Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: Where Are We Going? — Marvin Gaye

“Day in, day out, sidewalk sleepers turn about / Day by day the work gets done / Day by day another war goes on / Tell me, where are we going? / Oh-oh, what’s the future showin’? / Oh, where are we headed? / With all that’s goin’ on where are we gettin’?”

My dad first shared this song with me earlier this year, while I was working on business school apps. We agreed that even though it came out years later, it sounds like it wouldn’t be out of place on “What’s Going On,” an album I listed to a lot in June 2020. As the sun came out from behind the clouds, and as I struggled to find motivation given the pain in my feet, it seemed like an apt choice for today.

A quick update as I have a few more people following now: These blogs are posted on a delay so that I’m not sharing my real-time location. This one happens to describe a particularly rough day, but I promise it has gotten better 🙂 Thank you for following along!

I really don’t know how these days stretch out like they do. My alarm went off at 5:30am, but I couldn’t bear the thought of getting out of my warm, above-budget hotel bed while it was still dark outside. I snoozed until about 6, by which point dawn had broken. I dressed quickly and was on the road by about 6:45. Bapaume was dark and quiet, and it was lightly drizzling. I had a banana for breakfast as I headed out of town. Pretty quickly I was back on familiar farm roads, this time passing extremely close to some of the wind turbines (which, by the way, I am pronouncing ‘tur-bin’ not ‘tur-bine,’ as in my former life as a consultant I was told by someone in the energy industry that that is how it’s pronounced). They are really something to behold up close: absolutely massive, quiet except for the whooshing of the blades which slowly rotate. Weirdly, they seem almost like large, gentle animals.

The VF out of town also passed the Bealencourt British cemetery. I stopped here for 20 minutes to rest, looking out at the 700 graves (300 unmarked) of WWI British soldiers. It is really difficult to imagine the scale of the bloodshed that these fields witnessed.

Following the cemeteries, it was farm roads for miles. My blisters were already hurting early into the day, which meant I was not in the best mood for the first hour or two of the walk. Eventually I reached Lesboeufs, where I sat on a mossy bench to change into my trekking sandals. For the next hour, I would be walking on roads to the town of Combles, which allegedly had a boulangerie. It was once again drizzling, but not enough too convince me to switch back to the boots, so cautious of my foot placement I continued on. At this point, not sure exactly where, I had departed from the official VF in favor of a more straightforward road route that would shave off almost 5 miles.

En route to Combles I passed through a small hamlet centered around a dairy farm (which you smell before you see), had lovely hydrangea, and had painted street art on a seating area — it wasn’t clear to me if this was a bus stop or just for passerby, but it was a nice touch. Further on, I reached a bend in the road where I could see Combles in the distance across the fields. The sun was just starting to come out, and I could almost hear the opening notes of today’s song as the sky brightened. In Combles, the boulangerie was fermee, surprise surprise, so I found a park bench outside the Mairie for a second breakfast of another banana and a croissant. I decided to switch back into the boots at this point, as I had 2.5 hours left of walking and I wasn’t sure the state of the next roads.

I set off, limping a bit before eventually falling back into a rhythm, for the most part traversing vast farmland under a massive blue sky. It was sunny, but less hot than the day before and there was a nice breeze. I had a nice conversation with my dad as I passed fields of hay and sunflowers. I also passed the time listening to an F1 podcast rating the teams’ performance to date. They had a technical expert who had previously worked for Lotus who added some interesting perspective on the various design choices of each team and how they have panned out.

Finally I reached the town of Clery-sur-Somme, and this is where the day started to take a turn for the worse for me. I stopped on a park bench to try and tend to my blisters, one of which had broken, and change back into my sandals for the last hour of road walking. My feet were really starting to feel it at this point, and even in the sandals I was just shuffling along. And, having my boots tied to my pack added just enough extra weight to make the straps painfully dig into my collarbones. To add insult to — literal — injury, I realized that 30 of the last 45 minutes of walking were slated to be on a busy road (not quite a highway, but a lane of high-speed traffic in each direction). I checked Maps.Me, and then Google Maps, and then Maps.Me again. Unfortunately, this road was the only way to cross the canal between me and Peronne, and there wasn’t a turn-off that would connect to where I needed to go for at least 15 minutes.

With no other options, I donned my hi-vis (an orange vest for me, and a yellow bicyclist armband that I stretched across the back of my pack), swallowed my terror, and shuffled my way to the route. There was grass next to road for me to duck on to as cars came by, but it was overgrown and the sandals were not feeling like the best idea. Even with my socks pulled up high, I stepped in plants that looked like poison ivy (I don’t think they were — fingers crossed) and got pricked by something (either thistle or a pointy piece of hay, I think). Cars flew by and I was on high alert for 15 minutes, before I could finally dive across the road to a long, sunny, detour by — you guessed it — another field. I was losing steam quickly at this point — the sun was hot, there was no shade, and I was limping along in my sandals with 25 minutes to go until I reached my hostel. I called my mom, who filled me in on the important current events I missed (notably, the multi-person brawl in Montgomery, Alabama that went viral), and I made it to the hostel by 2:19, where the receptionist informed me that check-in wasn’t until 3. She must have have taken pity on me (my very dejected “oh….okay” probably had something to do with this) because she let me in to sit inside, and a few minutes later offered to show me to my room early.

I’m trying to be honest about how this pilgrimage is going, showing both the good and the bad. The next few hours were…not so good. The room was fine — for whatever reason, the cost of a private room was the same as a shared room, so I was grateful for a bit of privacy. My room faced the afternoon sun and was extremely warm. I decided to go out for some lunch rather than get into the food I had carried in my pack, in case I would need it for a later day. I limped — this is not an exaggeration at all — to the only place open in town, a fast food joint where I got chicken tenders. After a failed pharmacy visit that involved a silent back-and-forth with the pharmacist (us both typing frantically into Google Translate), I came back to my warm hotel room and, unsure of what else to do, took a nap. I woke up about an hour later hot and disoriented and still in pain, and started to get worked up about my situation. I phoned Nathan in tears, unable to calm myself down or cool off for almost 30 minutes. After a cool shower, more blister care, a call with my mother, and planning for my next few days, I was starting to calm down. I decided (on the recommendation of my mother — thanks, mom) to leave Peronne after lunch tomorrow instead of pushing for an early start — while I would have to contend with the heat (these 75 degree days have been feeling way hotter to me, not sure why — probably the pack), I could have lunch in town and therefore have one less meal to worry about shopping for and packing. And tomorrow will be shorter: only 11 miles or so.

Finally calmer, I ventured back into Peronne for provisions. Dinner was a slice of quiche and a lemonade, consumed on a park bench in the Grand Place. Without the fog of pain clouding my vision, Peronne really was a charming town. I also ran into Krista outside the hostel, and we discussed plans for the next day, as we will be sharing the pilgrim gite in Trefcon. I suggested she buy food to carry, as the hosts don’t offer dinner — I would need to do the same for myself as well, as I was unsure how many of the next few days would have shops available.

Writing this now, there is a fantastic sunset visible out of my window (I still can’t believe how late the sun sets here — it’s 9:30)! I paused writing to admire the colors of the sky. I couldn’t help but wonder if the soldiers who fought here almost 110 years ago saw similarly beautiful sunsets. They probably did — after all, they certainly fought in the summer, so the weather conditions would have been similar. I know I’ve said this before, but it’s hard to imagine — during events that happened so long ago, where all photos are in black and white, and where so many horrors were committed, that there still would have been beautiful, colorful sunsets and warm, blue-sky days. Somehow, it makes war seem even more brutal.

Final mileage: 14.75 mi
Walking time: 7h 34m
Elevation gain: 629ft

Accommodation: Auberge des Ramparts. Individual room with an en-suite bathroom was 39 Euro. Very simple and straightforward — no frills, but reasonably priced and centrally located.