WHEN WALKING

Home to Santiago – Day 6

Rouen to Saint-Cyr-la-Campagne: 30km

I spend longer than planned in the outskirts of Rouen looking for a charging cable, and am so annoyed about having to do this, I indulge in visits to three boulangerie-patisseries en route. It is nearly midday before I leave the city.

I am walking through the grand forest, south of Rouen, when I see a woman power walking towards me, and I wonder whether or not she’ll look up and say hello. She’s wearing sunglasses and headphones, so I’m not hopeful.

But she does stop as she comes alongside me, and screams. To my surprise and my relief, she then points down to a small snake which is slithering across the path in front of her. “Quelle horreur, quelle horreur,” she keeps repeating before she realises she can actually move away.

I try to take a photo of the snake, but both the snake and the lady disappears into the distance, forever.

I get to Oissel by the Seine still undecided about whether to save an hour by missing out on the river cliff route, which admittedly looks much prettier. So seeing a sign for Utopia, I decide to go there to clear my head.

I walk down the street, which is full of the sound of workmen, dust filling the air. And just before them, I see the little Utopian courtyard and decide I must go in.

This shop is lovely. It’s full of all the things that I know I should always be buying: homemade soaps, sachets, sustainable stuff, handmade items, loads of locally sourced goods. Even from outside, I know it is going to be friendly and I want to guarantee at least one friendly chat today.

I’m not disappointed. Séverine, the owner, is chatting with her friends while I look at the goods. When she comes over, she brings me a kombucha, and we have a lovely chat about her visits to the UK. I practise a bit of French, she practises a bit of English. But it’s all agreed up front, so neither of us feels bad.

I’m very happy in the place. And because I’m happy in the place, and because I’ve spent a lot of money today on things I needed but didn’t particularly want (although it was fun impersonating a tick in the pharmacy when buying creams and ointments for my poor stung, scratched and bitten legs), I decide I will spend some money on things I don’t really need but want very much. And what I want very much is to support Séverine. A little solid soap and pouch will actually be useful for the trip.

We chat a while, and then it’s time to go. But as I leave, Séverine and her friend and their kids shout, “Good trip!” in English.

And it’s worth every penny. Friendships can be bought. Or, at least it is possible to make a friendly transaction.

My phone lets me down a little as I finally decide on the scenic route. (It is an hour longer but recommended by Séverine, so I have to take it – “you can see the Troglodytes!”). I find if you get scratched, you’re not on the right path, whatever an app tells you. Eventually, I find my way up to a familiar, analog, red and white stripe, and make my way back up into the woods.

I love woods, but there’s no point taking photos of them. My camera does them no justice. It doesn’t get the green or the light right. It’s only good at making skies look bluer. And the funny thing is, woods are pretty much the same wherever you go, or at least there’s a very limited number of variations. But they never cease to be beautiful and interesting when you’re in them.

My one problem with woods is the flies. Ever since childhood, flies have found me irresistible. Crowds of little black ones hover around my head and ignore everyone else

But in a moment of sheer genius, before leaving, I bought a black net to go over my head. And I can see the flies even now as I walk through them, but they cannot bother me. And somehow I cannot hear them through the net. That is a miracle. It’s worth the looks I get.

Continuing through the woods, I decide to cut down to look at the caves, but the paths are not for someone with a heavy rucksack. I fall so heavily I twist one of my walking poles. And I’m glad it’s the pole and not me that twisted. I manage to bash it back into shape and head back to the proper path, which does at least take me past one little cave. And to be honest, that’s enough.

As I plod on, I see a gentleman walking towards me from the main path, looking at his paper map. He’s proper. He’s a very jolly man, Jan, a teacher for infants. He lives just 20 miles from here and has come back to visit, having remembered walking here as a child. He’s completely lost.

Together we cheat on my phone, and this time the app serves me well as I point him on his way back to where he started. And he uses his paper map to point me where I need to go.

I’m running so late now. The woman expects me at seven. I won’t be there before eight. It’s hard to turn down a chat when you get one.

Eventually, I find my way out of the woods and take the shortcut, crossing the river two more times. Meanders are very confusing when trying to get your bearings. I don’t have time to negotiate them any more.

On the peninsular formed by the meander, there is a beautiful old industrial quarter, falling down but still elegant, houses decaying on the corners, and the most stunning Mairie, which I regret not photographing. However, I did photograph the most elegant pedestrian crossing I’ve ever seen, which is directly opposite.

Into Elbeuf, the last town of any size for a while, and I call my hostess for this evening from Carrefour, where my basket is already full of much too much. Then, carrier bag in hand, rucksack on back, I walk the last four kilometres to Saint Cyr la Campagne, where I shall be camping tonight.

The flies are going crazy for me now, and I put on my veil and watch them swarm around my head in hordes. I hope they won’t still be there when I introduce myself. The path is beautiful otherwise, up through the woods again.

When I arrive, my hostess and her family are getting ready for dinner out in the garden. She’s impossibly young and fit to have three children, one almost an adult, and her husband I mistake for another child. But she’s charming and she can’t do enough to help.

I get bottles of water. I get invited to have dinner with them (I feel bad about it, but I’m too tired, and I feel it would be too tiring for them). I put up my tent in a space in the garden, inspected continually by the dogs and the cat. The cat sneaks into my tent while I’m not looking at one point, but she doesn’t seem to have punctured my small mattress with her claws.

Showered, given two thick blankets for the night, I settle down in the wonderful security that I won’t be cold.

(Written while tired. Coherence can not be guaranteed)