Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: All Things Must Pass — George Harrison

“Sunrise doesn’t last all morning / the cloudburst doesn’t last all day… all things must pass, all things must pass away…all things must pass / none of life’s strings can last / so I must be on my way / and face another day”

If you know me well, you might surprised to see me use this song so early — the eponymous album is a comfort album for me, one that I return to frequently, so this likely won’t be the only song off the album I use here. But I felt that the song’s themes of ephemerality — the idea that all things must pass, the good and the bad, reflects what’s on my mind these days. I’m in a period of transition, moving away from Rome after almost a year, preparing to move to France for business school next year. I am, and have been for awhile now, very far away from the people I love, which is hard. And while I’m excited for these next steps, I’m sad to be closing this chapter in Italy, something I had dreamed of for so long.

I had the same conversation twice with the elderly sister, whose name I believe was Lucie.

“Che fai nella vita?” She asked.

I paused, unsure initially how to respond. “Adesso, niente,” but I quickly added “Prima, ho lavorato per le Nazioni Unite.”

She nodded, and gave me a knowing look. “Il Camino e buono per pensare.”

“Si,” I agreed, “ho tante cose da decidere.”

I thought about this interaction again this morning. I slept in till 7:30 after a fitful night of sleep. Out of the window I could see the sun rising over the countryside I had traversed the day before; low mist hung over the fields, but the Abbey’s garden was already brightly lit. Che faccio nella vita? I suppose it was a typically American answer to respond with my work: currently nothing, previously the U.N. But there are other things I do with my life as well: I’m a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend. I like to hike, I study wine, I’m learning to ski. I speak Italian and I like history and math. I play basketball, though I haven’t in awhile. I’m about to be a student again, I am moving to France.

To be honest, though, I think niente was the right response in the moment. I’m someone who has lived from 5 year plan to 5 year plan, and between the jobs I’ve had, the chance to live in Italy, and now the Via Francigena and business school, I’ve honestly done most of the things I wanted to do in my 20s. I turn 27 this year — an age which feels old, even though logically I know it isn’t. And while I have a sense of what I want to do in my career, I don’t have a real idea of what I want my late 20s, much less my 30s, to look like. My next five year plan has many gaping holes.

I had a quick breakfast with some of the other guests of the Abbey: Virginie, Marie, a student whose name I didn’t catch, and one of the nuns. I thought about the reasons people come to stay in an Abbey, and figured I probably wasn’t the only one with much to think about and much to decide. The breakfast conversation was in French and I didn’t catch much, but I learned that Marie is part of an international organization that essentially acts as a commune: members can trade goods and services with each other, or exchange a virtual money. She says it works very well, and has been going strong for 13 years. “It’s important,” added Virginie, “in France, so many people struggle with money. You don’t always have enough to pay someone to fix your car if it breaks. And in these rural communities, you have to pay someone to come from far away. This way, you can exchange with your neighbor — maybe he is a farmer who is good with machines. In return, you can clean his stable.”

I said my goodbyes and thank yous, and it didn’t take me long to get out of Wisques and back into the countryside. The short day — within an hour I was in the outskirts of Saint-Omer — lent itself to more reflection without the worry of getting through a long day of walking. Passing through more rolling fields, the abbey still visible over the trees for miles, I thought about what this walk represented to me. I was still disappointed to be taking the train to Arras, even though I knew it was the right thing for my health (and to ensure I could do more of the pilgrimage). Even if I had continued walking, I would eventually need to skip stages somewhere in France — better to do it now and give myself the chance to heal.

A pilgrimage is supposed to be challenging, and ironically this is exactly the sort of challenge I needed to face in the moment. No, not the physical pain. I have a tendency to push myself harder than necessary, and I am not very good at stepping back and realizing when I need to take the time for myself. I’m also a planner (if my discussion of 5 year plans didn’t make that clear), and I really do not like when things don’t go according to plan. So, I am learning to accept that nothing is perfect, including and especially pilgrimages, and that sacrificing the perfect for the sake of a better overall experience is worth it.

Saint-Omer has sprawling suburbs full of modern houses that back up onto pastures full of cows. Used to American suburbia, I find this contrast amusing. After just over an hour, I was into Saint-Omer proper, with a view to the imposing cathedral. I took a break in the public gardens next to an archery school (not too close, for obvious reasons), and headed into town in search of a boulangerie. Unfortunately, by 10:15 all croissants were sold out, so I walked away with two mini pan au chocolat.

I went to visit the cathedral, which is extremely impressive. The French certainly know how to do Gothic. The interior was absolutely massive and airy, and lit by beautiful stained glass windows. The church also boasts a Rubens, the Descent from the Cross, which is incredibly moving.

Following the Cathedral I made my way to the Mairie for a stamp — sure, it’s not on the official VF route, but Saint-Omer is now part of my VF, so my not commemorate it? If I do make it to Rome, I’m sure the Vatican won’t mind. I had a brief conversation in “Fritalian” with the two women working there, who wanted to see my other stamps and learn more about the route (and kindly corrected my French pronunciation for each of the following towns). With spirits high, I headed to the train station (one of the most architecturally impressive train stations I’ve seen) and was soon off to Arras.

In the end it actually worked out well — I had hoped to take a day anyway to explore Arras, and was disappointed that I wouldn’t have the time. I headed to the expansive Place des Heros where I sat at an outdoor cafe for a glass of wine and a steak tartare and soaked in the northern Gothic architecture. You can feel that we are close to Belgium and the Netherlands here, from the building facades to the ads for beer. Following a quick nap and unpack at my hotel, I headed back out to explore the other Grand Place (which, like every French city), has a carousel, swung by the tourist office and saw the “Geants de Arras”, and then settled in at another cafe in the Place des Heros for a beer (when in Rome…), and to watch men play petanc. Every fifteen minutes the clock tower of the Hotel de Villa plays a music-box like tune, and it seems like the whole town is out for an apero in the sun (or for me, the shade). After a dinner of moules frites on the other side of the Place, I was ready for bed, with the promise of a calmer day tomorrow.

Final mileage: 6.15 mi
Walking time: 1h 43m
Elevation gain: 24ft

Accomodation: B&B Hotel Centre Les Places. Reasonably priced for what it is (I wanted a private place to stay, though I am sure the pilgrim accomodation in town is lovely). Very simple hotel with no frills. Steps away from the main square — a good find, fit for purpose.