Thursday, July 19, 2018

The Last Dragonfly



-The Last Dragonfly-

I will miss your iridescent wings glistening in the golden light, like a constant companion you have shimmered between the shadow and the sun, swept between the thunderclaps, your presence flowing freely, flowering along the length of each great river, la Siene, la Loire, la Vienne, les Trois... and always you are there, and ever shall you remain, in the mountain height, or dark of night, your turquoise splash, a light, in the dawn of our fateful hour. The harbinger of transcendence, forever in remembrance. 

-RMP 2018

Image: Dragonfly, between Azur and Soustons,  Basque France.

Monday, July 16, 2018

A Tale Of Two Cities... (part 2)

La Carillionnaire

'More!?…', oops! :)

Poitiers awaited, and so it was I set off alone this time, along the third great French river I had traversed, after the Siene and Loire, La Vienne, towards the bastion of one of France's oldest universities, whose great scholarship boasted such illustrious Alumni as the great philosopher Rene Descartes.
Hotel Fume, University of Poitiers.

A friend had arranged for me a brief stay outside of Poitiers, at the Benedictine Abbey of Saint Martin in Liguge. This was to be a particularly special time and deeply creative moment, as I eventually arrived on the eve of the summer solstice, having walked the length of the Vienne, and penned the poem 'The Cherry and the Vine', whilst walking, finishing it, and the accompanying artwork, whilst at the abbey on the solstice.

The walk along the Vienne was poetic, not least because it enabled me to pass through some beautiful countryside, but the season was also changing, turning from the rough thunderous late Spring to one of a somnolent Summer. Where there were thunderheads along the Loire, there were now sheaves of golden wheat, ripened for the early harvest, and blown by powerful winds beneath the blaze of an early summer sun. Skylarks filled the air with ebullient song, and enraptured fields sung in the midst of a their gaze.

Passing through such wonderful towns as Veigne, where I stayed in a Dormir for pilgrims at the behest of the wonderful local priest, Jean-Jacque; and Drache, where the locals had made a beautiful domicile for pilgrims just outside of the town with a spectacular view; I slowly made my way down the Vienne, towards Poitiers. Along the way, stopping to meet with locals and take in some of the world cup games. As ever I was blessed with the company of fabulous souls, like the couple I met and befriended one evening, late after a forced march to a shop of 11km only to find that the shop had closed some 15 minute's earlier. After laughing a little, I asked the Universe for a sign as I wandered out into the countryside without food, and laughed when the next road sign I passed, someone had literally scratched my name into it, as a word play on a place name, which I duly followed, to find myself invited into a deeply hospitable home by these two wonderful souls. But then, that is the way of things, if you ask a clear enough question, don't be surprised if the universe answers you clearly.

One of the striking notes of interest in my journey along the Vienne was how much of the natural flora and fauna had been preserved along its banks. Far more wild than it's cousins, the Siene, or Loire, the Vienne, harboured sheaths of wildflowers along it's banks, and amidst these bastions of antiquity a profusion of bees gathered the loving nectar and pollen, so that along with the ebullience of colour and smells emanating from these wilderness areas, came the living loving hum of bees once more. Something that northern France had been almost devoid of. It was great to see the bees thriving in such a place, and although all but wiped out up north , here they thrived, and along with them, the honey.

Andrei, my travelling companion from the trip along the Loire, was ahead of me, and we arranged to meet in Saint George, just outside of Poitiers, so as to travel into the city together. It was a sweltering day, and the approach to the city was steep and arduous, it was easy to understand why the city had been such a vital strategic point during the various campaigns fought around its environs. Climbing through it's steep narrow canyon walled neighborhoods in the depths of a heatwave, there came upon us the sweet sound of blues echoing through the hazy canyon walls. We made it to 'Liberty Square', adorned with a small replica of the statue of liberty, and ringed with elms and oaks, palms and students from the university, and rested for a while, listening to the sweet tunes mellifluously drift through the narrow streets.

Before long it was time to make our final seven kilometer hike to the Abbey in Liguge, following for the most part the river, fed by the ancient spring upon which the Monastery had been built in 361AD. The monastery itself had been constructed by Saint Martin on the site of an ancient Celtic spring dedicated to the Celtic deity Lugh, and it is a point of interest that both Lugh and Saint Martin were known for their connection to the Raven. Saint Hilaire, was so impressed by Saint Martin, after meeting him upon the road, that he had gifted him the land around this basin, where he had constructed his first chapel. Much of this earlier work has been destroyed by various invasions and forces over the ages, from the Carolingian excesses to the Merovingian kings, the site had been destroyed, moved and rebuilt, yet still some of the heart has remained, and is at present in the process of excavation.

The stay was impeccable, and the rest enjoyed by weary pilgrims could not be faulted. The large welcoming smile of our host, Marie-Laurant, was a door through which we enjoyed the most Benedictine of welcomes, quiet and humble, a perfect foil to the nuns of Saint Martins Basilica in Tours. Superb food, cooked by our Tahitian Benedictine chef to perfection, and a wonderful soulful service each evening accompanied by Gregorian chant was entrancing. It is an interesting point of history, that Martin, who had resisted official posts or recognition in life, even if he was finally tricked into the becoming bishop of Tours, was the point of such dispute between the cities of Tours and Poitiers upon his death, until the dispute was finally settled with the monks of Tours secreting his body away to the Basilica in the deep of the night. We left as we arrived, with great heart and a smile, and Jaan.

Lugh too would not be silenced, as many of his traits and stories, rolled into the myth that surrounded this humble man of conviction, so too 'Room 13' still rumbles on the solstice and quakes like the cockpit of a Lancaster bomber, but that may be the air conditioning for the archeological dig in the catacombs, fortunately I enjoyed the quiet solitude and bamboo groved outlook of room 10, who can tell ;)

So it was, the journey to Liguge, and Saint Martins first chapel, and the site of western Europe's first Monastery, brought us full circle in this remarkable story of conversion and contemplation and melded itself with the myth of antiquity, in the seasonal dance, and the trance of this remarkable man and my discovery of his path.

I urge you once again to check the link on the top left of the page to go to Charity:Water, a wonderful organization, doing the essential work of making fresh water available to everyone as a right on this beautiful planet we call home. Please feel free to check them out, it is after all, why I walk this journey, for them, for you, for all.

Merci :)

P.S. slight issue with WiFi and images so will post photos with the blog post when I can.

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

Saint Martins life in stains...

I thought I would take the opportunity to share some stains from Eglise Saint Martin in Pons, for much like the stains in the Cathedral of Orleans which depict the life of Jean d'Arc, these stains depict the life of Saint Martin, which in both instances is unusual,  as usually the stains are of the life of Christ. So without further ado... a quick pictorial of Saint Martin, as he is a central figure in both the Basilica in Tours, and the Abbey of Liguge, outside Poitiers... and thus bridges part 1 and part 2 of 'The Tale Of Two Cities'. :)

The charity of St Martin, who divides his cloak for a begged while in the Roman army.

That night Christ appears to St Martin in a vision and he is converted.









Thankyou for spending some moments to view the stains from Eglise St Martin, Pons. As ever I urge you to visit the link on the top left of this blog to visit Charity Water and spend a moment to see what they are doing. 

Merci :)

A Tale Of Two Cities... (part 1)

Basilica of Saint Martin, Tours

It was the best of times, it was the… oh wait, wrong story! :)

It is perhaps appropriate to begin this tale by mentioning a third city, from which this tale begins, for the story of Tours and Poitiers would be the poorer for the telling if one did not mention Orleans. So it was then that this tale begins in the escape of Orleans late one evening, bedraggled and slightly sodden from the ever present thundershowers, I walked late one evening towards the outskirts of Orleans, having had a long day travelling through the city where I had stopped at the Cathedral, met some wonderful folks, two German ladies and a helpful assistant on her first day in the shop within the Cathedral, and a rather bizarre and obnoxious fellow who had attempted to procure monies from me for resting on his floor.

So it was that I found myself walking briskly from the city in the late evening and camping in a municipal parking spot for campers in the quaint city of Saint Hilaire, having crossed the Loire to the left bank by the bridge of Saint Nicolas, formally the bridge of Saint Mesmin. This was the former Compostela, having been changed in 1885 by the French government to the other side of the bridge. I was oblivious to this of course and simply following my intuition and inclination at the time, and the way seemed natural to me. I camped the night and in the morning moved on, after coffee and conversation with some of the locals to the church of St Hilaire and St Mesmin on the outskirts of the town, after following a couple of locals who seemed to know where they were going.
Eglise Saint Hilaire and Saint Mesmin, St Hilaire 

On occasion it is good to be lead by ones intuition and recognize the things ones awareness is drawn to, so it was in this instance and down the narrow alleyways and winding outskirts the locals led me to this little gem that would begin a big adventure, firstly along the Loire to Tours, and then onwards along the Vienne towards Poitiers and the Abbey of St Martin in Liguge.
St Hilaire and St Mesmin 


After spending a little while taking in the eglise of St Hilaire and St Mesmin, I noticed that I was almost completely alone, for the Compostela had been moved to the other side of the Loire some hundred years previously, imagine my surprise then when along came the two German ladies who had approached me in the Cathedral in Orleans the previous day. We laughed a little at the coincidence, and swapped email address's. I moved briskly on my way after our meeting, feeling it had served it's purpose. Some short while later I was to meet my travelling companion in a field on the left bank, the ancient route of the Compostela that almost no one travelled anymore. It was as well I arrived when I did for he was suffering a bout of sunstroke, and was without water, so it was we helped one another for no sooner had I supplied the water than he showed me how to connect to the internet with roaming, something I have been eternally grateful for ever since, for until that time I had been hunting wifi from library to library for previous seven weeks.
Andrei and I, Liberty Square,Poitiers 


Saint Hilaire had been made bishop of Poitiers, and it would be he who initiated the tale of which I was about to embark, for on the road St Hilaire had met St Martin, a newly travelled pilgrim who had been released from the roman army in 356AD. Together they were to establish the first western monastery in Liguge in 360AD, but more of that later. First there was a trip down the Loire to navigate, and as per my previous photo essay, it was a trip filled with companionship, sunshine and thunder. It eventuated in our journey to Tours, and we were as yet unsure of our accommodation in that ancient commercial capital, one that the Romans had occupied and Richard the Lion Heart had later assailed. We entered however in slightly more peaceful terms even if we brought a little thunder with us.

Firstly, we had been made aware of a little church in Vouvray, just north of Tours, by a previous visit with a lovely couple, in Onzain, Who had recommended that we visit the church of St Martin and St Vincent, which we duly did, and finding the beautiful restored organ in the church quiet, stopped next door at the presbytery. All the priests were out, save one seminary student, who offered us coffee and sanctuary from the blistering sun. He duly phoned the monastery of St Martin in tours and connected us with the nuns there, and booked us in for the evening. A couple of hours later, after a last walk along the Loire, we were in the ancient city of Tours, which Richard 'le couer de lion', had besieged some years before hand.
St Martin Basilica, Tours 


The nuns received us with grace, and we stayed within the walls of the monastery, off rue de Descartes, in the centre of tours, in the abbey, beside the monastery. Our visit was punctuated with the meeting of a Canadian gentleman who shared the accommodations with us on our first night, and we all dined together later that evening, with the nuns preparing a hearty meal for several guests including some young classics students, studying to become classics teachers and sitting their final exams.
Crypt in Saint Martin Basilica, Tours 


The following morning both my travelling companion and our new friend left on their journeys, and I was left to rest a foot strain I had picked up down the Loire. It can be terribly frustrating having such a small injury, for the east of me ached to push on, but I was wise enough to know such an injury can seriously jeopardize such an endeavour if not rested. So it was I was left alone with the nuns of St Martin's basilica in the Benedictine abbey of st martin in Tours, for the following two days. During this time I learnt much of Saint Martins life, and spent time in the basilica and surrounding old town in particular.
Old Tours 

He was  the patron saint of conscientious objectors for instance, after his own act of contentious objection following his conversion. Quite a stance in the roman army, but one that ultimately won him both prestige, a following, and his freedom from service.
Saint Martin Basilica, Tours 


Having spent an extra day in tours, and rested my strain sufficiently, I awoke the next morning early to catch the light from the abbey and the service in the crypt with the nuns. They sung like angels, and were accompanied by harp, which made for an ethereal experience, especially as I had come to know them briefly during my stay. Truly loving and beautiful souls, their order, although administered by the Benedictines, are found in only two other places on the planet, England, where a small order is centered, and New Zealand.
Saint Martin Basilica, Tours 


My stay at the abbey and with the nuns had a profound effect on me, a reverence. It was with a full heart and spirit I left Tours to travel the 112km to Poitiers...

Jean Piero, Andrei, and I , Tours 

Once again, I urge you to visit the link on the left of this page to Charity water, and check them out, they are an awesome organization, and the link to donate to them is on the top left hand side of the blog... thankyou. More from Poitiers and Liguge in part 2. :)