Marie-Dominique and I agreed to walk together further last day of this year’s pilgrimage, and to keep in touch about the future.
Breakfast was a continuation of last night’s supper, a cold drink being provided from a big bottle of lemonade. Apart from that, I had an orange and a tomato, dunked some bread in the juice, and added a few slices of cheese.
Olivier turned up just as we were finishing, and asked only the usual 20 euros. Excellent value for money. He told us that he had a few more Pilgrims coming this week, and then some school bookings for 100 or more. So glad we weren’t coinciding with them.
He told us that the route to Vézelay was well-marked, and there might be a little rain later. The latter was much more optimistic than the weather forecast on my phone, but he turned out to be right in both respects.
Our first stop was earlier than usual, outside a hunters’ cabin open to all, because it was there. The second was at a place called Hérodats. A cross decorated with vine leaves – I didn’t even notice there was a house. And the third was to take a photo of a distant view of Vézelay.
The only serious rain began just as we were settling outside a bar in a lively small town called Asquins. The plan to have a beer and walk on the final 2 km (with 150 m ascent) to Vézelay, but we quickly changed plans, as half the town seemed to, to go inside and have lunch. I chose Toulouse sausages, since Toulouse is also a pilgrim town, and Marie-Dominique ordered a “salad des gésiers”. I looked the word up in Google translate and found “gizzards”. Would you ever see that on an English menu? Or that dish under another name?
She was going to return there overnight as it is near the railway station, so was able to leave her backpack. In exchange, she carried mine part of the way up the hill.
The Ste Madeleine Centre where I was staying would be opening at 2:30, though Pilgrims couldn’t check in until 4. But I could leave my rucksack there and walk round the church unencumbered.
The external perambulation revealed a lot of building repairs and an energetic school class letting off steam. Inside, there’s an enormous narthex, and the church is surprisingly plain, apart from icons in the apse. Some of the stone carving around the doors is fascinating, and I tried to work out who this was, and why he was holding his foot. Was it Moses, removing his shoes because he was walking on holy ground? Yes, the burning bush is round the corner.
One interesting and disturbing fact about Vézelay is that it’s where Bernard of Clairvaux exhorted the people to join the Crusade. Several countries have donated wooden crosses to affirm their commitment to peace.
The Ste Alfais (not our Alfege, this one’s feminine) dorm in the Centre, when I arrive there at the top of a spiral staircase and have removed my boots outside, is a broad room under the roof-beams, and the setting for an absorbing game of “My rucksack is lighter than your rucksack”. I stay out of it, negotiate the shower, and bundle away the clothes I hope not to repack until I arrive home.
On investigation, the easiest way of getting home involves the 9:31 bus to the station, which connects with a train which connects with a train to Paris. No long delays in between. The Centre wants us out by 9 anyway. Very expensive, but that’s what happens when you change plans at short notice.
The local restaurant produced a Creme Brulée starter, the like of which you’ve never seen before, and I am waiting to find out what the cheeseboard of local cheeses can show me.
emeritablog: life after work 