“There are three ways to ultimate success.
The first way is to be kind.
The second way is to be kind.
The third way is to be kind. “
Mr. Rogers
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Yesterday saw a beautiful morning in Leffond, where I happily met many animals at the Moulin de La Paperterie before walking on, first to Champlittle, then to Dampierre Sur Salon, where I am now.
The Via Francigena organization is very strong in Champlittle, and it was a delight to walk through the Centreville and find many pilgrim symbols on the streets and in shop windows.
I stopped by the campsite in town to refill my water bottle and signed the guestbook, the owners there were a enthusiastic part of the Via Francigena too!
I booked another pilgrim accommodation through the tourist office, ate a simple lunch from the supermarket, and headed for the next town, 18km away. The day was late, and the sun was hot.
I carried 2 liters of water and drank in the lunch hour.
Since first starting out, when I struggled to drink enough water, I found being bold about asking to refill my bottle or find a bathroom even in towns with no cafe or bar, has made all the difference. More often than not, someone sitting on their porch or tending to their garden can help with something simple and will.
Those small kindnesses save me days off feeling ill and the discomfort of starting the day with a headache because I did not drink enough walking.
I feel shy about asking people, but I need water, so as my Grandmother’s sister once told me-
“God gave me a mouth and I use it”
In this case, I also met Madeline and Michel in Achey. I sympathized with the symptoms of achey legs when Madeline got up to help me with my empty bottle, and I appreciated so much the care she took to rinse my coke bottle, and run the water cold.
“It’s very fresh” she assured me with a smile when she came back.
I thanked her sincerely and walked around the corner, the wrong direction, and then back. I waved a second time and headed on my way. Such a small thing but hugely refreshing.
I found a bush of wild raspberries a little bit further down the road. I ate them one by one as I hadn’t done since I was a child.
The road stretches on and on, but the day was getting cooler, and there was nothing to do but walk.
I stepped into a church for the dark shade.
I started singing to pass the time, any happy song I knew the words to, and eventually reached the industrial edge of Dampierre Sur Salon.
I walked to the centreville, 2km when I felt I couldn’t take another step. I asked for directions and walked half the distance back to find the pilgrim place. It was closed. I had arrived two hours late. I walked back to town and found the hotel. It was a massive glass building for a huge town, but this town was quiet. Although it appeared closed at first, the reception was indeed in the attached restaurant, so I headed there.
Two other pilgrims I knew, Cor from the Netherlands I had recently caught up with in Langres, and Steve whose family I had hitched a ride with to Arras, came up behind me, they had already checked in and finished dinner.
I had just arrived, almost faint from the sun that day, so I sat down for an hour or so and chatted with a friendly Dutch woman from Amsterdam.
“Aren’t you scared?” She asked me several times, and warned the small roads have no lampshades at night. Behind her, I heard a hollow thud and noticed a small bird had flown into the glass of the hotel and dropped out of the sky.
Yes, I did not feel as easy in Dampierre Sur Salon as I had the night before at the loveliest countryside home in Leffond, but I could manage. We continued chatting, I did not have to think about how I had arrived too late for the accommodation I meant or was scared of the hotel’s deserted reception desk as long as I had a friend, here, showing me pictures on her phone with Michael Jackson’s family and the Heal the World foundation party in Amsterdam.
By the time I gave in and asked for a room at the hotel, I felt lucky to get one.
When I went to find the room, the reception, which had been so eerily deserted before, was now alive with a bus full of Chinese tourists of all ages.
“Bonjour!” I said to one that I passed directly, a man aged about 100 in a baseball cap. He returned only a completely bewildered look that resonated. I hurried into my austere room, shut the door behind me and laughed my head off.