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.