WHEN WALKING

Home to Santiago – Day 16

Villedômer to Tours: 35km

I go to the pilgrims’ service in the morning in the little Campsite Chapel, as it would feel wrong not to. But I am the only pilgrim in the congregation, and I find the words and the kindness less sincere than the words and kindness I find along the way. The pastor tells us we should hand over all our burdens and that will make life simple. I feel quite strongly that we should just learn to adjust our load so that it sits more comfortably and learn to accept complexity. At least it gave me a bit of grumpy thinking fodder to start the day.

A more satisfying chapel moment came the night before, when I decided to go into the chapel and have a little sit and a think away from the holidaymakers. A group of pre-teen boys playing in the area hadn’t seen me go in and also decided to take a look inside. When they saw me, they shrieked and ran away, shouting “That was terrifying! I’ve never been so scared in my life”. I rather enjoyed the ability to scare a load of pre-teen boys simply by sitting quietly.

The only proper pilgrim moment is with a pair of English holidaymakers, on their first trip back to France since covid, when their children were still with them. I’ve said hello to Paul, the husband, a few times around the site and had a little chat with him this morning.

His wife is behind me in the queue in the little shop, where after waiting for my turn I was told they don’t make coffees and croissants are only for those who have ordered in advance. They are very nice about it and tell me there is free filter coffee in the yard.

Then, as I’m pouring my coffee, Paul and his wife call me over. He must have pointed me out to her and she must have told him about my unsuccessful attempt at ordering breakfast. They insist I take one of their precious croissants and see me on their way.

I walk out of the campsite by the direct route that Tim, the owner, showed me, and along the country roads towards Tours. It is very hot and very humid, like a storm is brewing. Rain would be very welcome if it comes. In order to arrive in time this evening, I decide to take the bicycle variant, which is more direct and follows lanes rather than winding through forest paths. Or at least, I decide to take it for the first part of the journey, along the valley by the stream.

I stop at the first town, Reugny, only to find that the grocery store I’d hoped would be open is closed for good. A man from the village laughs when he tells me. So I go and sit in a picnic area beside the recycling bins and have the first snacks of the day.

Then comes another long stretch along the cycle path, where I have been promised by Google maps, that a bar-épicerie-restaurant exists right on the path itself. And this time it’s true.

I sit in the kitchen part. I don’t feel quite fancy enough to be in the restaurant. And the lovely waitress teaches me perhaps the most important word I’ve learned on the walk so far: panaché. I drink a pint of shandy. I also buy a the makings of a picnic lunch — “just two tomatoes,” the man at the till says incredulously. “Tomatoes are heavy” I respond. The look of incredulity does not disappear.

The final stretch of a walk is meant to be so simple. It all goes a little bit wrong.

First of all, just as I’m coming to Vouvray, approaching the Loire, the rain finally comes down. Luckily, I’m able to run a couple of minutes to the shelter of a large rhododendron bush.

When it finishes, I head straight to the out-of-town supermarket which I’d identified earlier, having realised, much to my annoyance, that I’d left my phone charging cable behind. I have only 1% battery left. At the supermarket, every shelf is full of everything you could imagine, apart from the one rack where all the charging cables should be: completely empty.

And so I end up walking one of the most beautiful entries into any city I’ve ever walked into without a phone to capture it all. The last two and a half hours from Vouvray into Tours, lost forever, I fear.

But what is rather nice is that I’m unable to listen to the really compelling, but somewhat draining, draining of my battery, draining of my own energy, audiobook I’d accidentally started listening to about a trad-wife influencer. I’m also unable to keep stopping to take pictures of everything I see.

So I walk along quietly and quickly with just my thoughts, which I really should do more of nowadays. I look at all the things I’d want to take a photograph of and do an almost involuntary click with my eyes to remember what I’ve seen.

The big open bar area in one of the suburbs. Click.

The river, flat as a millpond, the main current flowing on the far side of the island in the middle, giving a perfect reflection of the bank and the sky above. The sun out again now, coming dappled through the leaves. Click.

The large benches where you can take off your shoes and put your feet up to rest, overlooking the river. Click.

The little fish you can see beneath the surface because the water is so clear. Click.

The woman in white sitting alone, contemplating the islands beyond. Click.

The huge sandy banks in the water. Click.

The little boats pulled up on the shore. Click.

The walk over the car-free bridge into Tours itself, the cathedral towers looming ahead. Click.

The noticeboards telling you all the different ways in which swimming in the Loire will take your life. Click, click, click.

I arrive in Tours not even knowing what time it is, without a phone to tell me, and hurry on to the Maison Saint-Ambroise, next to the basilica, with an address and a guidebook map to guide me, where they’re waiting for me. The time is precisely 7 o’clock as promised.

The lovely Annick signs me in, tells me she’ll put my washing in the machine (this is a proper place) shows me to my own little room, and tells me to come down to dinner as soon as I’m ready.

So almost immediately I find myself sitting down in a big dining room, being cooked for by one of the hospitaliers. The meal is incredible: three courses, potato dauphinoise included, and for pudding, two homemade patisseries and a scoop of ice cream.

I chat to the woman opposite, a self-proclaimed faux pilgrim. She’s only ever been to Santiago by car, but in very good faith, I feel. On my left is Jean-Luc, the man who helps the nuns with all the tasks they can’t do. The rest of the table is full of pilgrims: an 85-year-old and 84-year-old husband and wife, a cyclist on the way home, a young couple walking from Rouen to Poitiers and many more. A nun comes in for a chat during the main course… Everyone is speaking French, but I just about manage.

I go to bed still thinking about adjusting burdens, thinking about walking without a phone.

And below some actual picture from Denis!