Author: David

I had succumbed to something of a malaise in Besançon. I was tired, the skies were relentlessly grey and the bed I was in squeaked and was more uncomfortable than my sleeping mat. I imprudently spent my time and had drunk too much red wine on my first night. I did not feel hugely rejuvenated and was ready to depart the grey city.

My route took me back through the centre of town. I was early enough to join binmen and morning commuters on the streets. I felt like I was sneaking out of the city before it had properly woken and  could catch me. On the route out, I passed under a magnificent Roman arch. I had seen it yesterday. I had even walked under it yesterday. But this time, with my boots and backpack, it felt like more of a crossing. I was using the archway as an archway: passing through.

Continue reading “Water, many ways: Besançon to Lausanne”

I woke up in the pilgrim flat in Chateauvillain a little drowzy from having stayed up typing my diary the night before. The flat is quite a big place with a balcony that lets sunlight stream in. I hadn’t shut the curtains. My itinerary had sketched a rest day but inertia and a slight lack of facilities made me keen to stay on the road.

The next town on the route was Langres, a two day walk away. There were a few villages on the way that had a couple of accommodation options but they were quite limited. I wanted to buy provisions for a worst-case scenario so headed a half kilometre out of town to an Intermarché. It didn’t open until nine o’clock so I waited on a concrete bench.

A woman came up to me and asked if I had slept well. I was a bit confused. I said that I had and explained that I was walking to Rome. She said she knew. She had seen me at the window of the flat. She lives just opposite. She told me about the other pilgrims she had seen at the window, passing through. She told me it was going to be hot and that I should get a hat.

Continue reading “Mercury Skies: Chateauvillain to Besançon”

My rest day in Reims was cold and rainy but I was glad that the heavens were opening when I wasn’t sleeping under them. Before noon I had already tried three different Champagnes. From the family-owned Champagne house that I had started at, I stumbled over to Taittinger’s enormous site for a tour of their cellars. I think I remember them saying they had 10km of tunnels. It’s actually quite an amazing place that had initially been used as a Roman chalk quarry and then a medieval abbey before finally being converted into cellars which were expanded further. There was a point in the tour where you could see all three layers of history piled onto each other.

Continue reading “Pricking on Plains: Reims to Chateauvillain”

After eight days of walking my day of rest in Arras was welcome. I was up  early (habits formed) and walked around the city. It has two beautiful squares and three remarkable churches. I climbed the belfry and spent the early afternoon sipping Leffe in a sunny plaza.

Continue reading “Chasing does to Reims”

After three days without walking the blisters on the balls of my feet had largely healed. I was ready to push ahead. This time there was no ferry to catch. There was just the road. For the next nineteen thousand kilometres.

I would spend the day walking away from Rome. The last stop on Sigeric’s Francigena itinerary was Wissant. It is a small town on the coast, west from Calais. Until it’s harbour silted up in around the 12th century it used to be the most common port of embarkation to England. There is a plaque on the town church commemorating Thomas Becket’s departure from there in 1170. It was his return from exile shortly before his matyrdom.

Most modern pilgrims miss it out because they’re keen to get going. I wanted to see the old town and I enjoy walking by the sea. It’s much harder to get lost if you keep the water on one side.

Continue reading “Calais to Arras: Slugs, Nuns, Toads”

I’ve spent three days in Calais doing some work at a warehouse shared by several organisations who support refugees there and in Dunkirk.

It’s a cliché that the world is full of bad news. There is so much going so wrong in such quantity it is difficult to know how to respond. We often get stung into despondent paralysis: the mountain of the world’s problems is impenetrably wide and high so we gaze at it with folded arms and glazed eyes. My very short time in Calais showed me some incredibly practical and humane responses to this overwhelming tragedy.

Continue reading “Calais”

I arrived into a foggy Canterbury on the afternoon of the 9th April. I took a look around the city because I was keen to be off early the next morning. The plan had been to get over to Calais by the same evening.

It’s a strange city. There’s such a density of visible history it almost feels like a medieval themepark. Although everyone seems a bit unfussed about the importance of it all.

I walked up to St Martin’s church which is the oldest church in the English-speaking world. It is part of Canterbury’s UNESCO heritage site but you wouldn’t really know it to look at it; there were some teenagers drinking cider in the yard. I went to evensong at the Cathedral and then went to sleep at my Airbnb.

Continue reading “Beginnings: The First Day is the Worst”