Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: 1957 – Milo Greene

“It takes me away, it takes me away, takes me away…”

Despite the fact that this song was released in 2012, I only recently discovered it (or maybe rediscovered it, as it sounded familiar). Spotify added it to a playlist of mine earlier this summer, and the minute I heard it I added it to my “walking” playlist. It’s the perfect soundtrack for something like this. And it very much captures the feeling of finally reaching the Laon’s hilltop old town and seeing where I just walked.

It took me awhile to fall asleep in the Diocese last night — while the room and bed were perfectly suitable, I was overheated again, and had freaked myself out a bit about being all alone in the church complex. That said, after watching a few episodes of Seinfeld and putting on a podcast, I managed to quiet my worries enough to fall asleep by midnight or so, and I woke up naturally at 7am and started to pack.

The stage from Tergnier to Laon is a 24 mile walk, so my plan had been to skip the stage entirely, instead taking a 30-minute train between the two cities and spending the day in medieval Laon. But as I started my morning routine, this just didn’t feel right. I had heard stories from other pilgrims of the experience of walking to Laon — of seeing it rise above you for miles as it sits high above the Picardy plain, of conquering the final uphill into the town. I knew that I couldn’t do 24 miles today, but I wanted to feel as though I had “earned” Laon. So, I decided to take the train 15 minutes or so to Crepy, and walk from there. This was completely off the VF — just walking for the sake of walking — and I’m so glad I did it.

I packed up, did minimal blister care — I was experimenting with a “minimal intervention” approach today — and left my keys and some cash in the room. I headed back to the boulangerie where I got my pain au chocolat yesterday, and then sat for a god-awful cappuccino at a cafe on the way to the station. Just a few minutes after 9:30 I was on the train and speeding across the familiar countryside. I disembarked at Crepy at around 9:50 and was met by a massive industrial farm. The train station was nearly nonexistent, just two platforms and a small building in the middle of the wilderness, so I was quickly on the path to Crepy town. As I headed out, I looked out over the flat fields and saw something unnatural rising above the trees on the horizon. Could it be? I started at it a bit longer before deciding yes, it was what I thought it was — Laon’s spectacular Gothic cathedral, high up above the plain.

The town of Crepy was very charming — if I had to guess, I would assume it had survived both World Wars, as it had some medieval charm and didn’t match the brick newer builds more common in the area. It also had a very large church — actually two, both locked of course — and a charming Main Street. I wandered through slowly, snapping photos.

On the way out of town was really the only part of the day that would make me hesitate before recommending this route. Walking on a small farm road past fields of very weary-looking, massive sunflowers, I suddenly heard the sound of gunshots. I froze. My first thought was that it might be hunters, though I don’t think August is the season. I wasn’t sure how to proceed — I was still on the road, and quite visible. Should I put on my hi-vis? I then thought to look again at the map and my suspicion was confirmed: the Crepy gun club firing range was just up ahead. I guess this was better (at least more controlled) than hunters, but the continued sound of gunshots made me nervous. Maps.Me had me walking on a farm road just past the gun club, and though I’m sure France has reasonable regulations for these things, I couldn’t shake the image of someone missing their target and hitting me with a stray bullet. I decided the sensible thing to do was ask the gun club people if the road was safe. After a very broken conversation alternating between French and English, I showed the owner of the gun club the route I had planned. “C’est possible?” He scrutinized the map before nodding vigorously. In English (which he spoke), I confirmed, “So it’s safe — even with the guns?” He replied in the affirmative, so I set off again. That said, I still didn’t feel great about the scenario, and took off at a pace that was almost a jog until I had the gun club far behind me, with a stand of trees in between us. In reality, I only heard one gunshot on my way out, and as I speedwalked by I saw how the ranges were set up so that shooters weren’t facing the road, so it would have been fine either way.

The next stage involved miles of walking in the sun on a track parallel to the railroad tracks. At this point it was already 11am and very hot in the sun. I paused to reapply sunscreen, and given the limited wind, decided this was as good a time as any to break out the solar umbrella. Unfortunately the clip attachment I had purchased got lost on its way to me, but I was able to wedge it into my sternum strap and keep it reasonably stable, though it would sometimes fall over and bonk me in the head, so I may try to Jerry-rig another way to attach it to my shoulder straps. At some point, a butterfly flew up under the umbrella and stuck with me for a few yards, enjoying a break in the shade as well — it was delightful. All the way, I could look up and see the Laon Cathedral guiding me. It reminded me, from afar, of Orvieto (though probably you could say the same thing for many other medieval Italian hill towns). I had to remind myself that when it was no longer backlit and miles away, I would see a French Gothic church, not the famous Italian marble facade.

I crossed under the tracks and passed through a tiny hamlet called Loizy, and then after a short stint on a D-road (which quickly added a sidewalk, thankfully), I was into Laon’s suburbs. I stopped on the steps of a municipal building to have the jambon buerre sandwich I had procured in Tergnier, and two men leaving the office stopped to ask if I was hiking. In my broken French I explained I was a pilgrim, headed to Rome. They were shocked that I was going on foot. The wished me good luck, and as one got into his car, I heard him say quietly “Mon dieu!”

Hot but in a good mood, I carried on in the August sun before finally reaching the Rampe Saint-Just which would take me up to the hilltop town. Thankfully it was shaded, but because it was in the trees the asphalt was also slightly mossy and slippery. Relying heavily on my trekking poles, I huffed and puffed my way up. Finally, my glutes burning, and wondering why would I bring such a heavy pack I reached the ramparts of the old fortress. The Picardy plain spilled out before me — I could see the weird circular buildings outside of Loizy, already far away. I could see the train tracks I had started my day on and walked alongside. Squinting, I could barely make out the village of Crepy. I basked in the realization that I had walked here from almost the edge of my sight (granted, I was not wearing my glasses…), and took in the beauty of the view. Then I turned and started making my way through the medieval old town to the Cathedral.

The Laon Cathedral is something to behold: a 12th / 13th century textbook Gothic cathedral that was a peer of the Notre-Dame in Paris, and inspired the famous Cathedral in Reims. Inside is stunning, such a wide open, airy space, with beautiful rose windows at each end of the nave. I walked the perimeter admiring the church and looking for somewhere to stamp my credential (unsuccessfully). Glad to have visited, but bummed to not receive a stamp from the church that had been my North Star all day, I headed to the tourist office and then to check into my Airbnb.

After a shower — finally — I headed out again for an ice cream and a lap around town. I admired the view once again from the Citadel, and also visited the Abbey Church of Saint Martin. In any other town it would be seen as an impressive church, but in Laon it plays second fiddle to the Cathedral. That said, I think it is certainly worth a visit. It’s from the mid-late 12th century, and while it is not as visually arresting as the Cathedral, it has a warmth that I think the Cathedral lacks.

I headed back to the main square to lay down in one of the lounge chairs they have kindly stationed outside the Cathedral, but decided to duck in one more time first. While there, I ran into someone from the presbytery (he wasn’t dressed like a priest in a T shirt and jeans, but he may have been one). I asked if I could get a stamp and with an “of course!” he swept me away, across the street, where he inspected my previous stamps, gave me an impressively large stamp in my credential, and bid me good luck.

Thrilled to have gotten the church stamp, I sat down outside to write for a bit and then headed for dinner: steak tartare and a glass of Cotes du Rhône with a view of the Cathedral. No dessert — I already had a mint chocolate chip ice cream, and I am headed to bed soon.

My final thoughts on Laon are that it’s a really charming town, and well worth a visit. That said, it doesn’t have the same liveliness as Arras, despite being larger by population. I think this is because most people live in down below the old town, so the “Haute-Ville” is relatively quiet and full of tourists. Not a bad thing, just different. I’ll be curious to see how Reims feels in comparison.

Final mileage: 10.61mi
Walking time: 3h 27m
Elevation gain: 364ft (all at the end)

Accommodation: The Refuge, an Airbnb on the Main Street a few blocks from the Cathedral. Expensive for what it is, and don’t love that the main door to the building doesn’t lock (also, the stairs are treacherous). But I booked it only a few days ago and I appreciate the privacy and the location, so I’m satisfied.