JOURNEYING HOME

Anyone (including a later version of myself) who has been reading these entries in order of writing may be confused. I said I was going to Le Puy and now I am finishing at Vézelay after just 12 days walking.

Five weeks on pilgrimage would indeed be a splendid opportunity, but I have been aware that it might be beyond me to achieve. After the second evening, my host Gerard encouraged me to think of Vézelay as my destination. His association prepared, maintains, and promotes the path Paris – Sens – Vézelay (PSV) and I have their guidebook on my phone. It runs through the medieval cathedral cities of Sens and Auxerre, and though not every village has a bar or corner shop, we’re never very far from civilization. I thought it would take me 11 days, but changed this to 12 to avoid a 25 km walk, with hills, on the last day.

Francois Lepère’s book Du Paris au Puy-en-Vélay (PPV) is based on the same path as far as Vézelay, and thereafter on two national trails, GR13 and GR3. The author has introduced his own variants, and I was told that people who follow LePère get lost. My own experience was that even with the waymarks, both guidebooks, and Google maps, I got lost sometimes. The guidebooks have similar information but different strengths and weaknesses.

Anyway, after Vézelay I would be dependent on PPV, and even Google maps would be less help in more rural areas; accommodation would be harder to find, as would the way home. The next station seems to be 6 days on.

But the real reason I gave up is that I am not as fit or competent as I thought. My feet got badly blistered. I kept going, and reached my accommodation each night, largely thanks to my hosts picking me up or dropping me off along the way, and some total strangers offering a lift in their car or, in one case, on their boat. One afternoon I took the train to avoid a long walk in broad sunlight in 35°C.

Physically, then, I failed as a pilgrim. Spiritually – and I shall reflect more on this when I write a page on the journey – I learned a lot from my dependence, on God and on others, from my response to pain which in my case was largely self-inflicted, and from the realisation that the only loss in giving up was to my pride and ambition.

And so, cheerfully and bravely, I made a final round of the basilica, said Morning Prayer in the crypt, and carried my rucksack down the hill to await the minibus to the nearest station.

I hope to return and pick up the journey next year. Perhaps I shall meet Marie-Dominique again. This year’s walk has been blessed with meetings and conversations.

In any case, the pilgrimage continues, at least till death and I trust beyond.