ShakeyJay

Today,s adventure is dedicated to all of the men and women at th BC Cancer Clinic. May their journeys be good and safe and successful.

Well never on a Sunday, a Sunday, a Sunday, da da da day dah. And yet here I am in Nevers France on a Sunday. I am sitting at my campsite, beside the Loire River, with the churchbells of the city singing their songs of praise. And here lies entomnbed in a shrine, the mortal remains of St Bernadette, a pilgrimage in itself. St Bernadette of Lourdes fame, so the Catholic story goes, was visited by the Virgin Mary 18 times in 1858. A shrine and grotto was built to commemorate that vision. True? False? Well it is a matter of faith.

Got here late last night. Campsite is okay but hot, dusty and no shade. A tad dirty. First thing I did was quaff down 2 Orannginas – the sweet nectar of nature when you are dying of thirst. Orangina is very tasty. I have developed a taste for it. Tasty – oh I already said that. Me mind is playing tricks with my train of tasty thoughts.

A note about Premery. I decided to take the bus in this heat. The nice lady at the tourist office gave me bad information. Sure there is a bus Monsieur.  Voici est le schedule. Deux euros. Sacre Blue,  I thought. That is cheap. So i go out to the bus arret, but voila – no bus. After 4 hours of waiting, no bus. It turns out there is no bus service in Premery. Schedules? Oui. Bus stops? Oui. But no busses. Non. Sacre Blue. Oh and mon Francais est meilleur chaque jour. Voilà. Reminded me of Monty Python,s sketch about the department of Silly Walks.

At the Premery camp site they had a game of boules, or bocci. My camping neighbour , a very old man, won the tournament they had and then gave me his medal. Nice. We talked in my shattered French and I showed him pics of my grandchild Ruby. He and his disabled wife smiled and patted me on the back. Belle, belle enfant. I looked at him, and his wife and coulfd see the real love betwwen them, holding hands and smiling at one another. Beautiful. I bade them goodbye and left in the 40 degree heat.

Got to the edge of town and stuck out my thumb. I decided not to walk the 10 miles to the next town. After about 2 hours, with my thumb getting tired, a nice young women stopped and gave me a lift. I was very tired. I thanked her and called her my angel. She then told me her name was Angelique. Beautiful. She was from Uzbekistan, living in France for 10 years,yet her French was no better than mine.

The short drive to Nevers was nice as the sun was setting in the west. Air was sweet and the sky a purplish, reddish shade of blue. Having the windows down with the warm yet refreshing wind blowing and swirling around me was heavenly. It reminded mre of my youth in the car with my dad, rolling down a country road, just the two of us with the windows rolled down, and my arm straight out into the warm summer,s evening breeze, trying to catch the wind, just the two of us, silent, peaceful in thought and mind. I lost my pop at a very young age.

La vie est bon, belle – no matter what.

 

,

 

This day is dedicated to my brother Kevin, who is suffering from Cancer on his tongue. Just at the start of his journey.

By the way, this Ipad with its auto correct sucks. Hit a “t” and you get a “b.” Hit an “a” and you get a “r.”What should only take a few minutes takes an hour. SUCKS bigly.

Let me tell you about some of the people I have met already: there is Gil, the anorexic pilgrim, Hans, the arrogant Dutch pilgrim. I asked him how his walk was going only to hear him say: it,s in the heart man, the heart. It has nothing to do with “how it,s going” but everything to do with your state of mind man”.  Okay ass-hole I thought to myself. I have not heard that kind of talk since the 1960,s summer of love…..MAN. Then there is Robert and Pierre, there is always a Pierre isn,t there. In France I mean. Robert was a 

know it all but very helpful really. Two dutch girls from Maastricht entetained us with thier violin and guitar. We went through all of the koom-by-ah stuff. But cohen,s halleluah was a hit.

Even I sang-bass. A magical evening especially when sitting beside an Abby that is over 900 years old. Spine tingling .

Just before I arrived at my first rest area I had to climb up a steep hill that went up for about a kilometer at a 30 degree incline.  This after walking 24 kilometers. God treats pilgrims in mysterious ways I think.  I finally arrived at the hostel, and fell  on the cool tiled floor for about 30 minutes I think. All I wanted was a shower but the host dutch lady wouldnt let me have  one until I listened to her introdution – Dutch torture.

It,s amazing what goes through your mind when walking. You are only in the present-no past, no future, except for the next hill or valley. And in this heat? Hard. There was one moment when all I could think about was an ice cold pilsener. And what was really weird was I kept thinking I would come back in another life as a pint of ice cold pilsener. At the very least I thought I could give someone good company for a half hour so. Weird I know but that is what goes through your mind when your brains are being fried in 30 plus degrees heat.

Another magical evening. Pictures speak for themselves if I could only get this Ipad to work. It sucks. I am quitting for today. What should only take me 30 minutes to do takes almost 2 hours to do with this Ipad. I will correct later. Sorry for the typos:

 

 

 

B

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This day is dedicated to my wife Marijke, who passed December 2017.

On the road by 630 am. Left Vezelay and started walking. Started raining so put on my poncho which ripped apart. Not a good start. Stopped raining but left a humidity that was through the roof. Hot as hell too.

I almost came down with heat stroke but for the generosity of a cafe owner who opened his shop to let me cool off. He gave me cold water and food as well. I recovered and pressed on. A few hours later I  was again short on water so I went to a house, knocked on the door and two old women, sisters I think, let me in to their modest home, gave me water, two beautiful ripe tomatoes and a bag of plums. Great, and that was the way it has been.

Vezelay? How to describe it. Well, how does one describe perfection! Vezelay is an Abby town situated in the Morvan Bourgogne region of France. Absoultely beautiful. The Abby is at the top of a hill that overlooks unbelievable countryside. As if god is right at home watching his flock.  It really is a stairway to heaven. The surrounding landscape is picture perfect, as if sculpted by heaven itself. Every shade of green can be seen on the hills and the valleys. The hills undulate in perfect harmony with the   environment. You see meadows and forests, separated by plowed fields that emit a shade of gold, amber, and even bonze. Dazzling colours. Now this may not be Canada, with its wild scenery, robust lnadscape and raging rivers. Nevertheless this  countryside is no less  spectacular but in a more peaceful sculpted sense. Add to that culture, history and hospitaliy and you have a heavenly recipe. Why would anyone go the Paris when they van visit a regiion like this in France is beyond comprehension. More to come. I can’t wait until tomorrow.