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. :)

The Cherry and the Vine

-The Cherry And The Vine -

The pilgrim and the monk barter at the door,

While the heel stone, kicked, heals

From stones flicked and trod upon the floor.

At the dawning of the age - which is the sage?

The cherry or the vine? Lugubriously entwined,

An ancient story, filled with sweet fruits,

The revelry of this banquets true glory.

I have heard the skylark

Call the golden chariot from out the storm,

And watched him chase the zephyr with his song,

Until the air, in rhapsody, filled my heart and soul in epiphany.

I have seen a hundred crows 

Murder a million shafts of gold,

And bold, flock into the reaches of the thunderclap,

To bow down in unison to Ceres ancient call.

The rise and fall, teetering upon the edge of the day.

I have watched as the honey bee, my friend,

Danced between the pistils of delight.

Banks of wildflowers, 

Deposited upon the waters edge,

An oasis of sacred sanity in the madness of modernity.

And in the end my friend,

To rest beneath your ancient boughs, the hours.

The cherries ripened in their season, plucked,

For the celebrants of nature's creation.

A Bacchanalian misadventure, 

Still young upon the vine.

To lift an ancient curse, 

In revelry, and time.

The season spent, I bent my heart to the wind,

A somnolent breeze, eased, through gnarled limbs.

Selene dipping her redolent toes into the clouds,

A repose, that every wounded heartbeat would allow.

Spring has gone, 

And Summer too has Autumn in her sights,

Like a farmer who wills the vagrant from his land,

The ravens hand will not be stilled for long.

But these are the days of the long sun,

Where neither pilgrim nor monk are king.

For in the still places,

The byways of those redolent spaces,

The ancient cherry still ripens,

Wrapped in Dionysian splendour,

Crowned, with the perfumed clutch of a wild rose.

- RMP 2018

The magical light of the Loire

Thunderstorms in tow...

I thought it best to once again allow the images to speak for themselves, for the journey down the Loire has been one of powerful and magical light and energy. Bright sun infused with thunderstorms, and all the while the somnabulent Loire lazily ambles along beside us...

Eglise Saint Hilaire and Saint Mesmin, across the St Nicolas bridge outside Orleans, the 'old' pilgrims way

Walking to the Loire from St Hilaire 

First evening camping on the Loire, just outside Grande Rue

Boise, Swans, and my travelling companion along the Loire Andrei

Magic along the Loire

Lunch at the pottery just before Charge, thunder on the way...

Racing the rain in Dionysian splendor, just outside Artingay

After the deluge descended the perfect sunset in Charge, Loire.

Fred Chabot's 'saxophonist', outside St Vincent Eglise, Amboise

Above: Organist plays Satie in St Denis. Below: Saint Denis,  Amboise 

Saint Martin Basilica with Charlemagne's Tower, Tours

I hope you enjoyed this brief trip down the Loire. It has been a pleasure to take you with me, and as ever there are many stories that will go into the book, along with friends and companions along the way.

Andrei and I 

I urge you to go to the link on the top left of the webpage and support Charity:Water in their drive to give everyone access to fresh drinking water. It is after all why I am walking the 2000km to Santiago de Compostella from the Netherlands. So please check them out, they are a fantastic charity doing essential work.

Merci :)

RMP

The Dance Of Innocence

'The Waltz',Camille Claudel, Nogent-sur-seine

The Dance Of Innocence

At days end, the weary traveler mends, and hopes in fate to find a friend.

Waves, that peak on foreign shore's, and know only the harbours of destinies sweet Amour's.

Twas another time, one in which your hand slipped in mine, twice I drew it out, thrice you clasped it once again.

'In another land, in another tongue,

The same heart beat's in everyone.

In another time, in another place,

The unity of life, loves infinite grace.'

We met as waves that beat upon a shore,

That only yesteryear were ripples, no more!

The dance of innocence, swept across a floor,

Like a one winged bird, waiting to take flight,

Lyra and Aquila smiling down in delight.

The artist and the muse, trussed twice, bemused.

The battles we have waged to keep our heads above the waves,

The spinning maid and the cowherd too, all are saved, all renewed.

How much is lost when we say we have won?

Then two become three, the artists great revelry,

Of tune and sound, and all the beauty spread around.

A grub, feeding on the popular! Became a caterpillar,

And wallowed in the smog of industry;

Yet, butterflies need a swan, to feed upon,

Cocooned in a marooned inspiration,

Until in quiet silence, nature's belly opened

And a wing was born.

Two butterflies that dance upon the tumult of a warm spring sky,

Torn between the thunder and the sun;

Over grassy knoll and brook, they run,

Between the glades and blades of grass,

Along the forest paths, and ancient waters,

Spilling their iridescence upon the flowering effervescence.

The summer runs, and wild communion, sips in revelry,

Imbibing cups of Dionysian splendor,

While art thunders with every beat of your wings.

Two hearts that long were parted, found once more, in joy, restarted.

A bough of mutual bliss, interwoven - a heavenly kiss.

The mandarin duck and drake return,

from celestial realms of rainbow coloured clouds,

where no snake may injure them, nor burn, anymore.

The wrong is righted, the song sung amongst the Autumn willow,

Eases their craft upon silver streams of moonlit lantern's.

The waters break and ripple, just a little,

To fall upon some foreign shore,

In time, in waves,

Once more.

-RMP 2018

Recognize your coincidences (part 1)

Recognize Your Coincidences...

I finally have the tablet working, which was generously donated whilst on the journey, and think I can connect it to the smartphone by way of Bluetooth, so my keyboard just grew exponentially, and has made two finger hunt and peck possible … Thank you Claude, you have been a wonder and inspiration! So, without further ado, a little story to attend to the remarkable sequence of events that have accompanied me on the trail so far.

This little story is about taking the time to recognize your coincidences, something that is not always easy to do when in the hubbub of daily existence, but for which much must be said in favour; and how patience in all things allows for the natural unfolding of events to come full circle.

Firstly a little back story, literally, for it concerns my back, and the fact that for many years it has had the tendency to go out, having damaged it when I was a young man throwing 20kg sacks of potatoes around when working at a greengrocers in my teens for an after school job, and later, after a motor cycle accident left me incapacitated for several years.

When it goes out, I am usually laid up for several days, 10 Days to two weeks normally, so it was with consternation and a little distress that I found myself lying in my tent in the middle of the French countryside with my backout for 3 days and nights unable to move.

Trapped in the tent, outside Fere-Champagnoire

I lay between two crops one of wheat and the other rapeseed, and the farmer had come to checkout who this stranger was. He had been very helpful and kind, but I was determined not to let a silly thing as a back problem defeat me on the journey after 750km, so he agreed to let me stay there and I simply lay on my back with the most tremendous thunderstorms raging overhead, just outside Fere-Champagnoire.

The farmer had given me excellent directions on how to make town, which, after 3 days I had managed to do, albeit gingerly, but with numerous poems and some good rest under my belt. The back wasn't good, and I found rest at a small hotel in town who agreed to allow me to pitch the tent in the back and use the facilities while I mended a little. This I did for a couple of days, thank you Astrid, and the 'Hotel de Paris' , in Fere-Champagnoire.

Kittens at Hotel de Paris, Fere-champonoire

After a couple of days recuperation, a blog post, and some important parcels sent, I decided I should try and make the next destination. In some regards the back was better when the pack was on even if carrying 25kgs is not the recommended recuperation for such injuries, as it provided some excellent lower back support. So on went the pack and off I trotted on the trail towards Orleans, along the Seine.

Connantre, Champagne-Ardenne 

My first port of call was, Connantre, and the Library, where I met yet another wonderful librarian who

Eglise Saint Martin, Pleurse 

helped me greatly. The light came back with the sun and I ambled on to a Templar church, Saint Martins, and pitched my tent after some good conversation with the locals, who again helped me greatly. It was there I began to have doubts as to whether I could continue, But Nogent-sur-Seine beckoned the next day, and it housed the Camille Claudel Museum, which I had ardently wished to visit.

Eglise Saint Martin, Pleurse 

After packing up in the morning, with my neighbor kindly bringing me coffee with several sugars to get me on my way, I headed the 20+ km to Nogent-sur-Seine, making it just before the thunderstorms broke overhead. I arrived on a Sunday, when most shops were closed, but managed to pop into a little local supermarket whose kindly owner allowed me to charge my phone beneath his awning as the deluge descended, and gave me directions to the local church.

After a brief charge and a deluge of colossal proportions, I headed to the church. This is perhaps where a second little aside might be handy, as it concerns a Catholic Saint named St Roch, who wears a cockle shell as his emblem, something I too do given the association to the Camino St Jacques, which I am currently on.

Saint Roch , Nogent-sur-seine 

When I first arrived in Gallerie-Ephemere, a place I have mentioned in a previous blog entry. It was mentioned by the artist in residence there that I looked a little like St Roch as I came down the drive way, and of course I was oblivious to the meaning or association at the time, but later learned of his exploits and laughed at the obvious similarities. The same weekend I arrived in Nogent-sur-Seine, St Roch was being celebrated in Thuin, Belgium. The place that houses the aforementioned gallery. To be honest I was unaware of this at the time, but later the connection seemed apt. For as I walked into the Church in Nogent-sur-Seine, on the left of the main alter was a stunning statue of St Roch, and I was somewhat flabbergasted and decided that I was in the right place, recognizing my coincidence.

So, I simply decided to stop in the church, realizing that perhaps the connections were too coincidental to simply be coincidence. I waited quietly for about 30mins, when a Hungarian gentleman joined me in the church, and who it turned out worked as a translator, and whose French and English were impeccable. We were soon joined by a Portuguese gentleman who spoke no English and my French is sketchy at best, but the Hungarian gentleman was able to swiftly translate the fact that I looked for some accommodation that evening to rest a little. He was brilliant and immensely helpful, and after a brief and jovial conversation took me to the priory, where I met Didi the Catholic priest from the area, who immediately offered me assistance, a shower and lodgings. It was a wonderful gesture, and I stayed in Nogent-sur-Seine, for the next 3 days, gathering strength and solace, along with taking the opportunity to go to the museum.

Priory, Nogent-sur-seine 

In that time Didi and Glory, the two Catholic Priests of the parish were absolutely gracious hosts, and I have to thank them for their hospitality and care. Without their intervention I doubt I would have been able to continue.

Camille Claudel Museum, Nogent-sur-seine 

Whilst in the museum I had noted a work entitled 'charity', by Alfred Boucher, and it was mentioned at the time by a fellow observer, whilst I admired it, a title by the way that seemed apt given my pilgrimage, that there was a larger work in the park close by, by the same artist, and so I had decided to see it before leaving.

'Filial piety ', Alfred Boucher, Nogent-sur-seine 

The next day I said my farewells, although it was a little disconcerting not to be able to say thankyou and farewell to the Portuguese gentleman who had brought me to the priory initially, for he had been absent since the initial meeting.

I headed to the park, which I found with some wonderful direction from some locals, a tour guide, and others along the way who all spoke to me in English, which in itself was a little peculiar, but for which I was deeply grateful. The park was closeted away in a little corner beside the museum and a school, and I entered a small gate to a marvellous statue of 'filial piety', by Alfred Boucher. It truly is splendid and well worth the time if you get the opportunity.

After some time with the statue it was time to leave and as I wandered down towards Gustav Flaubert's residence and away from The city I noted a gentlemen with a cane walking towards me, we spoke briefly, and he too spoke English well, so we talked about the fact that we both had staffs, and both were fishermen, and had bad accidents from which we recovered, a lady came down the street and chatted with us, also in English, as if it were beautifully timed, at that instant out stepped the Portuguese gentleman from the house in which the three of us were having a joyful and animated discussion. I am not sure who was more surprised, he or I, but we met jovially, and it was the perfect opportunity to say our farewell to one another, and indeed Nogent-sur-Seine.

The residence of Gustave Flaubert, Nogent-sur-seine 

We each melted away, down our separate paths, and somehow the entire stay had come full circle, and it seemed the very best of ways to say farewell, to what had been a stay of immense import and recuperation for me, without which the journey may not have continued.

Nogent-sur-seine from the bridge

So, in passing, try to take the time to recognize your coincidence's, for although man may think in terms of cause and effect, and work particually, creation thinks in meaningful ways, and God works in waves.

;)

A Walk Along The Seine

Truly the road less travelled... Path beside the Seine 

I had wanted to tell you all a beautiful story about my walk along the Seine, sadly, Google have decided to make it next to impossible with the login procedures from public computers, and while I can understand the necessity for security,  still it means that I am stuck using a small keyboard on my smartphone with my fat little fingers and hunt and peck, with limited WiFi access. So rather than tell a long story badly, I shall simply write a poem and leave the images to speak for themselves, however, it would be remiss of me not to recount the wonderful hospitality shown me by such wonderful people on my journey, so please forgive my brevity, and allow me to mention but a few wonderful souls along the way... and post some images of some of the places and people's on this special leg of the journey. Thank you one and all, and please feel free to visit both the links to the right and the link to the left of the main page to visit Charity Water for whom this walk is in aid of. Merci! :)

-Spring Day On The Seine -

Wild roses, pink and white 

Dragonflies, black and blue 

Lilac butterflies, chased in flight 

As I turn my thoughts to you.

Wild swans too, beat the air, 

Feathers whoop in torrents of white,

And all the while I'm standing there,

Shrouded in nature's awesome might.

A wilding pass, strewn with clover,

Blood red poppies stand before the wild iris of the sun,

Buttercups, daisies, swoon my lover,

The oaken shade, as the river runs.

Duck and drake, nestled on the water, 

The succour of the cooling stream,

A fish tail slaps, the sons and daughters, 

Trailing in a sun drenched dream.

Sun kissed skies of a warm blue fire,

Licked by a mild spring breeze, 

A balm to quench loves ardent desire, 

The rustle of the fresh green leaves.

A rhapsody of noonday song,

The ancient, silent, Seine, ambles, lugubriously along.

-RMP 2018

The Seine

Wild swans on the Seine 

St Roch, eglise st lauren, nogent sur seine

Priory Nogent-sur-seine, Merci Dimi and Glory!

Purple Irises, Priory, Nogent-sur-seine 

Marie and Eglise St Lauren, nogent sur seine

Cat and fountain, Nogent-sur-seine

Nogent-sur-seine

Nice spot to camp, Seine

Camped beside the Seine

Wild Iris beside the Seine 

Poppies and wheat outside Eglinay

Eternal Recurrence

-Eternal Recurrence -

How many more times must we pass this way again, old friend?

Before the tree and leaf are parted,

Before the sound of your soul, departed,

Slips between the sunbeams and the shade,

And slides beyond the carnival ride,

The ebb and flow, the too and fro,

Forever caught within the fabric of the weave,

The heaving sigh of every breath taken without you by my side.

With every cycle, the dawning reality is made the clearer,

The nearer you are to me.

And still, the endless quiescence of your heart, beats in mine.

Near or far, no matter where you are, I am there with you. 

The shallow ripples of remembrance,  dance upon the still waters lip,

To slip in time against some lonesome shore,

The unfathomable depths betrayed by the flicking tail of a passing fish,

And all I wish is for your silent path to be near again.

How many more times must we tread these lands?

Sands that never cease,

Flowing through an endless hourglass, 

The tiny choices, 

The dimpled thread within the tapestry,

The weft and weave of all you have meant to me,

Left open, for the coming of your joy.

-RMP 2018