From Aachen through Belgium and France to Champagne

In the summer of 2013, Father Karl Jasbinschek from Lengerich walked from Aachen through Belgium and France to Nogent-sur-Seine in 18 days – the first five days together with his pilgrim friend Andreas. His goal was Orléans and with it the Via Turonensis; a death in his parish brought the journey to an early end.

Since 2010 I have walked the Camino Francés through Spain three times, and each time it was a great spiritual adventure. I have also walked the German Way of St James from Bremen to Aachen twice, in day stages.

So this year I set out to tackle the big stretch through Belgium and France, knowing full well that three weeks would not be enough for it. I want to take the northern route, the Via Turonensis.

Plans and worries: on the way to the Via Turonensis

I already cycled it in 2006 with my pilgrim friend Leo from Moers. For Belgium there is a small Outdoor pilgrim guidebook with a few places to stay listed in the appendix, though it leaves out some really interesting refugios (like the one in Liège). For the route from Belgium on through France, however, I found that there is hardly any material about it on the internet. Just one usable book (in French, mind you), and only from Paris onwards – of interest to me from Orléans.

What makes this pilgrim route a real challenge even for an experienced pilgrim: there are hardly any pilgrim hostels along the way, so accommodation is few and far between and also considerably more expensive.

After my experiences in Germany, I am expecting a route almost free of pilgrims, especially as I will not be going via Paris but along the Meuse to Charleville-Mézières and from there on via Reims, Épernay, Sézanne and Montargis to Orléans.

I am also worried about the language: French, which I don't speak and don't want to learn either. I do have a translation app on my smartphone, but will that be enough?

And last but not least, I am worried about the weather – which is fairly changeable in Central Europe and can bring a spell of heavy rain even in summer.

But none of these worries came true, and it became a truly beautiful and deeply moving pilgrimage. Even if encounters with pilgrims were rare, there were plenty of friendly French people along the way, and the churches by the roadside are always good for a prayer and a breather.

What's more, I manage to persuade Andreas, my pilgrim friend from 2012, to walk the first five days with me. Starting together makes things easier and gives us a chance to talk and help each other out. So the first five days of this pilgrim diary are taken from Andreas's notes and only lightly edited by me. After that I dictated my own report into the writing app every day. As I was usually alone, it didn't bother anyone, and I could put my impressions into words right at the end of the day.

Who otherwise finds the time to type up and edit a handwritten diary? I certainly never managed it. This time the text was already written down and only needed a little smoothing.

For me this diary is a keepsake, richly illustrated with expressive photos. And it is meant to let my friends and good acquaintances, but also other pilgrims of St James, share in our pilgrim experiences – and perhaps inspire them to set out on a pilgrimage of their own.

My stages at a glance

• Sunday, 28 July 2013: travel to Aachen

8-day pilgrimage through Belgium

• Monday, 29 July 2013: Aachen – Battice (30 km)
• Tuesday, 30 July 2013: Battice – Liège (34 km)
• Wednesday, 31 July 2013: Liège – Esneux (29 km)
• Thursday, 1 August: Esneux – Saint-Séverin (18 km)
• Friday, 2 August 2013: Saint-Séverin – Huy (21 km)
• Saturday, 3 August 2013: Huy – Namur (36 km)
• Sunday, 4 August 2013: Namur – Dinant (33 km)
• Monday, 5 August 2013: Dinant – Givet (F) (31 km)

10-day pilgrimage through France from Givet to Nogent-sur-Seine

• Tuesday, 6 August 2013: Givet – Revin (30 km)
• Wednesday, 7 August 2013: Revin – Nouzonville (37 km)
• Thursday, 8 August 2013: Nouzonville – Dommery (39 km)
• Friday, 9 August 2013: Dommery – Château-Porcien (33 km)
• Saturday, 10 August 2013: Château-Porcien – Reims (44 km)
• Sunday, 11 August 2013: Reims – Épernay (32 km)
• Monday, 12 August 2013: Épernay – Vertus (27 km)
• Tuesday, 13 August 2013: Vertus – Sézanne (34 km)
• Wednesday, 14 August 2013: Sézanne – Villenauxe-la-Grande (27 km)
• Thursday, 15 August 2013: Villenauxe-la-Grande – Nogent-sur-Seine (20 km)
• Friday, 16 August 2013: Paris – Aachen – Lengerich

Sunday, 28 July 2013: travel to Aachen

We have arranged to meet in the afternoon at Essen main station, where I plan to pick Andreas up and drive him to Aachen. We need to be at the convent of the Elisabethan Sisters by 6 pm at the latest if we still want to get rooms and keys.

My journey is held up by traffic jams, so I call Andreas to say I'll be up to half an hour late. First I can't reach Andreas, then my iPhone goes haywire, and finally everything is sorted out. I ask Andreas to wait at the station's main exit. Andreas waits at the city exit, where parking is tricky, though. I wait at the tram exit. But we find each other by phone, and the satnav then reliably guides us to the Elisabethan Sisters on Preussweg in Aachen.

The sister who welcomes us shows us the rooms (no. 12 for Andreas and no. 11 for me). Toilets are in the corridor, and so are the showers. Then she makes us a cup of coffee (from the machine in the little kitchen), shows us the side exit and tells us that, if we like, we can attend Mass in the house chapel at 6:45 tomorrow morning. There are still 26 Elisabethan Sisters in the convent; they keep their heads above water with a unit of sheltered flats for elderly ladies and perhaps also with pilgrims (€30 per night with breakfast).

At around 4:50 pm we head towards the city centre to St James's Church, which is only open as far as a grille. We sing and pray a little from my pilgrim songbook. (After all, I only got back at 11 pm on Saturday from a pilgrimage of the Steinfurt deanery with Benno Hörst, another leader and 20 participants.)

We carry on past the town hall to the cathedral, where there is no more Mass this evening, and to the Elisenbrunnen with its sulphurous healing water, which according to the sign is not drinkable – and which you absolutely have to have drunk. Andreas is a bit sceptical, but I win him over by tasting the hot water, which tastes of rotten eggs, first. A few senior citizens are dancing to lively band music in front of the fountain. So does it put a spring back into weary limbs after all? After our visit to the fountain we have dinner at the Italian place we had spotted on the way between St James's Church and the market square: I order the obligatory salad, Andreas tortellini. And we both drink Krombacher, Andreas with alcohol and me without.

After dinner we head back towards the city centre once more, find a working cash machine of the Aachener (Volks-)Bank for Andreas and then have an ice cream on the market square. Then it's back for a night's rest before setting off on the Belgian-French Way of St James.

Monday, 29 July 2013: Aachen – Battice (30 km)

A single room right at the start of the pilgrimage – what luxury. I sleep in properly and go to the sisters' Mass in the chapel in the morning, where Andreas is already taking part in the Liturgy of the Hours. As guests we are visually separated by a 90-degree angle (sisters = nave, everyone else = side aisle). At first there is only one nun, who also seems to be a guest, sitting in the last row of the "congregation section". Later another woman arrives (a resident of one of the sheltered flats in the convent). The priest is Czech (in my guess) or a Spanish or Portuguese speaker (in Andreas's guess). We don't know.

Breakfast (2 bread rolls, plus bread, jam, plenty of cold cuts, cheese, coffee) is very generous. In the end it is already past 8:30 by the time we finally set off, after handing in our keys and paying. I can leave my car in the convent car park for the duration of the pilgrimage. So that it can be moved if necessary, I leave my car key with the sisters. What a reassuring feeling, knowing the car is safely parked!

At first the path climbs steadily. After a long forest track we cross the border into the Kingdom of Belgium and duly pose for photos at the unremarkable sign.

We pass the well-known place of pilgrimage of Moresnet and visit the Calvary there. And later a small chapel too. In the grounds we are the only visitors and can look around undisturbed.

Further along we stop for a drink in Henri-Chapelle. We look for a supermarket in vain. Shortly afterwards, after a US Army war memorial, we at first miss a small turn-off to the right into the woods, but notice it in time, so the detour is limited. Later two little dogs creep up on us from behind, only to bark at us at the last moment. The little yappers are very clingy. They only leave us alone when a granny with a twin pram comes towards us and diverts their attention. I get the feeling they had it all planned: "Come on, let's go and scare some pilgrims today – ha, ha, ha." Though "annoy" is probably the better word.

In Clermont we take another drinks break. Andreas saves us from another detour by asking a young mother the way. Our path turns left in front of the church rather than behind it. The way to Battice drags on. On the edge of town there is a large bunker complex. When we reach the first bunker, Andreas climbs over a fence without permission to take a closer look. But since the bunker itself can't be entered, you see no more there than a little later at another, openly accessible bunker with a memorial plaque on the right-hand side of the path.

On the outskirts of Battice we have our third drinks break in a pub. There we ask about the last stretch to our accommodation and about a supermarket. In a small shop I buy 3 litres of water "con gas" and Andreas 1.5 litres of cola. We drink some of it on a bench so we don't have so much to carry. Then we follow the main road. It drags on once more until we find a nice place to stay in a small hotel: Le Domain de Haut Ven.

The hotelier, however, won't entertain our request for a room with two single beds instead of the double bed. But later we take matters into our own hands. Andreas has discovered that it is just two beds pushed together and joined with a thin mattress topper and sheets. So we separate the double bed into two single beds. I get the duvet, and Andreas a linen sheet. He also fetches a second pillow from the wardrobe to warm the 6 feet a little.

In the evening we eat a salad, have a beer with it, and the wait is sweetened by a bowl of snacks that is nicely spiced (Asian mix = partly hot). So far I have been trying in vain to activate the 100 MB roaming data package I booked, but that only works tomorrow. Then the hotline will finally explain the right steps to me. The package is quite something: 100 MB for €10 and rebookable at any time – a real hit. Because with data services like email, navigation, route tracker and so on, I do need a fair amount of data. For this evening, though, I manage with the hotel Wi-Fi and catch up on the latest news: Ludwig Averkamp has died; and it's supposed to rain tomorrow.

Tuesday, 30 July 2013: Battice – Liège (34 km)

At the hotel we have a small breakfast consisting of two coffees and 2 mini croissants. We push and put the beds back together into the original double bed. We set off at around 8.

Up to the former railway embankment path it is not without danger. The lorries in particular don't seem inclined to make room for pedestrians. But the sky is a brilliant blue, and even the nearby factory looks picturesque.

It gets really lovely on the railway path, which leads us past all the big roads through a picturesque and quiet idyll.

In a village we stop for 2 cappuccinos in a shop that also sells magazines. From the bakery next door I fetch 2 croissants for each of us. Shortly before this village Andreas had suddenly, in a hot panic, missed his wallet and had already been picturing himself walking the 5 km back to our accommodation and then back again. But he had only put the precious thing in another jacket pocket and soon found it.

In Liège the path drags on along the Meuse. Moored there are a number of boats, former barges converted into large houseboats, which now apparently await the scrapyard. Deserted tower blocks don't make for a pretty picture at the entrance to the city of Liège either. The sky has clouded over, and a short shower of maybe 10 minutes forces us to take shelter in a launderette for a moment. But it's only a mini shower. And it isn't worth putting on our rain gear. Good that reality contradicts the weather forecast in a positive way today.

In town we go to the tourist information office. The young woman there is helpful and actually finds a pilgrim hostel in Liège. The night is free, she says. If we would like to be provided with food, it will cost €20. We are to say when we will be there. Since we still want to visit the cathedral and St James's Church, we say: between 5 and 6 pm. The friendly woman also has an address to offer for the next day, provided a walk of over 40 km isn't too far for us.

The cathedral and St James's Church in Liège are similarly, impressively large in their dimensions. St James's was the burghers' church, built – as in other cities too – to set itself apart from the bishop's church.

We reach our hostel for the night just within the time limit, as the route is a little more complicated because of the branching of the Meuse.

Our host is an older gentleman with a ponytail called George. He speaks several languages, including German. Our attempt to find a grocery shop so we can make a salad fails. But instead, after a welcome beer from Belgium, George shows us our accommodation and cooks for us in the evening. From 7:30 pm we spend an interesting and lovely evening together. George is critical of the new Pope Francis (all hot air and no action, he thinks). And George confesses his great weakness to us: he cannot forgive. He found his calling as a hospitalero on his own cycling pilgrimage to Santiago. It happened like this: he had actually wanted to build a house with 5 flats to rent to students. He did it all on his own. When he had laid a few rows of bricks and was inspecting his day's work one evening, he saw that one stone he had built in had a chipped corner. That annoyed him so much that he swore about it. Whereupon others said to him: "But you're a Catholic. How can you swear like that?" He realised how much his own project had grown over his head, bringing him nothing but a sense of duty and overload instead of joy. And he resolved: something has to change in me. So he set off for Santiago by bike. There he received the message from St James that he should set up one of his five flats for pilgrims. With this mission, contentment and serenity returned to what he did. He is visibly enjoying the exchange and the conversation with two priests. When we want to pay our share the next morning after breakfast, he won't accept anything: just one euro per person, as a token. The evening before we had already signed his guest book, including our phone numbers. Will he get in touch with us some time, on a planned motorhome holiday to go fishing in Denmark?

We promised to send him some photos of our stay with him. That has since happened, after some delay, and George really did call straight away when he received them and thanked us warmly.

Wednesday, 31 July 2013: Liège – Esneux (29 km)

We both slept well in our bunk beds. Using the spin dryer after washing our things by hand turns out to be a good decision. Everything is properly dry this morning.

At 8 we leave the hospitable refugio and go over to our host. He has laid on a proper breakfast: orange juice, coffee, toast bread (untoasted), jam, cold cuts, cheese and – if we want it – Nutella too. There are also pancakes with strips of ham; I hold back on those, though, because the egg doesn't seem quite cooked through to me, even if it looks delicious.

We say a warm goodbye.

First we head back along the Meuse towards Angleur station, then (at the Angel Bridge) turn right, to follow from then on the arrows George has put up himself. We have only walked a few hundred metres when Andreas asks what those noises behind us are. It's George, whistling desperately after us because he can't catch up with us. Our guidebook had been left lying on the breakfast table, and we would have missed it badly on the way, especially as it lists a number of hostels with phone numbers.

Once we have left Liège, today's route could be headed: (endlessly) up and down through the woods. It also offers wonderful views of the Meuse and the wide countryside, though. When we finally reach Esneux shortly before 6 pm, we are pretty worn out. Not because of the distance covered, but because of how demanding it was. We sit down on the steps of a private house to get our bearings (where can we find somewhere to stay). A dog yaps behind us. The owner of the house asks whether she can help us. She brings us chilled bottles of water and helps us look for accommodation. She finds out that the phone number of the hostel listed in the guidebook has since been given to a private person who lives 20 km away. So the hostel probably no longer exists. She doesn't know the second campsite, which we had phoned in the meantime, either. She only knows the first one, about 1 km beyond the station by the river. We set off after fortifying ourselves with the mineral water she offered us. On the way we have an ice cream and see lots of restaurants. The campsite turns out to be of little help: almost empty, no options for people without their own tent, except under the open sky on bare "Mother Earth". That's not really what we want. So what to do?

We walk back into the village and so, shortly before the station, we do make our 29 km after all. At the station we see that there is a connection to Liège-Angleur. I suggest taking the train back to Liège if need be and looking for a place there. Andreas goes one better: we could go back to our old host, who had offered to come and help us if anything happened to us within a 90 km radius.

Emergency shelter: back to George in Liège

First we have a doner kebab. A call to the second campsite gets us nowhere. I feel embarrassed to call George, so Andreas does it. For George it's no problem to take us in a second time. His last guest, as we had read in the guest book entries, had been there on 20 June; so we are significantly raising his pilgrim-visit average. On the way back to the station we treat ourselves to another ice cream. At the station we see that the connection isn't hourly after all, as I had assumed, but every two hours. As it is 7:40 pm, the next train unfortunately doesn't leave until 9:19 pm. We pass the waiting time with beer and iced tea in a pavilion bar next to the station.

Andreas absolutely wants to know where to buy tickets. A Belgian who speaks German promptly interprets: get on the train and wait to see whether a conductor comes. Then pay. If no conductor appears – the line is short – you ride for free. – Indeed, no one checks us, and so we unintentionally travel without a ticket, as Andreas stresses. Contrary to what I would have liked, we find no taxi at the station and have to walk. Thanks to my satnav app 10, though, the way to George's is a few metres shorter. Even so, he seems to be getting out of bed when we ring. After all, we have arrived more than an hour later than announced on the phone. We receive the keys for the refugio and hear his surprise that we didn't find anywhere to stay in Esneux. Then at last we are in our familiar refugio with its spin dryer and good beds. Thank God.

Thursday, 1 August 2013: Esneux – Saint-Séverin (18 km)

At 8 in the morning we have breakfast again with our pilgrim father George. This time a little shorter than yesterday, as we don't want to start too late from Esneux towards Huy. It's supposed to get very hot today. Since we didn't look up the train connection yesterday, we walk to the station with mixed feelings, wondering whether we might have to wait 2 hours. That isn't the case. We are at the station around 8:50 and see that the train leaves at 9:27. So we have enough time to buy two tickets at €2.90 each from the machine and to try to sort something out by iPhone call regarding our accommodation for the evening. The second address given by the Liège tourist office turns us away – already full. While we are looking for an alternative through the tourist office – specifically for pilgrims of St James – a train pulls in on our platform at around 9:23.

Thinking it's ours, we quickly get on. When it pulls out at 9:25, we start to have doubts: a train is sometimes, or even often, late, but it is never early. Our fear proves true: the train doesn't stop at last night's intermediate stations, nor in Esneux, but only one station later. The fact that the conductor breaks off his ticket check just before reaching us, because the train is pulling into the station, still seems a lucky stroke in hindsight. We check when the next train in the opposite direction leaves for Esneux and actually stops there. And find that once again we have a good half hour to wait. Enough time for a coffee in the nearby tavern and for my attempt to reach the Santiago pilgrim address in Huy. The woman, however, doesn't understand a thing. A customer in the café helps, but can't get anywhere either. Nothing doing, then. And the tourist information in Huy proves not very accommodating either: we should come there by 6 pm, and then they'd see. But with our late start today we won't be able to make it by 6 pm. So we'll set off and trust to luck.

At breakfast, by the way, George told us that there is an agreement throughout Europe that the mayor of every town must provide pilgrims with accommodation in an emergency.

Right before our real start to the day's stage in Esneux, a woman speaks to us; she sees my scallop shell and identifies me as a pilgrim of St James. She too walked from Burgos to Santiago this year, after walking from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Burgos last year. Next year she wants to walk from Santiago on to Fisterra, partly because this year, on the feast of St James on 25 July, the mood in Santiago was different because of a terrible train crash. I experienced that too, of course, on the Steinfurt deanery's fly-and-bus pilgrimage in 2013.

After all the obstacles – the accommodation problem yesterday and the train problem today – our pilgrim start goes quite well. The description in the guidebook is helpful and the arrows (at first) adequate too. The path climbs moderately but steadily. The shade of the trees is pleasant. Later, in places, the path will become muddy and overgrown. This is where long trousers and a walking stick prove their worth; Andreas has both. He lends me a stick for roughly fending off nettles and thistles. We will need it again later to impress two little dogs at a farm that come towards us looking for a fight.

In Croix Andre the waymark is missing after crossing a so-called kickabout pitch. But the pilgrim guidebook describes it correctly. At my request, a woman living by the so-called kickabout pitch, whose lawn we are more or less crossing, gives me a large, ice-cold bottle of water.

A further refreshment highlight later on is to be a vending machine with chilled milk at 80 cents a litre. First we each drink half a litre of milk. And then follow it up with another whole litre per person. It tastes wonderful. But afterwards Andreas feels a bit queasy at first and fears stomach trouble.

When we finally reach Saint-Séverin in the great heat, the coolness of the Romanesque church, whose door stands invitingly open, proves to be another gift of the day. And how much lovelier still is the chance to stay in a hostel belonging to the church, on the upper floor of the building next to the presbytery. As if that weren't enough good things, the village even has a proper supermarket. Here we stock up for the evening and for breakfast for just under €20. After getting back we take a long shower. Andreas is fine again; he has recovered from the milk shock. After showering, it's time to do the laundry. The room in front of the kitchen is warm enough for everything to dry quickly.

One drop of bitterness: according to our hospitalera, a.k.a. the parish priest's housekeeper, Saint-Séverin has no bus connection and no taxi service either. So Andreas can't travel straight to Huy but will walk to Huy with me tomorrow, starting around 7. Should a lift turn up along the way, he will of course take it, because his schedule has already overrun somewhat. He had actually wanted to be in Gemen by tomorrow lunchtime; that is out of the question, but by evening it should be possible. Tomorrow evening he still has a birthday visit to make.

Friday, 2 August 2013: Saint-Séverin – Huy (21 km)

This morning we get up at 5:30, as Andreas wants to catch the train in Huy around midday. That means a good 20 km of walking. Thanks to our shopping, breakfast is plentiful and tasty. Afterwards Andreas washes up and dries the dishes, while I write in the guest book to balance things out. At around 7:10 we leave the hospitable house. The hostel in Saint-Séverin really is something special; a pity it isn't listed in the pilgrim guidebook. Today is supposed to be the hottest day of our pilgrimage. The sun is shining from a clear sky, but at first it's still mild and a cool wind is blowing. The 5 km to the next village are almost completely flat and very easy going. Then it gets a little harder, but we make good progress. The path now mostly runs along roads or farm tracks, so the shade of the trees no longer protects us. It gets warmer too, and by 11:00 it's already very hot.

On the edge of Huy there is a large leisure park. The drinks at the ticket counter are totally overpriced. We'd rather wait a bit longer and live off our supplies. We take a nice break on a wooden bench in the shade. The last section into the town of Huy is a long road winding downhill over several hairpin bends.

Andreas watches with interest as a road cyclist toils laboriously up the long climb. Seen from the other direction, the town's name, Huy, is painted again and again in white letters on the asphalt. The cyclists battling their way up still seem to need to read it, because their panting sounds more like "Up… up" than "Huy… Huy". It takes it out of you once more, not just the cyclist but us too. Then we have reached the Meuse.

By asking, we soon find the way to the station. Andreas is lucky: his train to Aachen leaves in about 20 minutes, at around 12:40. We say goodbye, though I don't go with him to the platform, as I'm really worn out. By now it's so oppressively hot that I can barely stand it. So I walk back a little way to where I saw a small snack bar earlier that looked very cool. First I treat myself to a cola and a bottle of water. Then I go back to the bridge over the Maas, called the Meuse in Belgium, where the tourist information office is located right next to the cathedral.

A nice young woman helps me in English. First of all she can name a room for €25, which I gladly accept. Rooms like this for one night in a private household are called "Bed and Breakfast" here, just as in Ireland. However, the woman works, so she can only let me in at 6:30 pm. So I consider walking another 10 km or so along the Meuse towards Namur to have a slightly easier stage tomorrow. But the heat and the uncertainty about a place to sleep quickly drive the thought away again.

Instead I ask about maps for France.

The nice young woman directs me to a bookshop that also has a wide range of maps. She also hands me a map, but it only covers the area around Huy. I look for the bookshop but can't find it. A young man notices me searching and helps me find the shop. There really are good maps, and I buy two valuable, good ones: one for the rest of Belgium and the second for the first section of France.

Unfortunately the way out of Huy isn't easy to work out, and besides, it's already 3 pm. I can't get into the cathedral either; it is closed at midday. By now it's unbearably hot, well over 34°C. I look for a grocery shop but get nowhere because of wrong directions. After a short break in an ice cream parlour with three scoops, I set off again and find a supermarket on my own without asking. I buy three bottles of mineral water and some grapes. I eat the grapes and drink the first bottle of mineral water in the shop's entrance, where there is a bench and it's pleasantly cool. When I set off again at around 5:15 pm, I head for the cathedral. It's even open; bells can be heard. The space is large and majestic. There's nobody to be seen. Quiet church music is playing in the background. Very pleasant. I sit down on one of the chairs and look around. Then a priest in cassock and stole walks through the chancel and disappears on the left-hand side. I follow him at once, because I suspect a Mass is being celebrated there.

And indeed about ten older people are sitting there on little chairs, plus two younger ones who are already praying. There is a lot of responsorial singing: the young man intones and the congregation sings the following verses. I assume they are psalms. The priest celebrates Mass with lots of gestures and facial expressions. After Mass he goes to the people and shakes everyone's hand. He comes to me too, greets me and asks whether I'm Dutch. I say: German. He wrinkles his nose, and I can't resist saying: Germans pray too. I don't think he would have found me a place to stay if I hadn't already had one. But then he takes his leave in a friendly way with "Ultreia" and "Auf Wiedersehen". Now I go to my lodgings – amazingly, they're almost right next to the supermarket, about 20 minutes from the cathedral. It's a large room with a double bed, with a nice open view to the back. The shower isn't so great: it's in a bathtub without a curtain. Also, the woman's things are on the washbasin, which feels a bit strange to me. And the toilet is downstairs right next to the living room; that closeness makes me uncomfortable.

After showering I lie down on the bed to let my sweat dry. Then I dictate this diary with the Dragon app, which works surprisingly well. Above all, I can lie down and rest while doing it. With Andreas gone, of course I haven't done my laundry yet either. I wonder whether to go out again, for Chinese food perhaps, but my comfort wins out over the little pang of hunger. Besides, I want to lose weight, and I don't have a front door key, so I would have to ring the woman's bell if I wanted to get back in.

Saturday, 3 August 2013: Huy – Namur (36 km)

This morning, after a quick wash, I turned up for breakfast at 7:00 a.m. on the dot. A black tomcat brushes around my feet, but I don’t stroke him so that I won’t have to wash my hands all over again. It’s a simple breakfast with a little too little coffee, plus slices of white bread and jam, just the way I like it. I set off at 7:30. I’ve used my navigation app to find an easy route out of Huy. It goes back past the cathedral and the bridge and then simply straight on along the road.

After only about 300 m a small paved path branches off to the right, and straight away I’m on the continuous pilgrim path along the Meuse. In the picture on the left you can see the turn-off: just behind the post in the foreground, immediately right and down towards the weeping willow. It’s sunny but pleasant, and a mild breeze blows in my face. The path is almost deserted and very generously laid out and wide, well paved all the way. It’s simply lovely to walk between the Meuse and the countryside without having to climb any heights or go down into any depths.

Today’s walk is a walk of prayer. I pray the rosary, sing every song in the songbook and pray the psalms I still know by heart. In doing so I notice that I’ve forgotten some of the psalms I learned on the Spanish pilgrim route. Tomorrow I’ll brush up on them again with my little book of psalms.

I’m especially pleased that the riverside path is also waymarked as a pilgrim route. That sets it apart from the German author of the pilgrim guidebook, who wants to lead the route back up through the neighbouring hills. I can’t get enough of the beautiful nature on my left and, across the Meuse, on my right. In the distance another gigantic cable-stayed bridge appears, shaped like a triangle and held up in the middle by a huge pylon. A tent with a bicycle stands alone by the wayside. Quite a few anglers are trying their luck, but they’re often not very talkative. A father with his son and dog doesn’t mind me taking their photo. Then I pass a big, long gallop racecourse that runs alongside the riverside path for several hundred metres, if not kilometres. When a few riders come thundering along the track, I get my camera out in time and manage to take a few photos. Later I’m so lost in thought that I miss a woman rider’s furious gallop and only think of my phone camera once she’s already raced past me. A pity – that really was an incredibly fast ride. Again and again there are small and large gatherings of geese. At first they flap anxiously into the water when I get too close, but near the villages they grow bolder. They stay sitting or carry on pecking without being bothered by me. Quite a few factories also line the opposite bank. At least two works tear huge gashes into the hills facing me. It makes me think of the debate in Lengerich about limestone quarrying in the Teutoburg Forest. It’s not only in Germany that limestone is quarried to meet the demand for building materials.

Then I’ve reached Andenne and with it the halfway point. On the way into town I come straight across an Aldi. There I buy two cans of ice-cold coffee, which I pay for at the checkout. Then the cashier wants to check my rucksack. I take it off and tell her to go ahead. But she wants me to open the rucksack. Of course I don’t, and I just stand there stubbornly. The customers queuing behind me at the checkout don’t like that either, of course, but what am I supposed to do? The woman calls the manager, who admonishes me that rucksacks and other bags have to be left in a particular corner at the shop entrance before you enter the sales area. After that I’m allowed to go without my rucksack being searched. Once I’ve emptied both coffee cans, I enter the address of the tourist information office into my navigation app. It isn’t far at all, and a friendly woman helps me find a good guesthouse in Namur, where I commit to 4:00 p.m. – a ridiculously early time, as I later discover. After a coffee I set off again in good spirits. Naturally, at the edge of town I also spot a Lidl – what else would you expect?

Every now and then I also have my picture taken so that I have a few photos of myself both on my phone and on the camera. A sign points to the caves of Goyet. Apparently you can see paintings there by cave dwellers from a distant prehistoric age. By now mighty cliffs tower up beside me. During a break I see a whole group of racing cyclists waiting at a traffic light for the start signal. As they set off, I’ve put the camera on burst mode. Unfortunately these photos didn’t come out very sharp. A pharmacy clock shows 27°, but the weather feels cooler to me. Gradually, though, the walk becomes hard going, because I have the clock breathing down my neck. Thanks to my rash promise of 4:00 p.m., I’m running late. I don’t arrive at the agreed casino, where my host plans to pick me up, until just before 5:00. She has come by bike, an older lady who speaks not only English but also reasonably good German. The way is still more than 1 km uphill – for the first time today. But I gladly put up with that, since it leads to my destination. The flat is very neat; I get a lovely guest room, and the bathroom and toilet are fine too. Another “bed and breakfast” stay. My landlady also helps me arrange further accommodation for Dinant. She searches online and then books by phone. I go and shower and dress my wounds. There are chafed patches on my thighs, and Bepanthen ointment works very well on those. Unfortunately, a bus ride into town doesn’t turn up any chance of celebrating Mass this evening – a pity. I buy a few drinks and take the bus back up to the flat. I’ve been given the key. On the way I eat some chips with ketchup. My host wants to have an Irish music evening, but since it’s already 9:30 p.m. I politely decline. Instead I lie down on my bed and start dictating this diary into Dragon. Now I’m done, it’s after 10:50 p.m., and it’s time to sleep. Tomorrow morning I’ve arranged breakfast for 8:00 a.m., the earliest my host can manage on a Sunday morning.

Sunday, 4 August 2013: Namur – Dinant (33 km)

I slept deeply and soundly, albeit with the window closed, as the hot, stuffy air reminds me in the morning. I wake up at 7:00, pack my rucksack, take care of my morning wash and trip to the toilet, and am at breakfast punctually at 8:00. The breakfast table is laid and there’s plenty of coffee, jam, butter and bread. I don’t drink too many cups, though, since after just the second cup of coffee a film of sweat forms on the backs of my hands. It’s probably going to be a really hot day. There are hardly any clouds in the sky, and the sun is shining clear and bright. My landlady wishes me all the best once more, and at around 8:30 I say goodbye. I wasn’t able to attend Mass in town on Saturday evening, since I couldn’t find a church with an evening Mass. And the Sunday-morning Mass at 10:00, which the woman’s partner wants to go to, is just too late for me. I assume I’ll still find an evening Mass in Dinant. And that’s exactly how it turned out – but more on that later.

Whereas yesterday I walked on the left bank of the Meuse, today I walk on the right. My landlady strongly recommended it. She says the left side leads through all sorts of hilly terrain. Of course I try the left side first anyway, but after crossing the bridge and walking a few hundred metres towards Dinant, the lovely path ends in a dead end. So I turn round, cross the bridge again and carry on along the right bank. In fact I try to switch to the left side at two more bridges, but each time I’m taught otherwise. That’s because the navigation app keeps pointing to the left side. On top of that, it’s very hot on the right side, as there’s no shade there, while the other bank still lies fully in the shade of the trees and rocks. The right-hand path is unpleasantly hot, especially as in many places I can see the shady, tree-lined path on the other side. The walking itself is very easy for me this morning. I have no aches in my bones and I feel very good.

Again and again I see huge locks that regulate the water level and allow the boats to continue along the Meuse. But I can’t see that the falling masses of water are being used to generate power. Whole families of geese have by now made themselves comfortable along the path and to the left and right of it, and they refuse to be shooed away even by a weary or modest pilgrim. They do watch alertly, but otherwise they stay where they are, plucking grass or looking for worms. The architecture of Belgian houses is fundamentally different from the German way of building. Instead of one uniform style, the houses are highly individual and creative, often designed like little palaces or castles, the newer ones too. A feast for the eyes. Whether by kayak, by bike or with a fishing rod – lots of people along the way have a hobby.

For the cyclists above all there’s a special Sunday treat – a big cycle race in which any interested rider can take part over routes of various lengths. In one town a large set of marquees has been put up, with drinks and food to refuel the cyclists, but also pilgrims – as long as they can pay. The many cyclists, who sometimes come shooting along in large packs, are a bit of a nuisance, but then again I don’t begrudge them the pleasure of their Sunday ride. More disturbing are the numerous motorcyclists, who often race up and down the hills with howling engines, pushing a wave of noise ahead of them or leaving it behind, audible for kilometres. If I lived here, I’d go mad. Apparently it doesn’t bother the locals, though. And the closer I get to Dinant, the more speedboats with water-skiers on the tow rope race around on the water. But maybe I’m just more sensitive to noise and speed because the pilgrim path has already slowed me down. Also slowed down is the dog resting in the sunshine by the wayside. Note the tongue hanging out.

At a war memorial, in whose shade I take a short break, I discover little red beetles that are there in great numbers, crawling around everywhere. Their bright red colour makes them look menacing, and they’re shaped like bedbugs – at least the way I imagine bedbugs. Far prettier are the salamanders that sometimes cling to the stone walls to sun themselves, where I can photograph them.

The last 7 km drag on quite a bit, but then at last I can see the church tower of Dinant. Tourist life is in full swing here. The streets are thronged with people, either sitting at the tables of the pavement cafés or weaving their way through the narrow lanes past the restaurants and shops.

It’s around 4:30 p.m., and first of all I go into the cathedral. There I can listen to an organ concert that has drawn quite a large crowd. I listen to a few pieces before getting up to check the Mass times. 6:00 p.m. this evening – an ideal time to visit my guesthouse first and then go to church washed and showered. The tourist office already closed at 4:00, so I can’t get any information there for the next day or about accommodation in Givet (France). When I get to my lodgings, I see what I’ve let myself in for. It’s a mid-range hotel and the room costs €50. That’s a good price for a good, large room, even though the bathroom and toilet are out in the corridor and shared with another room. But I had told my landlady in Namur that I wanted to stay in a private home. Well – if you don’t do everything yourself… In the end, though, I came to terms with the price and I’m happy with it.

The 6:00 p.m. Mass is very sparsely attended, but musically appealing and festive. I also get a church stamp in my pilgrim passport. I don’t let on that I’m a priest, though. After Mass I buy some groceries before heading back to the hotel. There, first of all, I wash my T-shirt, underpants and towel. After all, I can’t wait for Andreas to set me a good example. Then I go out into the garden, where there’s some garden furniture. I ask the woman who works there, who is just watering the flowers, to clean a lounger for me. She not only cleans the chair but also brings a cushion. Then I sit there and dictate this diary. I also eat my groceries – two yoghurts, six sausages from a jar – and the drinks. It’s now 9:07 p.m. and slowly getting cooler; a pleasant evening calm is settling in. Tomorrow I’ll probably cross the border into France, and I don’t have any accommodation yet, but I won’t let that discourage me – I’ll just try my luck tomorrow afternoon.

Monday, 5 August 2013: Dinant – Givet (F) (31 km)

I slept well again last night, and breakfast is excellent. Although it doesn’t start until 8:00, I’m the first guest to have breakfast. After breakfast I first ring the tourist office to see whether it’s open. Sure enough, I reach a lady who tells me they open at 9:00. I nip over before opening time and find out how best to get accommodation in Givet. I don’t get much information, but at least the street where the tourist office in Givet is. The friendly lady also tells me to walk along the left bank of the Meuse as far as Hastière, and then on the right. That sounds good, especially as on the left bank the sun is softened by plenty of shade. I set off cheerfully and enjoy the nature. I use the time to pray the rosary and the psalms too. I start learning a new psalm. At a hotel, hundreds of yellow and wood-coloured kayaks are stacked up, but there isn’t a single kayaker to be seen on the water.

One kind of goose looks incredibly cute. These geese have brown rings around their eyes, so they look like the Beagle Boys in Donald Duck. They’re no longer bothered by people, as long as you don’t get too close. The parents of young geese in particular position themselves at the back and front of the family and start hissing in earnest when people stop or deliberately approach them.

After about four kilometres the path changes. It now goes through a wood, getting narrower and narrower, and runs right along the bank. The ground is uneven, goes gently up and down and is veined with roots. All this is still very bearable, though, especially as the trees now give full shade. But then the path changes again: undergrowth of thorns, nettles and other nasty stuff hems it in more and more, so that I have to fight my way through this primeval jungle world. Finally the path opens out into a large clearing. Ahead of me lies a huge meadow.

Although I can’t see any more waymarks, I head out onto this meadow and keep going, always close to the riverbank. At last, after about 1 km, a new stretch of land comes into view. Here the red-and-white hiking mark points left, and I’m already dreading a climb. Still, I follow the marks, and sure enough, after just a few metres the path winds more and more steeply uphill. I’m pretty grumpy but keep going. After about half a kilometre I stop and turn back. Enough! I walk back quickly and then turn left towards the meadow, which is bounded by a fence, but I get over it easily. And once again it’s probably 1 km across meadows, always along the bank. There’s no trodden path to be seen, so I’m constantly worried that I’ll have to turn back after all if I come up against an insurmountable obstacle. But at last a narrow trodden path begins to emerge, and finally a wider track. I’ve made it. At the next bridge I switch to the other bank.

In the distance ahead of me I see a hiker with a rucksack – whether a pilgrim, who knows. But I make no effort to catch up and stick to my own pace. Over several kilometres I gain on the person. Just before I’m within calling distance, they turn off to the right. So there’s no encounter, because my way carries straight on. I’m walking briskly now, as it’s getting on for 4:00 p.m. And I’m worried that the tourist information office might close at 5:00.

My first steps in France after crossing the border, which is barely marked, are disappointing. The road and the whole area look like East Germany in the old days. That’s because the road surface is completely frayed and riddled with potholes. The pavements aren’t paved but merely separated from the road by cracked kerbstones. In short – ugly. Some factory buildings seem to have been abandoned for a long time, and their broken windows give a view into the dark interiors. After about a kilometre and a half the streetscape changes abruptly. Suddenly the pavements are paved, the roads well kept and everything looks tidy, almost like back home. Apparently the French have deliberately left the border area out of the renovation.

At around 4:45 p.m. I reach the office in Givet, and a friendly young woman welcomes me. She is dark-skinned and speaks fluent German, as she studied in Germany. She’s even glad to be able to speak German again for once. Very kindly, she first tries to track down the woman responsible for the St James pilgrims. But she’s in hospital, so that source has dried up. So she finds me a room for €35 above a restaurant. When I get there at 5:30, my first impression isn’t exactly thrilling. The building looks very shabby from the outside and the corridors smell of smoke. But when I inspect my room, it’s clean and evidently not too badly affected by cigarette smoke. So I take it. First I rest, then I go shopping at Aldi, this time without my rucksack, just with my little foldable plastic bag. But since it’s almost 7:00 p.m., the shop has closed. Still, when someone comes out, I quickly slip inside and buy something to drink and some fruit – after all, I already had a pizza at lunchtime, as compensation, so to speak, for the long march through nature. Now I’m sitting in a French park, drinking and dictating this diary. At the tourist office I also found a really great map for the route as far as Rethel, so I can plan tomorrow well. I hope I find my way.

After 8 days of pilgrimage – 5 of them with Andreas – I’ve come from Aachen through Belgium into France. I’ve got well into my stride and feel confident about the pilgrim route through France. As far as Charleville-Mézières (beyond Nouzonville) I’ll still enjoy the French route along the Meuse; then it’s cross-country to Reims, and via Orléans to Tours.

A 10-day pilgrimage through France from Givet to Nogent-sur-Seine

Tuesday, 6 August 2013: Givet – Revin (30 km)

I get up in good spirits in the morning, since it isn’t supposed to get too hot today. Still, the sun is already smiling from the blue sky into my window. After my morning wash I pack my things and am downstairs at breakfast at 7:00. This time even the butter is soft and spreadable and not fridge-hard as usual. Even so, after breakfast it’s almost 8:30 before I finally set off. Using a cyclist’s notes (downloaded from the internet), I first take a shortcut, using the road instead of the signposted footpath. That way I skip a big loop of the Meuse.

About 5 km from the town I see two cooling towers, which probably belong to one of France’s many nuclear power stations. They peacefully puff their white mist into the sky.

What a surprise when I then come across the beautifully designed French cycle path (called Ravel). It’s well paved, blends into the landscape, is level and doesn’t need to hide from the Belgian Ravel in any way. What’s more, it runs along the left side of the river, where it’s pleasantly shady. The sunshine isn’t blazing, but the shade still does me a lot of good.

A man from Belgium comes running after me and asks whether I’m a St James pilgrim, which I confirm. Then he tells me that he too has walked the Way of St James. But now he’s travelling with his family by boat on the Meuse. He proudly points to the boat and poses for a photo with his family.

In general, people now speak to me more often about the Way of St James and are very enthusiastic about it. Either they’ve already been on pilgrimage themselves or they want to walk it. Then two women on bikes overtake me – I saw them yesterday too. They obviously aren’t going at much of a pace.

In Haybes I call in at the tourist office, which lies right on the route. A woman there tries to help me find accommodation. But she can’t find any St James lodging. She only finds a hotel where the room costs €48. I ask for the receiver and speak to the hotel employee myself. She fetches the boss to the phone, and I tell him I’m a pilgrim. He asks me what I can pay. I say €30 to €35. He says in that case I can have the room for €35. I’m very happy with that. There are still good people who support a pilgrim. In the tourist centre, which has a lounge and a good toilet, I rest and gather new strength. Now that I have a place to stay, I’m under no time pressure, and I’ve already made good progress along the way.

Then I meet a group of cyclists who want to ride all the way to Jerusalem. They’re perfectly equipped, with lots of panniers on their bikes and very good suspension. After they’ve ridden on, I come to the town of Fumay, where there’s another big loop of the Meuse. I can cut off this loop by crossing through the town. When I rejoin the path along the Meuse, I actually meet the six-strong Jerusalem cycling group there again, and they’re quite astonished to see me again after kilometres of cycling.

Shortly afterwards, at the lock, I meet the Belgian pilgrim with his boat again. I’ve now put my earphones in and am listening to Werner Heisenberg, “Die Weltformel” – documentary speeches.

The last 7 km drag on again, as I’ve experienced so often. It takes over an hour and a half before I finally see the houses of my destination. Shortly before, an elderly Frenchman speaks to me and asks in detail about my route and how I’m doing. His son explains in English that his father would love to walk the pilgrim route to Santiago himself but isn’t sure whether and how he could manage it. I encourage him. Another man explains to me exactly how to get into town.

First I look for the bookshop listed on the internet. But I find that it no longer exists. There isn’t another one, either. Then I get an assistant in the optician’s to explain where the tourist office is. It’s down the street I’ve only just walked up. I look for help there to book accommodation for the next day and town. But the woman is rather clueless – she’s probably not very experienced and still very young. Almost round the corner is the hotel I’ve booked. Even from the outside it makes a very good impression. The boss hands me the key to a room, and it really is a very good room, with its own bathroom and toilet too. I have a quick shower and then go shopping. But I buy too much. After that I eat and rest.

Afterwards I dictate this diary. By the way: I have my first blister, on my right foot, on the inner left side, fairly far back and still quite small. I hope that lancing the blister will keep the damage in check.

Wednesday, 7 August 2013: Revin – Nouzonville (37 km)

I wake up at 6:00 this morning and I’m still very tired; I’d much rather not leave the soft, warm bed at all. Around 6:30 I finally get up to wash and pack my rucksack. Since I can’t count on breakfast, I have to be downstairs at around 7:00, as agreed with the hotelier, to pay. By then the rucksack ought to be packed, of course. But it’s 7:15 by the time I’m finally ready. There’s no one about downstairs, and all the doors are locked, so I can’t just leave the money on the counter and walk out. So I sit down in one of the comfy armchairs and wait. It’s just after 7:30 when the boss himself turns up. I ask him for the bill, and he only charges me €30. I thank him warmly and praise the room.

Then he invites me for a coffee in the bar, where he switches on the coffee machine himself. He really is a nice man, and I say a heartfelt goodbye before I leave.

When I step outside, the shock hits me. It’s drizzly, and under the bridge I wrap my rucksack in its rain cover and put on my rain poncho. Then I’m kitted out and stride off. It’s an easy walk of prayer and silence, and I make very good progress.

Only after 11 km do I take a first break, under the roof of a cafeteria that isn’t open yet, where I eat my grapes and nuts with dry feet and have something to drink as well. The somewhat cooler weather does me a lot of good, though the drizzle and occasional heavy rain are quite a nuisance. I’m worried about my feet, as my shoes are slowly letting water in, or at least it already feels damp inside. Besides, I no longer want to aim for my destination, the big town of Charleville, but for the town of Nouzonville, 7 km before it. A phone enquiry in Nouzonville shows that a hotel can be booked there for €45 for bed and breakfast. I don’t start any discussion but ask the woman to book it. She does this for me, as I can’t communicate with the landlord, who only understands and speaks French.

Along the way I feel the urge to find a toilet. I go into two cafés, but each only has a toilet with two footrests on which the visitor has to squat down. After all those kilometres I really don’t feel up to that, so I leave these unfamiliar toilets unused and walk on.

After about 25 km I notice that my shoes are now completely soaked and my feet are literally swimming in them. I feel my feet and hope they won’t develop blisters.

After 34 km I reach the town, where I soon find the hotel I was aiming for. It’s a magnificent manor house behind a big wall with an iron gate.

But since I only said I’d arrive after 6:00 p.m., I have to wait another three-quarters of an hour on a bench under a tree. By now the rain has stopped; the last hour was dry. Of course – after all, I’d reached my destination. I sit on a bench under the tree and take off my shoes and socks to inspect my feet and get them out of the wet. The skin is wrinkled like washerwoman’s hands, but there doesn’t seem to be a blister. Good thing I can slip into my blue sandals.

When I ring the bell at around 6:00 p.m., the big iron gate really does open and a woman invites me in. She leads me into the manor house and there into a huge, beautifully furnished room with two beds, and next to it a separate room with toilet, shower and WC. All in all, wonderful facilities.

First I shower, then I stuff my shoes with toilet paper, and finally I wash my clothes and hang them up. Then I rub ointment into my feet and lie down on the bed. Now I have time to write the diary in peace, and afterwards I want to plan the route for tomorrow and the next few days. From here it’s only another 7 km along the Meuse to Charleville-Mézières, then cross-country to Reims. Tomorrow I definitely want to get a hiking map in Charleville-Mézières, if the tourist office has one. And to withdraw some cash at a bank – right now I’m pretty much broke. I’ve discovered that I’ve lost my little notebook, or maybe just mislaid it. In any case, it contains the distances for the past few days. Good thing I’ve dictated the diary electronically each day and sent it to my e-mail inbox. But even that isn’t foolproof, because this evening I had already dictated the complete diary for today, and when I wanted to send it, the Wi-Fi connection had dropped. And as soon as I close Dragon, the whole text is lost. Next time I want to send the text straight to my phone as a text message; then at least the text is kept, especially when the Wi-Fi connection drops. Breakfast tomorrow isn’t until 8:00, so I can have a proper lie-in for once.

I’m very lucky that this particular lodging has a hairdryer in the bathroom, so every now and then I blow hot air into my shoes and get them completely dry that way. The paper alone wouldn’t have done the trick.

Thursday, 8 August 2013: Nouzonville – Dommery (39 km)

In the wonderful villa I have breakfast with another couple at a lavishly laid table. The room itself is furnished the way you’d find in restored châteaux; the ceilings are especially ornate, and the furnishings suit the lofty room too.

I set off in good spirits. At first the path runs along the river, for quite a while through lovely countryside. I walk on smooth asphalt and make good progress. The town of Charleville-Mézières is very big and the tourist office well equipped. There I book accommodation in Dommery, though it costs €50. But it’s the only option. They don’t have any more detailed hiking maps, but they do give me a tip about where to find a bookshop. There I’m actually able to stock up on good maps, and then I leave town. I’ve dawdled quite a bit, and it’s after 12 o’clock by the time I’m back on the road. For this I have to switch to a bigger country road with quite a lot of traffic. On top of that, it goes steeply uphill and downhill, which really saps my strength. Eventually I can use smaller paths again, and after 31 km I reach a village that even has a hotel. I’d have loved to stay there.

But I’ve booked other accommodation in the village of Dommery, 6 km away. I go into the hotel and ask for water. The woman there gives me two ice-cold 0.5-litre bottles, free of charge. A really kind gesture – the bottles are like salvation to me, as I haven’t had anything to drink for quite a while. I don’t feel like walking the last 6 km any more. So I call the owner of the place I’ve booked and ask him to pick me up, but he refuses. So I set off; at first I try hitchhiking, but when nobody stops for me, I get fed up and tell myself: right, I’m walking the way all the way to the end. It goes along a small country road over gentle ups and downs, with meadows to the right and left full of cows that gaze at me faithfully.

At last I reach the village but don’t know where the street is. I ask a farmer who comes along with his tractor and a big trailer of hay bales. He looks at me with interest and tries to explain, but then he invites me to stand on the drawbar between tractor and trailer and ride along. Which I gladly accept. So I stand behind on the drawbar and have to hold on to the tractor with both hands – but I’m being driven. When we go round a bend, I have to watch out that my foot doesn’t get caught under the drawbar. At the wheel is the farmer’s 14-year-old son, who is allowed to drive the tractor on his own for the first time, as his father proudly explains. We drive into the farmer’s yard, up quite a hill.

Then he walks round the corner with me and shows me the futuristic-looking lodging about 150 m away. It’s a very modern house that looks like a UFO, built on stilts. I’m curious to see what it’s like inside.

I’ve made up my mind to start by politely thanking them for their kind help. That irony is better than whining. In the house are a man and a woman and their twelve-year-old daughter, all looking at me expectantly. But I ask to be shown my room straight away so I can freshen up, because I’m done in. Then I’m given some cool, clear water, enough to get me through the evening. My room is underneath the house in a square concrete box, like a garage, and I’m already fearing the worst. But when I’m let in, I see that it’s well furnished, very functional and very modern too, clean and just right for me. A wide window looks out onto the nature directly opposite. Then again, I’d already had that view for a good many kilometres today.

If the man had picked me up, I’d certainly have been in the mood for conversation or a little friendlier, but my disappointment at being left in the lurch got in the way. On the other hand, it meant I walked the whole route myself and covered the last stage on foot too. Somehow things always work out right.

Friday, 9 August 2013: Dommery – Château-Porcien (33 km)

This morning I take an aspirin painkiller so I can walk without discomfort. I feel dog-tired, and when I go to breakfast at 7:30 I haven’t packed anything yet, just had a bit of a wash. After a good, hearty breakfast I go downstairs and pack until just after 9:00. At 9:15 I set off on the new stretch. It goes up and down over gentle, rolling hills, but it’s easy and pleasant walking.

The landscape is criss-crossed with meadows, and now and then small woods appear in between. The animals are interesting. They’re mostly cows, which, every time a person appears, turn their gaze towards them and stand still. They watch me the whole time, from the first moment they notice me to the last glance. Interesting how they group together and all stare silently in my direction. The sheep are quite different: as soon as they see a person, they turn tail and run together to the far edge of the paddock.

The good weather has many farmers bringing in their grain harvest these days. That’s why lots of heavy tractors with big trailers are out and about. In the first village, after 6 km, I want to visit the tourist office. It’s signposted as a tourist info, but it’s the public library. A mother-and-toddler playgroup is meeting there too.

One of the mothers speaks German, and I ask about the GR hiking trail. There’s hardly any information about the GR trail, at least not for the uninitiated. And there’s no map either. After this nice encounter I walk on. Every now and then I even see the Santiago pilgrim sign and am glad to be on the right track.

At one point there’s even a GR waymark leading through woods and meadows that looks to me like a shortcut. I follow the scenic path and really do make good progress. At around 5:30 p.m. I finally reach Château-Porcien. Here I absolutely have to find somewhere to stay, because I don’t have the strength for any more. There’s no tourist office, but I’m told to ask at the town hall. That, however, has already been closed since 5:00. So I go on to the church. There I meet an elderly man who is just locking up. I tell him I’m a St James pilgrim and ask for a bed. He asks whether I’d like a stamp, which I say yes to. Then I ask about the bed again. He says there’s a place to stay at a café. But I don’t understand him and politely ask whether he could drive me there in his car. He lets me get into his car (even messier than mine!!), and sure enough, at this café there’s a key – or rather a number code – that gives me access to the refugio. It’s directly opposite the café and has three beds, a washroom and shower, and a separate toilet. It’s clean and tidy. First I go to the big supermarket and get three bottles of drink there, plus lots of yoghurts. Then I go to the café to order a set meal. It’s quite decent: pizza, salad and a beer.

The food is OK and I pay eleven euros. The hostel is free. After dinner I go to the refugio, lie down and dictate the diary, today’s first. Next I also want to dictate yesterday’s, because I was too tired to do it yesterday. I was really lucky to be at the church exactly when the man was locking up. Had I gone earlier or later, he couldn’t have helped me. And I’m sure I would never have found the refugio then.

Saturday, 10 August 2013: Château-Porcien – Reims (44 km)

So today I'm heading for Reims. I really want to reach Reims on Saturday evening so that I can celebrate Mass in the cathedral on Sunday morning. It is a very long stretch, though – somewhere around 35 km. I've picked a route through small villages and along country roads so that I meet as little traffic as possible. In the morning I get ready in the little refugio and pack my things. Then I write a short note in the book where all the guests leave their thanks. There's no breakfast to be had in the village, so I set off cheerfully without it. It's sunny but often cloudy, so the temperatures are very pleasant, even later in the day. As far as Blanzy it's almost a stroll, and I'm already one village further on than I had expected.

The route really is lovely, but there isn't a single bar in any of these villages where I could have a little breakfast or at least a cold drink. My supplies are well stocked, but they won't last forever. Above all I miss my morning coffee, which normally gets me going.

After about 20 km I reach a village where I had been certain I would find a restaurant. An elderly resident had told me so, and two teenagers as well. When I finally find the restaurant, it's closed – and with it goes my only chance to fill up on water and rest a little in the cool. I'm pretty disappointed and worn out. Opposite the closed hotel there's a hairdresser's. There are lots of these hair salons, and I'm surprised there are so many of them, while shops and places to stop for a bite are few and far between in the villages. I go into the hairdresser's to ask whether there's anywhere else to get something.

There isn't. While the employee is still talking to me, another woman comes into the large room and offers me water. It's a 1-litre bottle, ice-cold from the fridge – wonderful. I gladly accept. She asks me to take a seat on one of the chairs and then also fetches a few cubes of cream cheese and some sliced toast. That's all she has, she indicates apologetically, opening the fridge door to show it's empty behind it. I thank her warmly and sit down in the cool room to top the toast and eat it, sipping the cold water as I go. I can also charge my phone battery. It's about 2 p.m., the quietest time of the day. Not a single customer comes into the salon in the next three-quarters of an hour. I simply enjoy the coolness, the water and the bread. When I feel restored, I get up and want to say goodbye. The woman asks me whether I'd like another bottle of water. Which I politely decline. That's really stupid of me – I could easily have poured it into my half-empty bottle.

It was a real encounter, as if with angels, and I was so glad that people can be this helpful. Then I carry on; there are still many long kilometres ahead. At last I reach the big main road that leads straight to Reims – only about 8 km to go.

The row of trees in the background marks the edge of the main road. Along this major artery I walk on the left side on a field margin; it's more tiring than asphalt, but on the other hand it does my left foot good, where a very painful spot has developed under the ball of the foot.

I'm afraid it's a blister. The uneven surface spreads the pressure of each step better across the whole foot. Then I reach Bétheny. It's a quiet commuter town, and here too, despite all the houses, I can't find a single bar. I'm close to despair when I finally spot at least a small grocery shop where I can stock up on drinks. I empty the big bottle of orange fizz straight away on a bench in the shade. Ten minutes after my purchase, this shop has closed too – lucky me.

The way after that drags on, but now it leads through the streets of the city, and soon I can see the cathedral rising between the houses not far off to my right. I don't visit it yet, though, but head straight for my hostel, which I booked along the way via booking.com. That, by the way, is a very good service. Booking.com is a hotel portal I had already used back in Lourdes to book cheap accommodation. It offers a very good range, from budget to expensive places to stay. Once again my satnav leads me astray: I turn left on the street I'm looking for and only notice after 150 m that I've gone the wrong way. Then I turn around and walk past large sports grounds. It's already after 8 p.m. and I've walked 44 km by the time I finally reach the hostel. What a surprise – it's exactly the same hostel I stayed in with Leo in 2005.

This wonderful youth hotel had, as I remember, well-equipped single rooms, simple but practical, with a generous breakfast. And indeed I get a good single room with a bathroom in the room, while the toilet is in the corridor, practically opposite my door. So no great hardship either.

Under my left foot a blister has formed on the ball of the foot, but it's still going inwards rather than outwards. This time I want to try a Scholl blister plaster – my last attempt – and stick it on after showering. I can tell you in advance that it didn't help. Since then I've been piercing the blister properly and letting the fluid drain out. Although there are lots of people outside, mostly young ones, and surely a few German speakers among them, I stay in my room simply to look after myself and rest. I'm done in for today. At the same time, I'm very grateful that I've managed this stage and that tomorrow I can take my time looking at the cathedral, celebrate Mass there and then set off around midday. I assume the way to Épernay comes to 23 km, because that's what the satnav tells me. How wrong you can be – I only find out later.

Sunday, 11 August 2013: Reims – Épernay (32 km)

This morning I woke up after a good night's sleep and happily stayed in bed a while longer. Shortly before eight I get up and, after washing, go down to breakfast. Breakfast at the hostel is plentiful and very good. There's as much coffee as you like, a breakfast buffet with fruit, dairy products, wholegrain bread and cornflakes, Honey Smacks. Luca from Turin sits down at my table; he and his friend want to cycle from Turin in Italy all the way to Amsterdam. I recommend the route along the Meuse in Belgium and give him my map for it, which he gladly accepts. The breakfast room in the hostel is packed, and there's a good atmosphere among all sorts of people from many nations, young and older – simply everyone who needs an affordable place to stay. Memories of the cyclist Leo come back, for instance while making toast.

Afterwards I go upstairs to pack my things. I want to walk to the cathedral around 9:30, as I'm expecting Mass at 10:00. I've got the blister plaster stuck under my left foot and leave it there. When I arrive at the cathedral shortly before 10:00, Mass has already started at 9:30. So I wait for the 11:00 Mass.

In front of the cathedral there's a plaque set into the ground commemorating the peace-making meeting of Charles de Gaulle and Konrad Adenauer in 1962. The meeting took place on great historic ground, since Reims – like Aachen – was already an important place for Charlemagne in his time. That's where he was crowned emperor in 816. The cathedral, however, was only built in 1211–1311. A first look inside shows the mighty Gothic nave, almost 39 m high and 138 m long. A true landmark of medieval architecture. Reims is also where the Champagne region begins, though I'm not yet aware of that during my stay here. Then I go to the tourist office and look for more maps for the way to Sézanne and beyond. The search comes to nothing. Through Booking.com I pick a hotel in Épernay that I can book for €45. I also charge my smartphone so that the battery lasts this time. I assume I'll reach my destination after 26 km.

Mass begins at 11:00 with an elderly priest, accompanied by older adult altar servers. The French liturgy makes a lot of use of cantors and responsorial singing. The cantor stands at the front and leads the congregation. Many sing along; I, however, can only manage the Alleluia. There's a good mix of ages at Mass, but only a small flock of 80 to 100 people at most! After Mass I get my pilgrim stamp and then I'm off at around 12:00. After about 2 km I realise this can't be the right direction, because I'm on the road I came into town on yesterday.

A check of my satnav shows that it had set the route back where I came from instead of to the new destination – i.e. four extra kilometres of pilgrimage. This time I set the navigator to the right destination, and the total comes to about 31 km. Bravo. I sit down on a wall by the roadside to take this in. A young woman comes along on the other side of the street, singing. I wave to her, and she comes over and asks whether she can help. I tell her that I like her singing. At first I want to speak English, but then it turns out she speaks German too. She knows Aachen very well and it's her favourite city, as she has friends there through the university. She's very nice, and I find it unusual that she came over so naturally. She says she's delighted to meet someone in the middle of France who speaks German. Then we say goodbye and I stay sitting for a little while. That's how it is – again and again there are encounters with people you don't expect.

The weather today is very pleasant, sunny and warm but not hot. The way out of Reims naturally runs along lots of different streets, and soon I've reached a dual carriageway, which I follow because there's no other route to be seen.

Walking along this road, which is rather like a motorway, is a bit risky, and I have an uneasy feeling about it, but at least there's a hard shoulder, which I follow facing the oncoming cars. Some indicate and change lanes; most at least keep their distance. A few drive very close to me, and two or three honk as well. I'd rather not imagine how much honking there would be on German roads. On the whole the drivers are very disciplined, but the roar of the speeding cars and the danger are still a strain on my nerves. It's less the fear of being run over than the constant noise of the cars rushing towards me or passing me from behind. I walk facing the traffic, because if I'm going to be run over, I'd at least like to see it coming.

The road goes on endlessly. Again and again there are long climbs, then dead straight across a wide plain, and finally down into a valley once more before it climbs again to my destination. Along the way I notice that I'm now in Champagne – the many billboards and winegrowers' signs make that clear.

I tick off the kilometres praying the rosary, or singing songs, or praying the psalms. That's the best inner attitude for not thinking about the kilometres. Only 5 km before the end do I get onto a smaller road and can finally relax. By then, though, my strength is pretty much used up, and I'm glad when I finally reach my destination at around 8:15 p.m.

The hotel is, as described, a stately building, and the rooms are lovely too. Here I meet the Belgian pilgrim Thomas, who wants to walk all the way to Santiago. At the moment he has tendinitis in his shin and can only manage 12–14 km a day. He also seems a bit of a moaner to me, because if I think about my blister, I couldn't really do long stages either. Still, he's the first pilgrim I've met who's on foot, and he wants to go via Vézelay. Then I go to my room, first of all to dictate this diary and to call Andreas and ask him to email me the diary he wrote of the first five days.

Over the last few days I've been listening to an audiobook about a girl, Lea, who after losing her mother is at first held together by playing the violin, but in the end goes to pieces. It's the fixation on one very particular way of life that no longer allows any other possibilities. This fixation on one theme, in ever-deepening loops all the way to madness, reminds me of two other novels I've read. First, Stefan Zweig's "Chess Story", about a chess player who broods more and more over the game of chess and finally cracks inside. Who is already far ahead in his moves and can't bear his opponent's deliberating. The second novel is by Patrick Süskind and is called "Perfume". It's about a man with an extraordinary sense of smell, with which he creates ever more precious perfumes from different essences and blends. His craving for an ultimate, exquisite scent ends in murder, in order to capture the fragrance of a woman.

In the story of Lea, the father tells the narrator, who meets him on a journey, the whole story of Lea and his own part in it. The girl ends up in a psychiatric hospital and finally takes her own life because she believes she has done her father irreparable harm. The father can't cope with it. After telling the whole story, he too kills himself. Heavy reading for the pilgrim's way, but very intense and profound, and so quite fitting after all.

Summing up: yesterday, after 13 days on the pilgrim's way, I reached Reims, the old imperial city with its great history. This morning I was then able to celebrate Holy Mass at 11:00 in Reims Cathedral. I'm very happy with the journey. On the one hand there's the beautiful weather, which has brought only a single day of rain and otherwise just sunshine, at most a few clouds, which I'm glad to see because they give a bit of shade. The weather is as good as on the Camino in Spain. Besides, I can make myself understood better than I had feared. French may be the language of the country, but with gestures and plenty of goodwill there's always a way to communicate. And even if it was only today that I met the first St James pilgrim, Thomas from Belgium, I've already had many encounters with kind and interesting people. Lots of them are interested in the Way of St James and speak to me when they see the scallop shell on my rucksack. With all the time I spend walking alone, I can pray the rosary and the psalms, sing songs, follow my thoughts or simply rejoice inwardly in the beauty of nature along the way.

Of course there are also little torments on the side. Once again I have a blister under my left foot, although I haven't let it get big yet. And many a drop of sweat is part of the Camino too. All in all I'm doing very well, and I'm looking forward to walking the Camino as far as Orléans in these last days.

Monday, 12 August 2013: Épernay – Vertus (27 km)

When I wake up this morning around 7:00, I'm still undecided about what to tackle first. Since I didn't dictate my diary last night, I start with that and dictate yesterday's entry plus two other days I still had to catch up on. Now I'm up to date. Then I think about which route to take towards Sézanne today.

Last night I was already wondering whether to go to the left of the main road through the villages, skip Sézanne and head straight for Nogent-sur-Seine. My worry is that there are no bars or shops in the villages, let alone anywhere to stay. Then I'd be stuck. Because that route would probably take three days. The other option is to go to the right of the main road, also through the villages, but along a recognised hiking route, and so probably with hostels and hospitality along the way. The drawback of this route is that it goes via Sézanne and so costs me an extra day. On the other hand, I can then limit myself to 24 km today, which doesn't seem a bad idea given my left foot and the blister. I rip the plaster off the blister on my left foot and see that the blister hasn't grown much and can be seen through white skin. This time I try the pad I brought with me, which I tie with its loop around my little toe and then fix under the ball of the foot to cushion the blister against knocks. Before that I also prick the blister, but no fluid comes out. Then I've made all my preparations and leave the house around 10:00. First, though, I go back into town to ask at the tourist office again about other options. But there's little help to be had there. They give me the name of a cheap hostel in Vertus for twelve euros. That tips the balance in favour of the right-hand route and thus the short stage of 24 kilometres.

I go into a bar once more to have coffee and some bread. I quickly realise that I'd have done better with the seven-euro breakfast at the hotel than with the ten euros for breakfast in this café. My stinginess hasn't paid off more than once. I finally set off around 11:00 and, at a brisk pace, use my satnav to find the way out of town. At first there's a light drizzle, but it stops again after a few minutes. I have to follow a big road for a while before a smaller road branches off. Now at last I've got a good, clear stretch to walk.

What is there to say about the route? It's the Route de Champagne, and it only gradually dawns on me that this is where the world-famous champagne is grown. And that champagne isn't a single variety but a whole category, like Rhine wine – with countless different brands. Everywhere there are champagne houses and estates and names of varying renown that the connoisseur would surely know how to place.

The route follows lovely asphalt roads right through the huge vineyards, which sometimes stretch endlessly to the right and left of the road, broken only by small villages lying like islands in the sea of green vines. The grapes are still small and unappealing – no temptation for the walker.

Around 5 p.m. I approach Vertus – quite an early arrival, which gives me hope of getting all my tasks for the day done to my complete satisfaction. What worried me along the way was that the phone number for the €12 accommodation only ever went to an answering machine. But I have my satnav and head for the street I was given. There really is a large residential building there, and a school too (in short, a school residential centre), and next to it a small house. The school centre looks closed, the huge yard is deserted, there are no vehicles to be seen, and I fear the worst. I hope the caretaker lives in the small house and will take me in. When I ring the bell there, a woman does indeed open straight away. I explain to her that the tourist office gave me this address. She looks a bit at a loss and says that she herself isn't allowed to let out the school. She tries to reach the headmistress by phone, but without success. I make my problem – where am I supposed to sleep? – the problem of this woman and her grown-up daughter, I don't let up and look at them pleadingly for help. They confer and make more phone calls.

Finally the young woman signals to me to get into her car; she wants to take me to a place to stay. I don't know where we're going, but I get in trustingly and we drive back into the town centre, to a church.

We get out and walk up a path to the presbytery, where an elderly gentleman opens the door. He's probably the old pastor, looking very homely and domestic. He's wearing slippers and a simple shirt hanging out over his trousers, but he's friendly. He even speaks a few scraps of German and then takes me down to the basement of the parish hall, where I get a room with two toilets all to myself – but there's no bed, or rather no mattress. He'll bring me a mattress later, he tells me.

First I wash my clothes, so that I don't have to wear grubby, smelly clothes again. Then I go into town to look for a grocery shop, which is no easy undertaking. Here in France all the grocery shops seem to have moved from the town centres out to the edges. There are hardly any small shops. I think it's an unfortunate development, one that isn't yet showing in Germany in the same way. After some asking and searching, though, I finally find a huge store, "Brickolage", and stock up on drinks and food there. Then it's back to the parish hall, where I let myself in with a key. The washing is already drying nicely; I've hung it on a map stand and put it outside in the fresh air. I'll bring it back in this evening. I was especially delighted by the helpfulness of the women – the caretaker and her daughter – who found me a place to sleep by the church in this way.

By the way, this morning Hermann called me; he's meeting up on Saturday with Maria, the Berlin pilgrim from 2010. I send my warmest greetings. The older man with his walking stick has left me a small inflatable mat; I'm curious how well it will protect me from the cold of the floor tiles. The blister under my foot is unchanged; along the way it sometimes hurt more, sometimes less. I think the pressure dressing under it is a very good measure, and I'll use it again tomorrow.

Only after my shopping do I notice that the two rooms each have just a toilet but no shower. Now I regret that yesterday, for the first time, I didn't shower in the evening, even though there was a wonderful shower. So now I have to manage a second evening without a shower, and it's slowly getting unpleasant. Tomorrow evening I definitely want to sleep in a proper bed again and have a leisurely shower first. You shouldn't put off the important things, as I realise once again.

Tuesday, 13 August 2013: Vertus – Sézanne (34 km)

I'm actually amazed that I managed to sleep fairly well on the narrow, thin sleeping mat. First of all I lay down so that my head was above the end of the mat, on a little pillow I'd made myself out of clothes. Underneath is the foil-coated sit pad against the cold of the stone tiles, which I've only used twice so far. My sleep is light and shallow, as every turn on the small surface is an effort. During the night it occurs to me that I can just as well use my rucksack to rest my head on. That's the breakthrough and gives me a deep sleep until around 6:30 in the morning. This time I set off as early as 8:30. It's still very chilly outside, and I'm glad when I can walk in the sunshine – then I warm up straight away.

The way leads through lots of small villages, at first still through the great vineyards of Champagne, later past cornfields and other land.

The small roads are pleasant to walk; there's some up and down, but all within reason. Before Sézanne, my destination, there's a rise that drags on a bit. There are also several small ponds up there, whose source is a mystery to me.

The office gave me a phone number for a "bed and breakfast", but I can't get through because nobody answers. So I try to reach Sézanne by 5 p.m. to get information directly from the tourist office. And indeed I'm offered a single room of good quality in a hotel for €40.00. At last a proper, cosy home again. In the shower I notice that small reddish pimples have formed on my right shoulder, where the rucksack strap rests.

I don't know what it is. It looks like an allergy. Today I put on my other Wolfskin T-shirt; maybe that's the reason. I hope the Bepanthen ointment helps in this case too. At any rate the skin doesn't itch and doesn't hurt. The blister under my left foot, on the other hand, has settled down and isn't giving me much trouble on the way any more. On the way to my lodgings today I meet two Belgian women pilgrims who have also set out for Santiago. They're staying in the other hotel, whose owner wanted to charge me €70.00 for a single room. When I tell them about it, they're quite astonished, because they paid only €50 altogether for a room with 2 beds. But they're also taking the other pilgrim route via Vézelay.

The weather today was mostly sunny and then increasingly cloudy from midday, but dry. You really can't overstate what it means to have such pilgrim weather, especially as the temperatures today and yesterday have been around a mild 22°.

Wednesday, 14 August 2013: Sézanne – Villenauxe-la-Grande (27 km)

After a big, good breakfast I leave the hotel at 9:00. It's very sunny now and already warm at this hour. Walking comes easily, and the roads have hardly any traffic; only now and then does a car drive through the wine country.

It's pleasant to go from village to village, and the distance vanishes beneath my feet as if by itself. I don't take a long break. Today I want to reach the village of Villenauxe in the early afternoon instead of carrying on to the town of Nogent-sur-Seine.

My stages to Orléans are planned so that it's enough if I only arrive in Nogent-sur-Seine tomorrow. After that I have three days to get to the town of Montargis, and then another two days to Orléans. Incidentally, every now and then you see a rose bush at the edge of the vineyards.

"Roses? Huh?"

You can't help wondering whether you had one wine tasting too many… but no: winegrowers plant hybrid tea roses along their fields. But why…?

The answer is brilliantly simple. One of the grapes' worst enemies is mildew. But there's someone even more sensitive to it: the rose. So this is how it works:

When the rose gets mildew, the winegrower still has enough lead time to protect his vines by treating them chemically. The rose's sensitivity serves as an early warning system for the precious vines. A brilliant idea!

What are the early warning systems for our faith? What signals that serious problems of faith could arise in the coming months and years? Over to you! I'll make a start…

• Building up pious façades – no longer daring to be transparent
• Refusing forgiveness – not forgiveness received, but forgiveness granted to people who have hurt us
• the creeping arrival of legalism or a functional or formalistic biblical "faithfulness"
• beginning in the Spirit and carrying on in your own strength – that is, out of the old nature (Galatians 3:3)

I found this italic text on the internet and think it's so good that I've included it here.

But I hurry so that the tourist office will still be open when I arrive. Shortly after 4 p.m. I reach the village of Villenauxe.

The woman at the tourist office finds me a hotel for €35 and even takes me straight there; it's about 200 m from the village centre. It's obviously closed, but the landlady makes an exception for me. Tomorrow I can leave the hotel and just leave the key in the door, without anyone having to let me out.

So I more or less have the hotel to myself – not bad either. With the key I can go out through the back door and come back in again.

I take a short rest on the bed. Then a call comes from Lienen; I think it's the Kaufmanns. I answer. Haltingly, Mrs Kaufmann tells me that Luca from Lengerich has been killed in an accident. He had taken part, with 6 other boys, in a school twinning exchange with Wapakoneta, USA. On the traditional rafting trip the boat capsized and he drowned. I'm in shock. Luca, of all people – only this morning I prayed for him and the youth group, and also for Mr and Mrs R. (his grandparents). I call the R. family first and express my condolences and sympathy.

Since it will take at least 10 days to bring Luca's body home, my first thought is to carry on walking to Montargis until Sunday and then travel back. But the longer I think about it, the clearer it becomes to me that my pilgrimage is over for this year. The lightness of the Camino is gone, and as a pastor I want to help hold the situation together. My fellow priest Michael Hürter has already visited the parents and set some good steps in motion.

Afterwards I buy drinks and a little food. I also go into the church and pray there. I'm so sorry for Luca and his parents and his whole big family. In the evening I call the R. family to say that I'll be back in Lengerich by the weekend.

Thursday, 15 August 2013: Villenauxe-la-Grande – Nogent-sur-Seine (20 km)

Along the main road it would only be 12 km to Nogent-sur-Seine. But I have time and would like to walk this last day in peace and inner reflection. The pilgrimage is ending all too abruptly, so I take the longer way through the villages. The sun shines pleasantly warm from a brilliant blue sky, and the roads are quiet and still. There are quite a few climbs, but they're gentle and steady, just like the descents.

From Courtioux I can see the two cooling towers of the reactors near Nogent-sur-Seine. Their white steam spirals almost vertically into the blue sky, and from certain angles it looks as if two fires were burning behind the houses of a village. Resson (in the commune of Saulsotte) is another village I wander through; then I cross the big main road that runs from Villenauxe to Nogent-sur-Seine.

The road is now lined with old trees, and various streams are crossed by small and larger bridges. To the right you can now see the many branches of the Seine, forming small and large stretches of water, with islands of grass and trees in the middle. Interesting is a wooden boardwalk on stilts that runs through this watery landscape and crosses the larger channels on bridges.

I'd have liked to stroll along it, but in the end I don't have the time, or really the inclination, especially as I don't know how and where I'd get back onto the road. Then I reach the outskirts of the town, a fairly large industrial area. With the satnav I head straight for the station, which is more or less on my way. When I'm up on the bridge, I see a TGV standing in the station with people getting off. I'm fairly sure this is my train to Paris, but I wouldn't make it anyway. So I walk calmly to the station and watch the train disappear into the distance.

And so it is. The next train to Paris isn't for another 2½ hours – that's still a long time. A young Frenchman helps me get a ticket to Paris from the machine – only €8.50; in Germany that wouldn't get you far. Here it takes me more than 100 km – the French are exemplary there. Then I shoulder my rucksack and go into town to look for a pub or something similar. The choice is small; one place is open, and in style it's well above pilgrim level. But I get my water and start looking into connections from Paris to Aachen. The Thalys runs that route, but you can only book at the station in Paris: NOT WITH YOUR SMARTPHONE. When I'm back at the station around 6 p.m., both evening trains to Paris show "Retard" (delay)! That feels very familiar again. Instead of at 6:46 p.m., the TGV rolls in at around 7:50 p.m. Many passengers have gone home again in the meantime. But I board contentedly and set off for the Gare de l'Est (Paris's eastern station), where I arrive shortly before 9 p.m. I sleep deeply and well.

Friday, 16 August 2013: Paris – Aachen – Lengerich

At 5:30 a.m. I'm downstairs at the door, but it's locked. As I'm trying to get outside through a window, a young man who had been sleeping downstairs comes and unlocks the door for me. There's not much going on at the station, but there are two Thalys trains and I'm anxious about which is the right one – nobody can tell me either. Shortly before 6, though, railway staff arrive and board the train, and then I can take my seat in 1st class (for just 3 euros extra!). For that you get armchairs with wide armrests and a table for breakfast.

Because as soon as the train is moving, the conductor comes along and brings a breakfast tray, laid out as generously as on a plane, with a croissant, a roll, butter, jam, yoghurt, plenty of coffee and fruit. It really is incredible service, and I enjoy my breakfast; later he comes by after each stop wanting to serve up more treats, which I politely decline. And so, after about 3 hours, I arrive in Aachen right on time.

Thanks to my navigation app, I find the way to the Elisabeth convent straight away. The sister welcomes me warmly and hands me the car key. While looking for a petrol station, I unexpectedly come across the Lindt chocolate factory with its factory shop and stock up on a few treats right away. Then at last I set off for Lengerich, where I arrive around midday. With a great sense of gratitude and joy I look back on the pilgrim Way of St James. Then I get in touch with Luca's grieving family.

Karl Jasbinschek
passionate Santiago pilgrim
Parish priest of Bl. Niels Stensen, Lengerich

The route in Camino Ninja

Karl's route from Aachen via Liège to Namur corresponds to the Via Mosana, and the onward route along the Meuse via Dinant and Givet and through the Ardennes to Reims to the Via Campaniensis. You'll find both routes with stages, map and accommodation in Camino Ninja.