Stage 7 : Gy to Besancon

We stayed in the Hotel Pinnochio in Gy. A hotel dedicated to the lovable wooden puppet/boy. Who knew there'd be such a thing? No fibbing at the back, you know what happens if you tell fibs. After breakfast, (the local boulangerie was closed for the holidays!) we set off up the hill towards the chateau. Actually, I set off up the hill twice. We left our phone charger in the hotel and I had to go back for it. Grrr. I didn't mind to be honest, I actually love walking uphill. (Walking downhill is quite another matter, no doubt we'll come back to that issue later.)

The route from Gy is quite a pull. A good way of getting going first thin in the morning. Round past the chateau and up and up for 3k. The sun eventually came out as we entered the forest, the Grands Bois de Gy. It was another magical walk.

 The route through the forest was about 10.5k of scenery like this...gorgeous.

There was evidence all around of woodland management. We never saw anyone, of course, but we saw, kilometre after kilometre, a vast quantity of logs seasoning in the sun, ready for winter. And we passed a woman who was looking for mushrooms, she'd obviously had a good day too because her bag was full to overflowing.

It was idyllic. We emerged from the forest into a big complex of farm buildings. The main house was very grand but in need of some TLC. There were several associated buildings that would have made excellent gites. It was all for sale and it was stunning! We said our "if onlys" and continued on to Geziers for lunch. We found a lovely spot by the roadside under a tree, but I had to swat the whole area with my walking pole just in case there were any lurking snakes.

An hour or so further down the road we were in Cussey sur l'Ognon, our stopping place for the night and one of Sigeric's stops too. Our hotel was difficult to find, being at the very top of a hill on the way out of town. Our starter at dinner that night was mushrooms! A fab 'salade forestiere', followed by fritura mixta of local, little river fish. It was an amazing meal. We had company with our dinner too, for the first time in ages. Two women were having dinner at the same time as us and were very interested in what we doing and where we were going. It was a lovely evening. Nevertheless, we were in bed by 9pm.

We awoke to a blue, blue sky and the nagging feeling that no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't get our clothes properly clean by handwashing them. I was getting a bit concerned that, by the end of each day, we were beginning to smell just like pilgrims. We needed to find a launderette and so had agreed that we'd have a rest day in Besancon, our next stop.

We breakfasted in the bar and were told that the local boulangerie had closed. It was becoming a familiar story. The barman told us about a short cut to the next village. We thanked him and walked off in a different direction. We thought long and hard about following his directions but agreed that we'd stick to the directions in the guidebook from now on.

Our route took us through the village, out into fields and through a wood.

The walk through the wood was a bit like an obstacle course. Fallen trees and deep holes prevented us from making rapid progress. In the next village we were able to buy bread in the local wine shop. We were soon at a busy main road, our guidebook sent us along it for 300 yards, down an underpass and back along the other side of the road for 300 yards. We could have simply walked across the road and been at the same place! That's what you get for slavishly following the directions in the guidebook, I guess.

There was a huge farm shop on the road and we bought some local ham and cheese for lunch. After climbing a steep hill, we passed a sign saying "Besancon 6k" and were pleased we were nearly there. Unfortunately, as it turned out, the 6k took us nearly three hours to walk. We found a little residential park for lunch. When we came out a bus passed us - we thought about catching it (if only we had!) because the torturous route took us forever; through industrial estate after out of town shopping centres. It was horrible. We'd been out in the countryside for so long, that cities made us feel depressed and irritable. The lo-o-o-ong road in to the centre was interminable. Eventually, thank blummin goodness, we were there...and after our shower and siesta we set off to discover the town.

Anyone who's been to Besancon will appreciate how spread out this pretty, little city is...nonetheless, it has a wealthy, cosmopolitan feel. We enjoyed a beer and had a yummy home-made burger from a restaurant in one of the trendy, little squares. We headed off back to our hotel as darkness fell. It felt a bit naughty to be out so late.

We had an excellent breakfast the following morning, which was a bit of a rarity; cereal and boiled eggs - what a luxury! The first job was to do our laundry then it was off to the town to buy provisions and do a spot of sight-seeing. The cathedral was a bit austere, so we walked (and walked!) very steeply uphill to the citadel. It felt a little like a busman's holiday. Our treat was a beer in the square.

We'd come to a significant moment in our journey - the end of the first guidebook!

Distance from Canterbury: 767k

Distance to Rome:             1316k

Stage 6: Langres to Gy

Langres is another one of those beautiful walled, medieval towns. We arrived, looking forward to trying the local cheese; a particular favourite of Polly's. It's magnificently gooey and stinky especially, we discovered, when left in your rucksack overnight in the middle of August.

We walked the city walls with an audio guide; the views were amazing. We marvelled at the city's defences and the age of the walls - one bit was Roman and dated to 20BC! There were also Renaissance houses galore, another lovely city.

Our last port of call was the tourist information office to get accommodation for the next leg of our walk. Then, it was an dinner in our room and an early night.

We awoke to leaden skies and I went off to buy bread for lunch. (It was good to buy bread on the day we were going to eat it, for a change.) Leaving Langres by the south gate, we were soon out of the traffic and heading for our overnight stop at Grandchamp. It was a bit off-piste but it was the only place we could find in the 40kms between Langres and Champlitte. We had lunch by the church in le Puilly and then set off down a lush, green valley towards Grandchamp.

I'm pleased to report that Polly's log records that the cows and horses were the most beautiful and healthy we'd ever seen. I think, perhaps, she wasn't taking enough water with it. 

She also records that our accommodation in Grandchamp would probably be one of the most sociable on the whole trip. She was absolutely right. There were people from all over Europe drawn to this lovely, little hotel run by a couple of Dutch women. Our meal was very special, probably the best bouef bourginone I've ever had. Our room had a sitting room as well as a bath. The next morning we had a fried egg for breakfast. It felt like the absolute lap of luxury.

As we left the village we saw some wooden figures peering out at us from every conceivable angle from a local house. We were admiring them when the owner/artist drove up, got out of the car and invited us to look at his workshop. It was astounding! It was a shame, though, that we didn't recognise the main characters from a French TV programme that had been lovingly, expertly carved.

What a fun experience! We thanked our new artist friend profusely and set off on our way to Champlitte.

The sun shone on beautiful scenery as we made our way along quiet country roads. Champlitte itself is marked by a very large chateau at the end of the walk with spectacular views across the valley. We have entered a different part of France. The earth is rich and thick, the rivers full and fast, there's lots of forest and everywhere is green and fertile.

As we were leaving town the following morning, the local charcuterie was setting up a cooked chicken battery. I was disappointed to be leaving so early, the smell was gorgeous but perhaps not the best thing for breakfast.

It was another superb walk. Our route took us through some delightful little villages, following the local bread van. Polly spotted some rogue hops in the hedgerow. A great find! We were to find them all the way to Rome. They reminded us of home and were very poignant for Polly as her mum was a hop-picker in Kent. An unexpected treat.

The day's walking in the hot sun took us over ancient bridges and along typically quiet roads.

We stopped at a convenient spot for a toilet break. It was sheltered from the road by a hedge and a large, but slightly shabby looking statue of the Virgin Mary. There was a bench too and I started to take my pack off when the loudest scream I have ever heard assaulted my ears. I turned round as quickly as I could to hear Polly screaming, "SNAKE!!!" and, before I could move, she was 20, 30, 40 yards down the road, still screaming. My eyes were attracted to the movement near the statue and I watched, fascinated as the snake slithered under it. Brilliant. I couldn't be sure, but I think it was a common adder. It was bigger than the ones I've seen in England and...hang on where's Polly? She hadn't stopped running. When I eventually caught up with her, she was still shuddering, all thoughts of a toilet break had disappeared. 



Nope...she's gone

We arrived in Dampiere a little after 3pm and it was hot, hot, hot. Our accommodation was a gorgeous old farmhouse, covered in ivy, on the outskirts of town. Our hosts were obviously expecting us as they'd put a jolly little note (in English) on the door. It read, "Back in half an hour". Unfortunately, they'd neglected to tell us half an hour from when. Hey, what the heck...we found a stone bench, settled down to stroke the cat and waited.

When our hosts returned, I optimistically asked about the possibility of there being a bar nearby. Monsieur went into overdrive...he brought us two very large, cold, cold, cold bottles of Kronenberg. We passed a fun half hour talking in Franglais to our host before adjourning to our room.

It was a great pit-stop. We met a Swiss walker at breakfast, who regaled us with stories of his mountain adventures. He was young, handsome, very able and beautifully turned out. We suddenly felt very inadequate.

Polly's boots were causing her some problems. The soles were coming away from the uppers. A good rainstorm and they'd be letting in water. We hadn't even seen shops in most places, let alone somewhere to buy walking gear. And, of course, our walk today was quite long (25k) and it started to rain... Nevertheless, we enjoyed our day. We promised ourselves an afternoon break, but the rain persisted and we decided to keep going...The clicks flew by. We soon got to Gy.

Just Like A Pilgrim

Our night in Chalons was a time for reflection. As far as the walking was concerned, we were in good condition. We had no aches and pains and no blisters. (Well, we are experienced walkers!) We were also delighted with our recovery rate. Usually, we went to bed, tired, at 9pm and woke up fresh and ready for action the next morning. Well, ready for action as soon as we'd got our legs moving again. When we first woke up our legs were a bit stiff. We walked a little like robots in an old movie until we'd done a few exercises - but we were in good shape.

France was adorable. We hadn't met many people but those we had met had been generous and warm. We weren't entirely surprised but it was good to bury a few stereotypes.

We still felt incredibly privileged to be able to do this walk, this pilgrimage. All we had to worry about each day was making sure we hadn't forgotten anything, putting on our packs and walking. It was an honour and a joy.

And it was important we held on to those thoughts. We weren't heroes, we weren't superhuman and we certainly weren't loonies. We were just two people walking.

We'd managed to walk 30kms with our packs but, in all honesty, that was probably our limit. We could possibly have walked further but neither of us felt comfortable with the prospect. We new our limits and we weren't gonna push the boundaries too far. We wanted to enjoy ourselves too! We had to keep reminding ourselves that we were on blummin holiday. We didn't have to prove anything to anyone. It was our Via Francigena, our camino.

We'd learned to respect the rhythm of the road. It was a treat to be out in the open, in the landscape.

We'd spent some time discussing previous pilgrims and how they would have fared. There were no real landmarks this deep into France. If the medieval pilgrims came this way, they left little trace.

The infrastructure was still a problem. We were still finding it tough to book accommodation in advance. And this next section was going to be a big problem. There were two very long days of 40k each with no intermediate stopping places.

What could we do? We could try to walk 40k and look for a bus when we were on the outskirts of town. The only problem was, we hadn't yet seen a bus in France. How could we be sure of catching one now? It was a risky strategy.

And we hadn't yet seen any fellow pilgrims which was surprising. We were learning that it wasn't the Camino.
We had to find our own way on this walk. Just like a pilgrim.

After much debate and soul-searching, we thought the best thing to do was by-pass the next two stages altogether and get a train direct to Langres.

It was a toughie but it felt like the right decision.

Stage 5 : Reims to Chalons en Champagne.

We'd had lovely weather throughout our stay in Reims, but the day we were setting off again was cooler and cloudier. It was good to get our packs back on and to set off again deep into the French countryside. The first part of the walk was along the canal towpath for 10.5k. It was a gentle reintroduction to walking again after our lazy days in Reims. We shared the towpath with fellow walkers, runners and cyclists doing their Sunday constitutionals. The temperature picked up a bit. I was walking in a t-shirt and light trousers.
It was all very pleasant.

And then the dark clouds stared to gather. We could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. We marched on a bit quicker, hoping the rain would keep off. The thunder rumbled nearer, the wind got fresher. Instinctively, we stopped and put our wet weather gear on. Within three or four minutes the rain began...a few drops at first then, as the lightning cracked around us, faster and more furiously. I was a bit spooked to tell the truth. The canal was lined with trees and I was a bit scared. The lightning was followed almost immediately by thunder, a sure sign we were in the eye of the storm. But, it was over just as quickly as it had started. We were soon to turn off the canal and, as the clouds cleared and the sun came out, we were amongst the champagne vineyards. Magical.

We ate our lunch by a very famous champagne house amongst mile after mile of vines. It was a glorious sight. We walked along the road, markers every few yards announcing the name of the house to whom the vines belonged. It was a curious mixture of names, from the famous, to the familiar, to the obscure. All told of a rich and vibrant heritage we were delighted to be walking through.

Our accommodation was in a b&b run by an ex-pat Englishman who had previously been in the wine trade. We were still keen to drink the local bubbly. We asked him if he could recommend a good half bottle of champagne. To our astonishment he told us that the stuff he'd got was not particularly good, so he wouldn't sell it to us. We couldn't buy any from anywhere else because, he told us, everyone was on holiday. I could scarcely believe my ears. There we were in the centre of the world's champagne industry and we couldn't get any for love nor money. We went to bed early, after a supper of our hostel-cooked food, washed down with a nice glass of ... apple juice.

The next day saw us walking through miles and miles of vineyards, first going steeply uphill then sharp downhill along winding roads. The scenery was gorgeous, it was a great day's walking. We went through champagne village after champagne village; Verzenay, Verzy and Villiers-Marmery. The views across the vines were amazing, but, as was becoming the norm, we saw no-one.

Towards lunchtime, we set off on the lo-ong uphill climb to Trepail. We had lunch on a park bench, the wind by now cool and fierce whipping around us. After lunch we marched rather quickly, to keep ourselves warm, through Ampernay, a lovely little place, surrounded by vineyards.

It had been a memorable day's walking but the weather was deteriorating as we reached our destination. There was a sign on the hotel door which said, "Back at 15:00". We checked the time. It was 15:10.  The rain fell in sharp needles. Our hotelier arrived at 15:30 on the dot. She was about 4 feet nothing in her high heels. She was a human dynamo. She ran the hotel, the bar, cooked the meals and doled out free advice to the locals.

The next morning, on her advice, we set off along the canal towpath. It wasn't the route specified in our guidebook but our hostess assured it would be quicker.

As soon as we set off we had a great debate about which way along the canal we should go. Neither seemed to be the right direction. Eventually, after consulting with a local passer-by, we set off in bright, warm sunshine. It was a beautiful walk. We were making great progress. A canal towpath is a great place to put in lots of clicks quickly. Boats passed us on the canal, we passed them at lock after lock. It was idyllic. But I began to feel a bit of trepidation about the route we were taking. The sun was in the wrong place. We were supposed to be heading south-east but the sun was directly in front of us. We checked the compass. We were heading east. We carried on walking along the canal towpath, but a bit more circumspectly. I started to see, on the locks, place names we'd seen yesterday. I was really worried now. We stopped and took out our OS map. We looked at it in disbelief. Polly was the first to speak. "We've come along the wrong canal!" Neither of us wanted to believe it. But evidently, there were two canals in Conde sur Marne and we were heading east-north-east along the wrong canal.

A few rude words were exchanged. We plotted how we could get back on track. We had to go to Isse, 5kms back down the canal and our destination was still 16k from there. We thought we were only going to walk 18k in the day. I was worried because it was perhaps the hottest day of the walk so far and we probably would run out of water unless we could find a shop or a bar.

By the time we got to Juvigny our water had run out. The sun was scorching in a cloudless, blue sky. As usual, we saw no-one...and there were no shops or bars anywhere. Dispiritedly we looked around the churchyard. And we were just about to move on when Polly saw the door to a courtyard was open across the road. Well, well, well...there was a tap on the wall. Polly turned it on. Cold, cold water gushed out. We filled our bottles and were incredibly grateful for another fabulous pilgrim moment.

We were still some way from our destination, however. We walked into the hot afternoon along a newly built by-pass. We were on our last legs when we reached St Martin. We stopped at a bar to get a drink. The owner was just closing up. She was gracious enough to give us a glass of cold water with our fizzy pop.  I noticed that sweat was pouring off me. We must have smelled like pilgrims. We were on our last legs. I don't know if we could have gone on much further. Unbelievably, wonderfully, beautifully, our host offered to drive us to our destination. It was only about 4k but, at this stage of the day, it would have taken us well over an hour to walk. We were no mood to turn down such generosity. And we will never forget our pilgrim angel. She was a life-saver.

We'd walked about 30k on a hot summer's day. Our dinner that evening was pasta followed by steaks. We felt we deserved it. But we had crucially walked down the wrong section of a canal. We'd have to get smarter from here on.

Distance from Canterbury: 471k

Distance to Rome:                1612k

Reims

We arrived in Reims with great anticipation on our first anniversary. We had met whilst walking the Camino de Santiago in May 2008 and had kept in touch until, in August 2009, we had finally got together. We'd spent a long time planning the Via Francigena, though neither of us can remember who first suggested it. Polly had walked some of the Italian section with her friend Vickie in June 2009. I think I may have challenged her to walk the whole thing.


We'd planned to take a well-earned rest day in Reims and had booked into a good hotel. It was a Thursday and we wanted to resume walking on Saturday. Our first job was to try to book accommodation further on for Saturday night. We went to the tourist information office and got a list of b&bs, hotels etc on our route. Even when put together with the accommodation listed in our guidebook, it wasn't a very big list. I spent a frustrating afternoon and evening ringing round, without much luck. Everywhere seemed to be full for the weekend. Many of the places I rang didn't answer and  guess I'll never know whether they were full (it was mid-August in the champagne region after all), closed permanently or whether they themselves were on holiday.


So, no joy. Except one English b&b who said he might have something free on Sunday! Sunday!! Blimey, that was three nights away. Could we really spend so much time here? Or should we catch a train out of the area? Neither of us had much enthusiasm for catching a train. We'd be heartbroken if we couldn't walk through the Champagne region just because we couldn't find anywhere to stay. On the other hand, we'd seen enough of rural France to know that you just can't set off to walk and hope to find somewhere to stay en route. France just wasn't like that. We'd walked through enough hamlets and villages to know that there wasn't the infrastructure out there. We could walk all day and not find anywhere to stay. What then? Sleep under a hedge? Neither of us were really up for that. We'd walk all day if we had to, but please let there be a bathroom at the end of it!


We decided to defer the decision until the following morning. In the meantime, we booked ourselves a table at a lovely looking restaurant for that night and organised a trip round one of the champagne houses for the following morning. We were determined to enjoy our anniversary.


And we did. We had a rather splendid meal accompanied by a half bottle of champers with the fishy starter and a half bottle of red with the meaty main courses. We lounged in bed rather late the next morning and didn't have anything for breakfast! We had a shopping expedition for essential supplies, located the launderette and then set off for our appointment at the champagne house.

We had a great time. Surprisingly, we were the only two on the tour. Our guide was a young chap who, at first, seemed rather reluctant to show us anything at all. Fortunately, he warmed to his task as we asked him more and more questions and got to see the whole of the premises. Fascinating stuff...then it was back to the office for our champagne tasting. We had three very large glasses of champagne; their best seller, followed by a rose and finally a glass of vintage champagne. All were excellent and the vintage had me panting for more. "Can I buy a case to ship to England?" I asked. He looked at me as if I were mad. "No", he replied flatly, "we don't do that." My jaw was ready to hit the floor. "We don't ship anything abroad", he explained. We could do it at our own expense at our own risk, but they were adamant they wouldn't do it for us. But what could we do? We couldn't carry any in our bags. Even if we'd got the space we wouldn't be able to take any. Can you imagine how fizzed up a bottle of champagne would be after a good days walking? We were gobsmacked. No champers for us, then.

So feeling a bit crestfallen but, nevertheless, slightly squiffy we headed off to see some sights and then to do our laundry. We adored the cathedral. It was ancient and awe-inspiring. And it possessed some Chagall windows which made us very much at home because a church at Tudeley near where we live also has some beautiful Chagall windows.

But then, disaster! I'd spent a lot of money on some top-of-the-range walking trousers before we set off. They were absolutely superb, keeping dry when it rained, cool when it was sunny and warm when it wasn't. I was in love with them. We washed them with the rest of our clothes and, I must have taken my eye off the ball for a moment, they were thrown into the dryer with everything else. Big mistake. When I eventually rescued them they were completely ruined. They looked like they'd been set on fire and had melted. I was heartbroken.

We decided that we'd stay on in Reims until Sunday and arranged to move from or rather grand hotel to the local youth  hostel for the next two nights, so we cold down on or costs a little. We behaved like tourists for two days, drinking beer, doing the crossword and seeing the sights. The sun shone and it was a splendid break. For me, one of the best things was cooking a meal for the two of us in the hostel. It was great fun and we made enough to take with us for lunch on Sunday whilst we were resuming our walk.


We'd loved every moment of it so far, our only continuing sadness being the lack accommodation en route. But we were rested, healthy and in good spirits ready for the next stage of our Via Francigena.

Stage 4 : St Quentin to Reims

We were, by now, getting into the rhythm and the routine of walking. Our packs, which had seemed to be very heavy intruders at first, were fast becoming familiar friends. We were used to the weight and the fact that we were carrying everything we needed was reassuring and comforting.

The rhythm of our footsteps matched the beat of our hearts. We were having fun, singing songs and sharing laughter on the open road. It was a real privilege. Friends and relatives thought we were bonkers but, just like pilgrims, we were having the time of our lives.

It didn't quite feel like that by the time we got to Laon. We were exhausted and so decided to take the funicular (the POMO) up to the top of the town where we had booked our overnight accommodation. The funicular hurtled up to the old town at a rapid rate of knots. We had a quick nap in our hotel and went out to see the sights. Laon was a real treasure, the town was wonderful and the cathedral exquisite.

We ate in a local bar/restaurant and managed to stay awake long enough to see the fabulous Son et Lumiere show at the cathedral. We rolled into bed at midnight. It was our latest night...

We awoke to the sounds of rumbling rain and just wanted to get back under the covers. Luckily we only had a short day, but it was weather gear on and best foot forward as we descended the hill out of Laon. The rain poured but the route was quite straightforward. At least, that's what we thought...we walked into a little village and met up with a Dutch couple who we saw the previous night in Laon. They were on a cycle trip to Paris but were lost and very wet. The rain poured. Fortunately, I was able to direct them on to the right road as I'd seen the turn off for Paris at a recent roundabout. We waved them goodbye as the rain got heavier.

Our route took us across farmland and deep into a wood. The path was getting waterlogged, the mud squelched and we skirted round ever-deepening puddles. When we eventually emerged on to the road, we were soaked through and splattered with mud. We were also tired and hungry. We were in luck! There was a restaurant on the edge of the town. We pressed our wet little noses up against the window, like kids in a sweet shop. Unfortunately, it was really expensive so we decided to carry on to our accommodation and eat our groceries for dinner.

Pilgrim moment

The rain poured as we walked up the road towards our b&b and it was with some relief that we found it at the top of the road. It was a huge house. The dog barked like crazy as we knocked on the door. The rain poured on but there was no reply. Walking round the house we noticed a light on in one of the rooms. It was a gite. The French couple who were staying there were very sympathetic to our plight as we dripped on their carpet. They told us that our hosts had gone out for lunch and they didn't know when they'd be back. Nor did they  invite us in over the threshold. I noticed there was a big garage and tried to open the door. It was locked. There was a shed. Locked. We walked back to the front of the house. The dog barked and the rain poured. At the side of the house was another door. I tried the handle. The door opened! We couldn't believe our luck as walked out of the rain and into... a private chapel. A private chapel with a Black Madonna. A private chapel with a Black Madonna and a bible opened at a reading for today. What a pilgrim moment. We settled in and waited for our hosts to arrive. We waited and waited. The rain fell, but at least we were now in the dry.

I was just changing my trousers as our hosts pulled up outside; my wet underwear around my ankles. I hastily changed as Polly provided what seemed to be a well-rehearsed diversion. I keep meaning to ask her about that.

Anyway, our hosts were very apologetic. Once we were inside the b&b we put everything (clothes, rucksacks, maps, pilgrim passports, boots, humans) to dry and settled down for the night. We ate our damp cheese and bread in a very grand sitting room that wouldn't have looked out of place in the grandest of chateaux, and the ran poured.

The next morning didn't dawn any brighter, but everything had dried, except our boots. My boots were going to be a bit of a worry throughout the journey. The goretex had almost gone, they just about kept my feet dry, but only just. I wore my walking trainers and put my boots in my rucksack to dry. Polly's boots were still damp, she continued with wet feet.

We set off at a cracking pace which we maintained all day. Another lovely section through a wood, dappled sunlight by now playing on the puddles, led us eventually into Corbeny at around 2pm. Our accommodation was ok, but there was nowhere to dry our clothes. We had a delightful set meal at the local restaurant and met some English tourists who were returning from The Pyrennees. We set off the next morning for Hermonville, steeling ourselves for a long walk. Oops! I'd booked us in at Berry au Bac which was only a stone's throw away. We were grateful for a short day and saw our first field of sunflowers en route.

We also crossed a field at the edge of the woods and saw a deer! It was a magical moment. We watched it feeding for fully five minutes before he spotted us and ran off into cover. Glorious.

I spent forever trying to get us accommodation between Berry Au Bac and Reims...there was nothing. We decided to walk to the nearest railway station at Guincourt and catch a train to Reims from there. A combination of the lack of infrastructure and the French holiday season had beaten us again. Undaunted, we decided to give our tired and weary bodies a rest day in Reims and do our laundry at the same time. 

The walk to the railway station was slightly off our course, but it was the nearest point for a train to Reims. We were just in time for a train and were in Reims by lunchtime. We booked in to our hotel and headed out into town for a recce. It was a beautiful day and, as we left our packs in the hotel, we felt like tourists. We'd come a long way and felt like we deserved a break, we just hadn't bargained how long we'd actually stay.

Distance from Canterbury: 418k
Distance to Rome:                 1665k