Another walk along the right bank, plenty of shade, a few cyclists and fishers. I had a good chat with a 92-year-old about the beauty of nature and the importance of doing what you can while you can.

At the first stop, I rang a pilgrim host in Ste Pallaye, and booked the last resting place on my journey to Vézelay. Overnight I had managed to split the final walk there into two shorter stages, sending an email at 1 am and receiving a reply at 5.

At the second stop, now following a backwater, I lay on a bench for a rest, having walked 10 km. Left the cycle path for a footpath across the grass under a bridge, turned a corner, and there was Joigny, spread out on the hill ahead. I climbed the hill to St John’s Church, which was open and playing recorded Gregoruan chant. No pilgrim stamp, though, so after descending the hill on steep passageways and detouring for a bar and a food shop, I found one at the Tourist Office.

I crossed the bridge, left the river, and stopped for lunch at a restaurant with indoor dining.

That was a leisurely affair, so it was after 2pm when I left. Little shade from the afternoon sun, and mainly on roads. As I was entering Neuilly, a young woman stopped and offered me a lift, up to the church opposite the farmhouse where I had booked a room.

The owners weren’t there, and their telephone went to an answering machine, but after I rang the bell and opened the gate, an old man in a long robe called out. He invited me to make myself at home rang the owners, and showed me to a double bedroom and bathroom.

I was just about to start washing when I heard voices. A Dutch couple had arrived after driving all the way from the Netherlands. I was a bit worried I might have been given their room, as I was expecting a single bed, so I joined them outside, and told them about the old man. They found him, he rang the owners again, and he showed them to their room so I could relax and probably went to sleep.

The Dutch couple offered to drive me to a restaurant, but I preferred to stay where I was and eat the sandwich and apple I had bought in Joigny. Madame brought me a carton of grape juice and two figs from the garden, so I kept the apple for another day.

What with the heat and blisters, I decided to walk along the river Yonne from Sens to Étigney, 12 km, and then take a train to St Julien. It was a lovely walk, completed in 3 hours, but I then waited another 3 hours for a train that stopped in Étigney.

I wondered about getting off the train at Villeneuve sur Yonne, having a look round, and catching the next one. However, the station didn’t seem to be in the town centre, so it could have been a long hot walk.

At the entrance to the hotel, I was greeted by a large dog who wanted a good sniff at my trousers. The place mat at dinner hinted at exotic regional specialities, but the choice I was offered was just beef or chicken. The haricot beans accompanying the latter were delicious, and the chicken had a tasty glaze. Four young French men at the next table treated me to a glass of Mystic, the cherry beer they were drinking.

My feet are still quite painful, especially when I don’t have my boots on, and the hot weather continues.

I could do a short stage again tomorrow: half on foot, half by train. And I could scrap the idea of a rest day in Vézelay and take the extra day to shorten the stages after Auxerre.. But it’s proving difficult to find accommodation. I keep getting answering machines from private hosts, and the only vacancies in the right locations on booking.com have terrible reviews. The place I’ve booked for tomorrow is a bit mysterious.

Sorry, I wish I could write a more cheerful and uplifting blog about today. Parts of it were excellent, like the curate’s egg in Punch. Even the three hours waiting for the train included at least 20 minutes of peaceful prayer.

Awake at 6, and heard that others were getting up, so I did the same  and started walking just before 8, before it was too hot,

I split Morning Prayer, saying up to the end of the psalm in the 11 November 1918 Park at Pont sur Yonne, and the Bible readings etc. at Villeperrot, where I thought there was a bar.  Not so; but I saw a woman and her grandson on the way to the bread van which stops there from 11 to 11:15.  When they returned, I asked if she could fill up my water bottle, and she sent the little boy running on ahead to do this.  She also told me that I could get to Sens by following the road.  True, and easier walking than the tracks between fields; but very little shade.

While I was resting under a tree, the owner of the house asked if I was OK.  Yes, just resting, I said, and asked how far to the village restaurant.  He didn’t think much of it, and offered to drive me to a tapas bar run by friends of his.  This turned out to be in Sens, and not far from my hotel.  After two glasses of Mateus rose, a copious amount of chilled water, and a tasty snack of baguette slices topped with cheese and honey, I walked back to check in.  Really hot now, so I stayed there until 4:30 when there was some shade.

First to the Tourist Office, as there were a few jobs I wanted to do in Sens. The man who helped me had walked to Vezelay, and warned me it gets harder after Auxerre. Then to the Cathedral, to check the time of Mass. Then shopping, and back to the Cathedral for Mass.

Sens was the centre of an archdiocese including Paris, and where Thomas Becket spent his exile before returning to Canterbury. There’s a statue, possibly of him, taken from the house where he lived.

Limped back to the hotel for a scratch meal of tinned tuna, the apple Philippe gave me, and an oats and chocolate biscuits.

I am used to the idea of continental breakfasts, and even drinking tea or coffee out of a bowl, but I think this was my first experience of dunking: spreading butter and jam on a slice of bread, or in this case toast,and then dipping it I one’s drink of choice. I found this so complicated thatthe coffee was cold by the time I had finished the toast. Well, I suppose, practice makes perfect.

After a discussion about the weather forecast (warning of extreme heat), the condition of the path over the aqueduct, and lack of shops and bars, Philippe drove me, first to the Mairie for his official stamp, then to a hilltop Church with a wonderful view, and finally a point where I could join the aqueduct a morning’s walk from Champigny.

My resting-places in the shade are so delightful that I don’t want to leave them. The path on top of the aqueduct was good, too: reasonably level and easy to follow, and the grass had been cut.

I reached Champigny as the church clock struck 12:30. The church was closed but a small shop was open, and the couple who owned it very kindly allowed me to eat the ice cream and drink the mineral water I had bought in the porch of their home.

It wasn’t much further to the hotel-restaurant I had booked for the night, where I am now enjoying a Pelican, which I think is a cherry beer, served draft. This could become a habit!

A restful afternoon, then a dinner of salad buffet, couscous, ice cream and another Pelican. Good transport café food at a good price, 16 euros plus 4 for the Pelican. The downside of transport cafés is the location, on or just off main roads busy through the night. Still, rest for the body if not for the head.

Finished packing in time to take a couple of photos before Morning Prayer. One of the monks stamped my credential and took the money, so I could leave straight after breakfast. Lillian gave me a prayer card from Lisieux, and Frédéric hugged me.

I started off, singing hymns. The first couple of hours were in the woods by the railway. Then came the river.

The route then switches to the Loing, which joins the Seine here. Moret-sur-Loing is a delightful town associated with the artist Sisley.

It being after 12, I couldn’t resist stopping here for lunch. This was a slice of baguette, covered in slices of courgettes and aubergines and oil, and grilled.

After exploring the town, I crossed the river and proceeded to Ville-Saint-Jacques, grateful for every bit of shade or breeze. Lots of rests, like this one under an apple tree.

Then on to Noisy, where I had agreed to meet Philppe, my host for the night. He immediately drove me back to Ville-Saint-Jacques to stamp my credential. I had thought the church was locked, but we could enter through a side door.

Then to his home in the small village of Flagy, where he is the mayor. A very pleasant evening, with discussion entirely in English

The 9:31 Eurostar was a good idea, and enabled a full day’s walking after arrival in Paris. First stop Notre Dame, or rather, the Diocesan offices nearby, to get my credential stamp. They first said no, the proper stamp had been lost, but when I persisted, they produced some others before settling on one normally used for marriage documents.

The guide book led me along the Seine, not using the Riverside walk of Paris Plages for fear of missing the turn. Most of the stalls along the quais were closed, except for a couple selling posters of pop stars.

After a few side streets came a delightful raised walkway with little gardens, followed by a road to the first town after Paris, Charenton, where the Marne and Seine meet. Writing on a wall directed me across a carpark to a footbridge over the Marne, where a walker asked me where I was going. We had a good conversation. He had been to Santiago in 1999, and was now on a local walk home. I showed him the guidebook, and he said he would have chosen to follow the Marne rather than the Seine at this point because it is more beautiful.

The day before, at Morning Prayer with my colleagues, I had asked them to pray that I might meet Pilgrims on the way, so this was an answer to prayer and a hope of more to come.

On the footbridge, and along the Seine, there were plenty of waymarks, the first I had seen today. The most helpful one told me that I was following a cycle trail to Villeneuve Saint George’s, sometimes alongside the road, sometimes closer to the river. There was another path lower down, and I saw a walker ahead of me on that one, but there was no way I would have caught up with him.

I was feeling ready for a rest, and took one after 12 km: more than half way. I measured my progress as one bridge after another came into view: a bit like the Thames Path. At last I saw Montgeron ahead of me.

Villeneuve was a disappointment. I saw little of the town, emerging from a station carpark to steps up to one busy road, then along another. Hungry, and looking for somewhere I could sit and make a phone call, I went into the first place that offered, O’Tacos, and ordered a wrap filled with minced meet, cheese, potato, and who knows what else? I rang my host for next Monday in spite of very noisy children at the next table, and discovered that he was going to give me an evening meal.

It was probably a mistake to follow the guidebook through Crosne, especially as I couldn’t find the park through which I was meant to take a footpath. More to the point, it brought me to the centre of Montgeron, while the hotel was some way out to the northwest. It was also nowhere near the address given in the guidebook, but round the back of Kentucky Fried Chicken near a retail park. It was dark by the time I found it.

The room was comfortable enough, and I slept well. But tomorrow’s walk will be that much longer than if I was starting in the centre, and my pack heavier after shopping.

Just over 20 years ago, I arrived in Le Puy en Vélay to walk the first part of the Via Podensis, the best-known of the medieval pilgrimage routes through France to Santiago de Compostela.  It took me nearly four years, and four further visits to the Camino ranging from 3 days of walking to 3 weeks, to complete the journey.

I’ve been thinking for a few years about another Camino walk – “camino” is a Spanish word for a way or route, but “The Camino” usually refers to one of the long-distance footpaths ending in Santiago.  There were four such trails through France in the Middle Ages:

From left to right, west to east

Pilgrims from Paris could travel through Tours;

Or go south to Vézelay, a shrine dedicated to Mary Magdalene, and join Pilgrims from Belgium to make their way south-west;

From Germany and Switzerland, the route went through Le Puy en Vélay, where Pilgrims from Lyon would join them;

And Pilgrims from Italy and the South of France would travel through Arles and Toulouse, and meet the other three groups only at Puente la Reina, after crossing the Pyrenees. Four of my last five posts were about some day walks along this route, the Voie d’Arles or Via Tolosana.

Finding myself with a non-refundable Eurostar ticket to Paris, I decided to start there, and finish at Le Puy, where my first walk had started.  I got hold of a guide book with maps,  directions, and lists of places to stay, and this is the route it will take me:

The broken red line alongside the Southern stretch of the main route is an easier alternative for winter journeys.  I shall decide whether to take in when I get there.  The broken black lines from Le Puy are the main path

to Santiago, and, southbound, a trail based on Robert Louis Stevenson’s Travels with a Donkey.

So much for an introduction.   Up early tomorrow to head for St Pancras, and I’ll be in Paris by lunchtime.