I have not been able to post any photos for a while, and at last I have a computer that will allow me to do so, so here are some of my impressions of the road, and some of the things I have seen.

The path followed, on several days, an old railway line which, like the old Roman roads, usually goes in a straight line.  This one had its fair share of water on it that had to be negotiated. 

Sometimes the towpath on the side of the canals was a little track, at other times a well defined path

Walking along the edge of the forest, I bumped into this group of Randonees, who were out for a Saturday stroll. 

 ....and here is the Roman Road.
This was lunch stop for the day, and it was just after this that I took the wrong road .

Very often though, especially in the last few weeks this is what the road has looked like.
Very quiet bitumen but very  hard on the feet.
This road is winding through one of the many forests.  

These are the flowering cherries that  scattered their petals, like confetti, over eveything. 

 Napoleon stands atop the gate of the military school that he went to in Brienne le Chateau, and below are some of the pollarded trees in the path leading to his former school.

More pollarded trees, knotteed and knarled, and
 below you can see what they look like as they start to shoot.  

I talked earlier about the scenery, and this is just one of the scenes I saw, repeated often, along the way.

Colours and sounds of the journey.

As one walks this journey all senses are assaulted.  The sights are many and varied.  There was, for a few days,  the glaring white Roman Road.  While on that section there was a constant change in the feel of the air as the wind blew more or less strongly depending on whether it was the top or bottom of a little hillock.  Sometimes it was a gentle breeze, cooling me as I walked, but at other times the only way to cope was to tilt the brim of my hat down, bow my head into the wind, and the sun glare, and just plod on!

Then there are the constant changes in colour that assault the senses as I walk through the different areas.  As well as being champagne country this is also colza country (Canola in Australia), and this alternates, with it's brilliant yellow, with the fields that have been planted with other crops.  The paddocks vary from the brown of ready to be, or just freshly planted, to the pale green of crops that are just starting to shoot.  Then there are the crops that have got a full seed head, but not yet dry, which are a paler green than the rich green of the partly grown crops.  Some of the fileds have just a green shimmer on them as the crops start to grow.  The vineyards are different again, as they are only just starting to shoot.  The butts of the vines are obviously very old, but they have been pruned very low, and it is easy to see the ground, sometimes covered in mulch, but sometimes quite stony, and usually a white stone. 

That covers the fields, but in the towns the sights are different again.  When I went through Saint-Quentin the pink flowering cherries were in full bloom, and the wind that day had knocked petals to the ground which lay so thick that it looked as if a cartload of pink confetti had been tipped over everything within reach including the cars parked beneath the trees! 

Then there are the plane trees.  In previous years I have always walked from mid summer to early autumn.  The plane trees then provide a rich dense shade.  But even this late in the season they have yet to get their leaves, though they are starting to shoot.  The custom in the towns is to pollard the trees - that is to heavily prune them - so that at present they look like a knarled and twisted arthritic fist, with mis-shapen knuckles trying to make a power fist in the air!

For many years at home I have driven past the Canola fields on my way to somewhere else, but I have never been aware of the smell of it.  It has a really strong smell, and it is constantly assaulting the nostrils as one walks past the fields.  then there are the other smells.  The smell, for exammple, of the rotting compost heaps where farmers have piled straw in great piles on the side of the road, for easy access later. 

But the smells that, for me, typify France, are the smells of the Boulengeries, and of the food cooking in the homes as I walk past!  This is a village or town smell, and every village that has a bakery has a distinct smell - a delicious one I might add, and one that sets the digestive juices going!

I am in Langres at present, resting my right foot this time, and I had planned to put some photos on, but yet again the only computer I have access to won't allow me to - maybe next time!  Langres is fascinating town - ancient - but I will tell you more about that next time.

Good Deeds

I woke at 4.00 a.m. this morning, and for some reason I couldn't get back to sleep.  I lay there thinking about the many kindesses that have been shown to me along this journey.  I can list some of them because I know peoples names, but there are many, many more who are nameless.

People like Michel who got up at 2.00 a.m. to take me to the dawn service at Villers Brettoneux, Alexia and Marjory from the tourist offices at Peronne and Saint Quentin, and William (I think that was his name) from the Hotel Florence in Saint Quentin who wrote a letter to the doctor for me.  Then there are those nameless people who went out of there way to help me - the young man that took me up the hill to the Catheral at Laon (I am sure he had no intention of going there originally), the man who picked me up and took me to his home and then passed me over to his wife to get me to the final destination  and the man today who went past me, turned around and blocked the road while he checked that I knew where I was going to name a few!  I was obviously at the point where the path to Compostelle (as the French call the Camino) and the via Francigena seperate. 

The latest to add to my list  is what happened yesterday.  I got lost!  For those who are planning to travel the road take care with the Cicerone guide and the term KSO (keep straight on for those who aren't in the know) between Corbeil and Donnement.  I thought I did - KSO that is - the only problem was that at some point the KSO also had a veer to the left in it as well, though I didn't know this!  There were, at one stage a heap of different paths, and I "KSO" and ended up on the bitumen road, with no idea whether to turn left or right!  I turned right, only to discover 2 1/2 kilometres later that it should have been left!  (for those who need to know - IF you meet the D24 like this turn left, Donnement is still 5kms away!).  I walked all the way down hill only to find I was in the wrong place and had to go back up.  Because I was slowly limping my way along, I knew that I wasn't going to make it to the village in time to pick up the key for the Pilgrim gite so I decided I would have to hitch!  The hour between making this decision and getting almost back to where I had made the wrong choice there was only one vehicle passed me, a van and vans don't usually stop - because they are people rushing to or from work.  This van did, some 200 metres up the road, reversed back and took me all the way to where I had to go.  The man was so kind I could have hugged him, but didn't think it was approriate!

When I got to Brienne-le Chateau I stopped at the Church for a sing as I mentioned I think last time.  One of the woman cleaning in the church sent me off to get the key for the gite, and as I was walking down to the Tourist Office, a long way from the Church, she drove past.  When I got the the office she was there to greet me and to drive me to the Gite, and show me how things worked.

After I had a shower I decided that I would then use a laundromat facility - which turned out to be a loooong way from the gite.  As I was returning a young girl turned into a side street, crossed over to me and said she knew I was tired could she take me to the gite.  She knew who I was, because this was another of those wonderful people from the Tourist office.  Again, she went out of her way to help me (out of office hours what's more!), and she told me how people in France have the repuation for not being helpfull.  I had to tell that in my experience it is a different story altogether!

Today I have been walking through Napoleon's Territory.  As I crossed the bridge over the River Aube in a little village called Brienne-la-Vielle I read how Napoleon was loosing a battle here.  He planned the retreat and when the last of his soldiers crossed the river (a very deep, and fast flowing one at the moment, though not always apparently) the last of the soldiers had instructions to destroy the bridge - nothings new is it?

Bar-sur-Aube is a lovely little village (I would call it a town), and tonight I will be sleeping in the Presbytere (I think it is something like a Church House). 

The girl in the Toursit office here told me that there were 2 Australian woman walking the same route as me who came through on Wednesday, so there are pilgrims along the way though apart from Jaqui from NZ I have spent no time with any and am still on my own at most places.

Straight Roads, oh for a bend!

Since leaving Reims there have been mainly straight roads, with the odd twist
as I meandered through the vines in the Champagne country.  Not that I know
anything about champagne, but I did recognize and take a photo of a Bolinger
sign as I meandered past.

This day was a terrible day - not because of the country, which was lovely,
but because nothing was open and it wasn't till two days later I dicovered
why.  As I walked along the canal at a place called St Leonard, I could hear
a marching band somewhere, and I kept hearing it peridodically for quite a
while.  As it turns out, the reason would have been because it was the day
that Reims marked the signing of the Armistice, and this was the reason for
nothing being open - it was a public holiday!  Needless to say by the end of
the day I was ravenous as I had expected to find bakeries open in almost
every town I went through, but no joy.  Added to this the town that I had
decided to stop in had a closed Chambre d'Hote (a B & B) and a closed hotel.
I was summoned into a cafe where three older women were playing Bridge and
one of them took me on.  Mind you - she did quite nicely - €10 for the bed,
and €10 for the food.

Having walked this day for around 10 kms along the canal, I was prepared the
next day for the 20 kms of canal towpath the whole way into Chalons.  What a
lovely town - beautiful buildings and very friendly people.

The next day I had decided I would try to walk as little as possible.  What a
joke!  Firstly I caught the bus, so I thought to a suburb on the outskirts
of the town, only to realise half way through the journey that we were on our
way back again!  I got off quickly, but only saved myself one stop!  I then
decided that I would walk to the best road to hitch to the tiny little town
where I was staying - the only way to get there as there was no bus or train.
On the way I met another pilgrim - she knew who I was  "Are you Janet?" -
she had seen my name in Reims!  Jaqui is a New Zealander and was very please
to see a close "cousin"!  We walked together till I turned off on to another
road to hitch.  Got a ride to the next village almost immediately, but then,
because it was lunch time, I  waited nearly 2 hours for the next ride. 
Monsiuer was very helpful - took me right out of his way to the start of the
Ancien Voie Romain!  I had nothing for it but to walk until I found a road
that intersected the path.  Striaght as a dye, white gravel, no shade - get
the picture?

Anyway another Monsieur stopped and took me all the way to his place and then
passed me over to his wife who took me the rest of the way!  She insisted on
checking that she was dropping me off at the right place too!  Things were,
in the end, really with me that day.

Today has been another day of Roman Roads, and getting lost!  I was saved by
a very kind man who picked me up and dropped me off in the right place. 
Tonight I am in my first pilgrim gite, and as of an hour ago I think I am
there alone!  

I think this is the end of the straight roads.  They are nice for a bit, but
let me tell you - the novetly soon wears off and you start longing for a bend
so that you can wonder what is around the corner.  I focus on the sounds
around me - the bird calls, and even a swarm of bees today!  I moved real
quick when I heard them!  

Not sure when I will be able to post again, and hopefully next ime I can post
some photos of these straight paths!  

The smiling Angel.

Reims is famous for many things, including its Cathédral, the Basilique St Rémi, and of course being the big city in amongst the Champagne growing region.

I arrived here yesterday, having decided that my other foot was too sore to walk on and hitching from Corbeny.  My second ride was with an elderly man who was a teacher - couldn't work out of what though, and a violinist.  He was driving from Laon to attend Mass - but not at the cathédrale, instead it was a traditional mass somewhere else.  Not sure what the meant, as I would have thought the Cathedral would have been pretty traditional - maybe it was a Latin Mass somewhere.

He dropped me at the oustskirts of the city where I got bailed up by a couple chatting  at the lights.  They wanted to hear the ins and outs of what I was doing and then Madame counted the number of stops I would have to go through and issued instructions for me to catch the tram.  She stood and watched to make sure I did - all well and good, but then I had to figure out how to buy a ticket!  Again, a helpful man came to my rescue, and so made it into town.



Because I was so early I decided to go to the Temple!  Temple is another name for the Prostestant Church.  All the hymns were ones I knew but couldn't sing because they were in French - I "oo"d instead!  Here I managed to have a long conversation in English with several people.  One english woman was insting that she was living and working in "Reems" - she still hadn't managed to make an attempt at saying "Rance" - which is at least what I try and do. I mentioned somewhere previously that I was communicating in "pidgin" French - but a man at the church told me that he spoke "kitchen" english - maybe that is what I am doing with the french!

Reims Cathédrale has  had a checquered history.  As opposed to the Cathédrale in Laon which only took 30 years to build, this one took a couple of centuries.  A lot of it was destroyed in the war, and a fire also comes into the story.  I read somewhere that there are holes in pillars (looked, but couldn't find them) where explosives were set for the building to be destroyed when the french soldiers were coming into the city.  They, however, managed to cut the wires /detonators and stopped the building falling into ruins. 

 Laon Cathédral only took 30 years to build, as opposed to-

Reims, which took several centuries!

Because of this history there is a stange mix of old and dirty, and clean and cream!  This is as a result of the rebuilding that took place after the war.  The emblem of the city is the smiling angel.  She really is gorgeous.  Amien has the crying angel, Reims the smiling one!

I thought the smiling angel had only one wing - until I found the one with two!

In Saint Quentin Marjory at the tourist office told me of a South Korean pèlerin (pilgrim).  Since then I have felt quite comforted that there is someone else on the way.  Our paths haven't crossed, and unless he was doing what I was and resting he was about 8 kms off the path, thus I assume he has a different guide book and that he might be walking a slightly different way than me. Yesterday though, was different.  As I was leaving the Cathédrale I saw the pilgrim desk and there were THREE pelerins - all going to Rome.  An unlikely trio I might add - a French woman, a Dutch woman, and an Italian man.  None of them had a language in common and so I am not too keen to add a fourth in the melting pot - but it means that I am no longer alone! 

The "friends" that I found on the ground in Saint Quentin!  

Of course I could do nothing but see where they came from and where they went! 

Four different hotels, four different experiences!

In Saint-Quentin I stayed in a lovely hotel called the Florence.  I had an upgraded room for the first
night (a double in other words!) for the sum of €41.  There was no vacancies for the next night other than a tiny room and I could have it for €35 which of course I took!  He gave me a pelerin discount including petit déjeuner for €37, again which I took!  I stayed there for another 3 nights before moving onto Tergnier where for €35 I had the hotel from hell!!

This hotel was rustic to say the least!  The toilets were on the floor below, one with what looked like a still of blue tack tied to a piece of string to flush, the other, with no lid on the cistern and you had to guess which button to press!  There was only a hand basin in the room and when I asked about "la douche" he gave me a long winded desctription of the heating system. As there was no towel provided I can only surmise that he expected me to drape myself over the heater to dry!!  The sheets were a horrible nylon, and I wasn't sure if they were clean!  I had already parted with my money and I didn't have the skills to demand it back, so I decided I would stay, sleep in my smelly clothes because I wasn't about to put clean clothes on a not so clean body,  and leave at first light!  All night long there were people banging doors, shouting, and footsteps leaving rooms after a dubious amount of time!  I didn't get much sleep, but my body got some rest lying down.

Then last night I had a beautiful room with a pèlerin discount bringing it to €55.  However this included demi pension - a lovely four course dinner and a huge breakfast.  My hosts were gorgeous, though we could only communicate in my pigeon French!  I walked up to the restaurant that they also owned and had a meal fit for a king! Mind you it was about time because I haven't actually been eating properly due to a variety of reasons - a salad, beef (on a giant skewer at least a foot long!), cheese, and desert -  wonderful! 

Tonight I am in a gorgeous little hotel in Reims.  It is full of light, has a lovely comfy bed, and madame is a delight - she lives in the rooms downstairs, right next to the entranceway.

Rest, Recuperation - and Doctor's Bills!

I am currently in Saint Quentin, having decided that the time has come to give my ankle a chance of recovering! 

I spent 2 nights in Peronne, with not much real improvement, and while here, one of the women in the Tourist Office sort of nicely bullied me into seeing a Doctor.  She arranged an appointment, and left her number in case I needed help.  The man at the hotel contributed by writing a letter to the doctor telling him what was wrong and where it was painful, and with the doctors few words of english and my few words of french I managed to communicate the problem!  I was sent off for X Rays (again aided by my wonderful friend in the tourist office) and had it confirmed that no - it wasn't broken - something that had been niggling at me, I must admit!  I am now doped up with 2 different tablets, and a special kind of gel to rub on the area.  It, combined with bed rest for a day, seems to be working as I can now walk with only a slight limp.  I am hoping that tomorrow, when I plan to start walking again I will be pretty much back to normal. 

I really liked Peronne.  The town, much like here in Saint Quentin, has an energy and vibrancy about it.  Despite being battered and bruised by numerous wars over the centuries it has come out on top of things.  The church - one of 7 a couple of centuries ago - is the only one left, and that only had it's front facade after WW1, and it has a wonderful feeling of outreach about it. 

The castle was virtually destroyed in the war and, hidden behind its walls is an international war museum - a centre of research.  They were hosting an exhibition of "The Missing of the Somme" which was very moving.  One of the missing was from a family of 6 sons.  Not only was he listed as missing, but 4 of his brothers were either missing or killed during the war, with only the youngest son surviving.  The tradgedy was that this, the last son, died of meningitis not long after the war - and this poor family lost all its children!

Alexia at the tourist office was a wonderful help to me in Perrone, helping me find the delightful hotel I am staying in here which, thankfully, hasn't broken the bank!

Yesterday (my bed rest day) was May Day - not sure why it is the 2nd rather than the 1st - and a bank holiday.  Here in Saint Quentin it was mild, and at times even sunny.  I could here the belfroi Carillon ringing each quarter hour through my bathroom window, and at 6pm decided I had to go out for at least a half hour.  My friend at the hotel issued instructions not to walk too far, and I walked a couple of hundred metres up to the square and sat and watched the world go by.  This is a lovely town, with a huge square in which there were roller skaters practicing their routines, young children learning to ride their scooters, and slightly older children practicing on their bikes.  The skateboarders oviously had somewhere else to go as they walked through the square carrying their boards. 

While travelling around the town, on the night of my arival, imagine my pleasure when opposite the Basilica what should I find but two old friends!  A yellow arrow, and a shell painted on the ground.! Those in the know will understad my instant re-action of having to follow it to see where it went! My Tourist Office friend filled me in on the fact that Saint Quentin is on one of the St Jaques paths - I shall have to check which one.

Tomorrow though - I am back on the Via Francigena.  I must say, that as I slipped and sloshed my way along the muddy (a mixture of chalk and clay) path from Peronne it felt like I was home.  Mind you my first prot of call after a shower was the laudromat - I was covered in mud!  Now that I am away from the front there is a different feel to the pelerinage.  It is cheaper for one, I am out in the country, and it is cheerful.  Now I am left with a few hours to have a look at a few things in the town, hopefully including the Basilica, and get a stamp for my pilgrim passport.  

Thank you for your messages and emails, they do cheer me along the way.  Sometimes I get to read them but have no time to post, but be assured they are appreciated!