I dodged from shadow to shadow along the 'route fôrestière'.
Before I could reach Arc-en-Barrois, Sam had had enough. So I found a picnic shelter, not far from the main road, only 6-8 km from Arc-e-B, but too far for us. I pitched the tent under the shelter, figuring that if it rained, we would be even more protected. It was dry and relatively clean, no bugs. And since the cement floor was flat, I figured I could sleep better anyway. It was a long night in the wild. And I'll admit that I was a teeny bit frightened to be so far from civilization and to be so isolated. But I was exhausted and had no choice. It was camping sausage, wild or primitive camping. We had food and water and even the picnic shelter, so we made the best of it.
On July 16, I arrived just outside of Arc-en-Barrois, another charming village, when 2 French teachers in the US (one grew up just outside of STL, MO) offered me a ride to the gite at the Domaine du Val Bruant, which means 'the noisy valley'. They refused to speak to me in English, darn it! And so, I dropped my pack at the Domaine, went back to town 3km away, and bought some yogurt from a mobile cart, a crèmerie, took a nap on the town lawn outside the church, and eventually tried to make my way back to the Domaine.
I swear those 3 km were the longest 3 km of my life!!! It was so hot and broiling under the summer sun, that Sam needed to stop every few feet to rest in the shade. He dragged me off to the woods just before reaching the Domaine. He couldn't take the heat anymore and the road was in full sun for the last 1/2 mile. I call it the Domaine du val BRULANT, which means the BURNING or Broiling valley.
I was thrilled when M. Jeanson said he could put me up for 2 nights! it was lovely and peaceful there.
M. Jeanson feeds the deer every evening, calls them in like cattle to feed them corn. There are spotted deer called 'daims' and then there are the larger ones called 'cerfs' or just deer. It was pretty impressive. There was an old chapel on the hilltop behind the large farmhouse.
And the next day, M. Jeanson took me and the dogs and his 16 month old grandson to the local spring across the way. There's a story there which is very similar to that of the movie, Manon de la Source. I wandered through the woods and rested.
On Sunday, July 18th, we had a pleasant start. The mornings are often cool and calm. So we headed as far as we could toward Langres, our next étape (or stage). We walked more than 20km, when a man from Langres stopped in the heat of the day to offer us a ride. Since it was so hot, again, I accepted. Daniel gave us a short tour of Langres, an impressive, medieval fortress town which really hit its stride in the early 1500s as a model military city.
With its ancient Roman archways and walls, and layers of history, Langres is a beautiful outpost which towers above the plains. With natural defensive features, Langres has outlasted and preserved its culture and art and history. We camped within the city walls at the terrain de camping, located next to the impressive Tour de Navarre. The military tower which dates back to the early 1500s, has walls which are 21 feet thick! A second tower was constructed with a ramp so they could move their cannons into position, should the city be attacked. We walked the ramparts the next morning, 3 km around the city center.
Xavier, who runs the campground, is fluent in many languages. My second night, a group of Hollanders on motorcycles camped next to me. They were fun and outgoing and spoke English, of course.
On Tuesday, July 20, Sam and I headed out early trying to evade the heat as much as possible. We were headed to Champlitte. It was not bad in the morning, but by afternoon, again, the sun was unbearable. After walking nearly 15-18 km, a Mme Danielle Pinot from a tiny village along the way, found us, offered us a ride to the next town, set us down along the busy D67 road, and went on her way.
We rested for at least an hour in the shade of a tree along a long stretch of sunny highway. Eventually, I convinced Sam to move along, a little bit at a time. But when it was just too hot and Sam refused to move any further, I got out the scissors and began clipping his fur.
Still 98° in the shade, it was oppressive, but we had to continue on. Then a few kilometers outside of Champlitte, a local girl stopped to pick us up and take us on to the campground there. I was grateful. The campground was sparse, but clean with showers, toilets, sinks for dishes, sinks for laundry, a small snack bar, a tiny baby pool for kiddos, and flat ground to sleep on.
I met a truck driver from the island of Réunion (off the coast of Africa), who invited me to join him and his friends for a drink. I only drink water on most days. And though it was nice of them to offer to buy me a drink, after sweating out liters of water each day, all I want is water, lots of water!
The next morning, I walked to the village of Champlitte, another dazzlingly beautiful village with its castle and winding streets and amazing vistas and local bakeries and shops. From Champlitte, we continued on through the winding country roads, passed miles and miles of farm country.
We followed our own yellow brick road, which turned out to be wheat kernels strewn along the side of the road to form a thick yellow stripe. Seems they have a bumper crop of wheat this year. By 3:00pm, it was blistering, but then the clouds rolled in. Ahhhhh. We passed village after village until we found Dampierre-sur-Salon. By the time I reached D-s-S, I was exhausted, ready to cry from sheer exhaustion, and fearful that I would not find a place to stay. We went to the hotel mentioned in the guidebook, but it was closed, permanently.
Then a local pointed me toward M. Monney's house, a chambres d'hôtes. Of course, I could stay there! yes, even with my dog! no problem. I almost cried for joy.
M. Monney showed me to the patio where it was still drizzling, but which had a lovely umbrella, gave me carafe of orange juice, and introduced me to a local gal who was renting a room there.
Sylvie and I became friends while M. Monney and his wife readied my room. I decided to stay for 2 nights so my feet could recuperate, as well as Sam. It was a lovely family home which M. Monney said was built in the 1700s. My room was perfectly clean and came with a spotless shower and toilet and sink. Nice.
We settled in nicely.
The next day, Thursday, I read a book, Ce que je crois by a guy named Gilbert Ceslons or something. It was exactly what I wish I could write concerning the condition of the earth and humanity. Anyhoo, we passed a very quiet day.
I met Dider, a biologist who was also renting a room at the gite, who invited me and Sylvie to dinner at Chez Berthe that night. Chez Berthe is famous in the region for its perfectly seasoned and crafted dinners and its hospitality. And it lived up to its reputation! A salad with warm goat cheese, followed by bison cutletts with mushrooms and creamed veggies, a plate of fries, the cheese cart with its local specialty cheese, a fondue cheese, and a chocolate mousse for dessert. Aye aye aye. Topped off with a nice rosé wine.
On Friday, Sylvie and I drove to her dad's house in the country where we are staying until this evening. I can't believe how open and generous these people are. Her dad made us lunch yesterday, the fried potatoes and pork chops, and again today. He knows how to cook. We hung out last night with her sister, Natacha, and her mom who just had knee surgery. Lovely, the family. So sweet, so generous.
I'm stilling typing away at her brother's computer. But Sylvie is off to gather lavender with her buddy this week, so she'll drop me off again at Beaujeu, not far from Dampierre-sur-Salon, where I'll await the arrival of my guide books. Then, next week, I'll hit the trail again toward Rome.
Feeling happy, satisfied, and most of all grateful!!!! Until next time, Gigi
+of+Copy+of+Summer+2010+Via+Francigena+249.jpg "This is Sylvie from Vesouls!")
