Had another late start as I slept badly because it was cold: not cold enough to go to the hassle of raiding the bags for extra clothing, but cold enough to make for a restless night. As the sun rose and warmed the tent I tucked myself in and had a couple hours sound sleep. Didn’t take long for the same chill wind as yesterday to pick up though, and start flapping at the tent. As I packed the tent away, the first few drops of rain. Did some work on my French square – the cock’s tail is coming along well.
It continued grey, chill and drizzly. In Thibie (half way to Châlons en Champagne) I decided that, come what may, I would find somewhere warm to stay – with wifi (for the first time in three days) – and to catch up on myself.
There seemed to be a festival going on in the centre of town – with no traffic allowed and market stalls and music everywhere. There were posters around the place advertising Spring Jazz too. I finally found an Italian place called L’Annexe offering wifi. He wasn’t far off closing so he told me that there was just Pizza on offer, nothing else. They brought me the wrong on – with aubergine on it (and Steve knows I dislike aubergine). When I returned it, they must have just taken the wrong filling off and replaced it with what I’d ordered and reheated as it came back with burnt edges, but at that stage I really didn’t mind – and the rest of it was tasty.
Looking online I found an Auberge de Jeunesse in town, and the address not 10mins walk away. Meanwhile the crowd outside grew larger as a waiters’ race took place. Yes- Waiters – Garçons – Manuel! Guys rushed to the finish line with trays holding bottles and a glass and teatowel over arm. At the same time, the bouncy castle was deflating as slightly discordant Jazz music played by a youth band in the background – better than Monty Python.
After the crowd dissipated (and the bouncy castle re-inflated), I made my way to the Hostel. A sign on the door said that the reception should be open at weekends from 5pm. It was 4.15pm so I strolled to the river and sat on a bench and knit for a while.
When I got back to the hostel, I was soon joined by another traveller – a young man from Belgium who loved travel and long distance walking – and was walking a Pilgrim’s trail to one of the Caminoes in Portugal. He expected to be back home by July – especially as his parents had hired out a holiday place in Italy for August. He spoke English fluently (with hardly an accent) and told me that Belgium has three National languages: Flemish, Dutch and French. Alex was an advocate of exposing young children to different languages as he was. He has not long managed to acquire his dream job because of his language prowess – working for a tour operator, visiting small, family run hotels in far flung places to evaluate them and negotiate a deal for groups. He will be paid to travel! He was learning Greek at this time, as he expects to be sent there – but he wanted to complete this long walk so had said he couldn’t start until October.
It was great to be able to have a proper conversation again and I took full advantage. We waited and chatted and 5.30pm came and went with no sign of opening. A car pulled up outside and the driver sat inside using his phone for a good 10minutes or so before getting out and coming up to us. In French he explained that the hostel was closed at weekends.
Alex explained our predicament, explaining he had been sent there by the Cathedral and also pointed out the misleading English sign on the door. The guy went inside and seemed to be having a long conversation on the phone. After much dithering, during which time I started to reload the bicycle again, and we prepared to go look for alternative accommodation, the (incredibly tall!) man called us back and agreed we could stay. I felt like high fiving Alex (but restrained myself in English fashion).
For the grand sum of 19 Euros each, we had the entire hostel to ourselves – including a large cupboard full of ‘freebies’ and milk in the ‘fridge to help ourselves to at breakfast.
So, after booking in to our very own hostel, Alex and I went off to explore the city. We strolled past the magnificent cathedral and another vast church and many, many medieval buildings – Châlons en Champagne is truly a beautiful place. It was all very quiet after the festival atmosphere of the afternoon. We went into a restaurant where a Jazz quartet were playing and drank Belgian beer – of which Alex was, of course, an expert. I had a very sweet and tart beer made by Lindemann’s. Alex’ beer tasted (to me) of root beer – he pointed out the map of France printed on the glass and said the French always liked to claim the Belgian beer as their own.
So, after booking in to our very own hostel, Alex and I went off to explore the city. We strolled past the magnificent cathedral and another vast church and many, many medieval buildings – Châlons en Champagne is truly a beautiful place. It was all very quiet after the festival atmosphere of the afternoon. We went into a restaurant where a Jazz quartet were playing and drank Belgian beer – of which Alex was, of course, an expert. I had a very sweet and tart beer made by Lindemann’s. Alex’ beer tasted (to me) of root beer – he pointed out the map of France printed on the glass and said the French always liked to claim the Belgian beer as their own.
It was very easy to chat to Alex – he was a good listener and also told excellent stories. He told one yarn where he’d been on a 10 day silent retreat – one where not even eye contact was made with other retreaters (if that’s the right word). From 4am until 10pm they would meditate interspersed with meal breaks – very intense. In the middle of one meal a guy suddenly leapt onto his bench and started gesticulating wildly and making grotesque faces. The others all thought he must have gone completely stir crazy and were avoiding looking at him. It transpired he’d spotted a snake under the table! Much hilarity! Perhaps the moral of the tale was that there’s sometimes a good reason for direct communication.
Yes – he was an interesting chap all round. He went for kebab after we finished our beer. The owner of the kebab shop took pity on me not eating while Alex devoured a mound of food and gave me a J shaped vanilla doughnut and a coffee, gratis.
I thought Alex had overlooked a half lemon on his plate – so went to pick it up and was amazed when my fingers sank into a sort of mustardy mayonnaise – very amusing, and that’ll teach me to interfere.
I stayed up too late, making the most of the wifi (pronounced whiffy in France) and getting up to date.
It continued grey, chill and drizzly. In Thibie (half way to Châlons en Champagne) I decided that, come what may, I would find somewhere warm to stay – with wifi (for the first time in three days) – and to catch up on myself.
There seemed to be a festival going on in the centre of town – with no traffic allowed and market stalls and music everywhere. There were posters around the place advertising Spring Jazz too. I finally found an Italian place called L’Annexe offering wifi. He wasn’t far off closing so he told me that there was just Pizza on offer, nothing else. They brought me the wrong on – with aubergine on it (and Steve knows I dislike aubergine). When I returned it, they must have just taken the wrong filling off and replaced it with what I’d ordered and reheated as it came back with burnt edges, but at that stage I really didn’t mind – and the rest of it was tasty.
Looking online I found an Auberge de Jeunesse in town, and the address not 10mins walk away. Meanwhile the crowd outside grew larger as a waiters’ race took place. Yes- Waiters – Garçons – Manuel! Guys rushed to the finish line with trays holding bottles and a glass and teatowel over arm. At the same time, the bouncy castle was deflating as slightly discordant Jazz music played by a youth band in the background – better than Monty Python.
After the crowd dissipated (and the bouncy castle re-inflated), I made my way to the Hostel. A sign on the door said that the reception should be open at weekends from 5pm. It was 4.15pm so I strolled to the river and sat on a bench and knit for a while.
When I got back to the hostel, I was soon joined by another traveller – a young man from Belgium who loved travel and long distance walking – and was walking a Pilgrim’s trail to one of the Caminoes in Portugal. He expected to be back home by July – especially as his parents had hired out a holiday place in Italy for August. He spoke English fluently (with hardly an accent) and told me that Belgium has three National languages: Flemish, Dutch and French. Alex was an advocate of exposing young children to different languages as he was. He has not long managed to acquire his dream job because of his language prowess – working for a tour operator, visiting small, family run hotels in far flung places to evaluate them and negotiate a deal for groups. He will be paid to travel! He was learning Greek at this time, as he expects to be sent there – but he wanted to complete this long walk so had said he couldn’t start until October.
It was great to be able to have a proper conversation again and I took full advantage. We waited and chatted and 5.30pm came and went with no sign of opening. A car pulled up outside and the driver sat inside using his phone for a good 10minutes or so before getting out and coming up to us. In French he explained that the hostel was closed at weekends.
Alex explained our predicament, explaining he had been sent there by the Cathedral and also pointed out the misleading English sign on the door. The guy went inside and seemed to be having a long conversation on the phone. After much dithering, during which time I started to reload the bicycle again, and we prepared to go look for alternative accommodation, the (incredibly tall!) man called us back and agreed we could stay. I felt like high fiving Alex (but restrained myself in English fashion).
For the grand sum of 19 Euros each, we had the entire hostel to ourselves – including a large cupboard full of ‘freebies’ and milk in the ‘fridge to help ourselves to at breakfast.
So, after booking in to our very own hostel, Alex and I went off to explore the city. We strolled past the magnificent cathedral and another vast church and many, many medieval buildings – Châlons en Champagne is truly a beautiful place. It was all very quiet after the festival atmosphere of the afternoon. We went into a restaurant where a Jazz quartet were playing and drank Belgian beer – of which Alex was, of course, an expert. I had a very sweet and tart beer made by Lindemann’s. Alex’ beer tasted (to me) of root beer – he pointed out the map of France printed on the glass and said the French always liked to claim the Belgian beer as their own.
So, after booking in to our very own hostel, Alex and I went off to explore the city. We strolled past the magnificent cathedral and another vast church and many, many medieval buildings – Châlons en Champagne is truly a beautiful place. It was all very quiet after the festival atmosphere of the afternoon. We went into a restaurant where a Jazz quartet were playing and drank Belgian beer – of which Alex was, of course, an expert. I had a very sweet and tart beer made by Lindemann’s. Alex’ beer tasted (to me) of root beer – he pointed out the map of France printed on the glass and said the French always liked to claim the Belgian beer as their own.
It was very easy to chat to Alex – he was a good listener and also told excellent stories. He told one yarn where he’d been on a 10 day silent retreat – one where not even eye contact was made with other retreaters (if that’s the right word). From 4am until 10pm they would meditate interspersed with meal breaks – very intense. In the middle of one meal a guy suddenly leapt onto his bench and started gesticulating wildly and making grotesque faces. The others all thought he must have gone completely stir crazy and were avoiding looking at him. It transpired he’d spotted a snake under the table! Much hilarity! Perhaps the moral of the tale was that there’s sometimes a good reason for direct communication.
Yes – he was an interesting chap all round. He went for kebab after we finished our beer. The owner of the kebab shop took pity on me not eating while Alex devoured a mound of food and gave me a J shaped vanilla doughnut and a coffee, gratis.
I thought Alex had overlooked a half lemon on his plate – so went to pick it up and was amazed when my fingers sank into a sort of mustardy mayonnaise – very amusing, and that’ll teach me to interfere.
I stayed up too late, making the most of the wifi (pronounced whiffy in France) and getting up to date.
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