Road to Home 2023 Day 22: Laon - Chamouille

Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none.

- John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678)

 

When I woke up and opened the blind on the skylight in my attic bedroom by the cathedral in Laon, I was glad I had decided to shorten today's stage and stop in Chamouille rather than attempting to walk thirty kilometres to Corbeny. The day appeared very damp and overcast, and indeed it was raining lightly by the time I was ready to leave. Fully waterproofed, I walked along a slippery cobblestone street atop the ramparts of Laon, following the route of the Via Francigena to the church of Saint Martin, through the Porte de Soissons gate in the ramparts, and then downhill on a grassy track to the suburbs on the southern side of the town centre. I passed a succession of supermarkets, fast food places and budget hotels before arriving in Ardon, which must once have been a separate village but is now an outlying suburb of Laon.

In Ardon I was delighted to find an open boulangerie-pâtisserie with a small table, and went inside to take a break from the rain. I ordered a nice hot cup of coffee and a "chocolate snail", which is a pastry coiled up like a cinnamon bun, but containing chocolate chips! 😋

Just as I was finishing my snack a wet group of walkers arrived, clustering outside the door as if wondering whether or not to come in. I greeted them and discovered that they were four Puerto Ricans and a Texan. Three of them came inside, and I packed up my things and freed up the table for them. They are walking as far as Reims, and the Texan's wife is accompanying them by car, carrying all their bags and making the arrangements for their accommodations and meals; another clever arrangement!

Between us all, we were taking up quite a lot of space in the bakery with our wet walking gear, and the Texan was, true to the stereotype, quite large and talked very loudly; I could feel the eyes of all the bakery's local customers queuing up for baguettes boring into us as we took up the majority of available space in the tiny bakery with our backpacks and dripping raingear. So I bid my fellow walkers adieu and buen camino, certain we would see one another again further along the road.

A wet and muddy track over the fields brought me to the next village, Bruyères, where I found a roof sheltering what probably used to be the village lavoir or washing place and stopped beneath its roof for a cup of tea from my thermos.

I could hear the church bells ringing, and when I had finished my tea I moved on to the village church, where the service was just getting under way. I don't attend church very frequently at home, but do like to do so when on a pilgrimage walk, so I went in, took a seat at the back of the congregation and removed my rain poncho and backpack. I didn't understand much of the service, but it was nice to be there anyway, and to speak to one or two of the parishioners after mass was over. The church of Nôtre-Dame in Bruyères is an ancient one, with the oldest parts dating back to the 1100's, and a display in the aisle indicated that it has only recently been restored, though cracks in the roof suggested it might require further restoration soon!

It wasn't raining so hard when the service was over, so I didn't put my poncho back on; I don't like walking around looking like a bright orange tent when not strictly necessary! I caught up with the Puerto Ricans and the American coming into Martigny-Courpierre, and we stopped by the village church to eat our lunches. As the entire village was destroyed in World War I, this church is only a hundred years old, but it is built in beautiful Art Deco style; unfortunately it was closed, and locked. I sat on the steps under a sort of lean-to roof and ate a giant tuna, egg and salad sandwich I had purchased before leaving the bakery in the morning.

Underneath the mistletoe

Coming out of Martigny, I took a shortcut down the road while the others laboured on across the muddy fields, sticking to the official route of the GR145. I could see why the official path zigzagged across the fields rather than following the direct route along the road, as it had no shoulder and a few blind curves. But there was no traffic at Sunday lunchtime, and soon I was turning up the road to Chamouille, just off the Via Francigena. La Castailette is the first house in the village, so I was there right away! My hosts had not been expecting me so early and hadn't prepared the room yet, but I sat down to a cup of tea, fruit and biscuits to chat with them and then worked on writing this entry in the living room until the housekeeping had been done. 

Coming into Chamouille 

Michèle is French and Hamid is Iranian, though he has been living here since just after the revolution and has become more French than Persian. I surprised him by asking Shoma irani? But then explained that that was about all I could remember how to say in Farsi as more than thirty years have gone by since I lived in Iran! 

Persian carpets, a samovar, and dates served with tea give the house a definite Iranian feel, and I have been promised a Persian salad at dinner!

A Persian touch

Today's accommodations: Chambres d'hôtes Le Castailette, Chamouille 

Laon - Chamouille 21 km