I was out on the road this morning for about an hour until I got a short lift to a motorway. The road is very, very long and not much traffic. There is wind and rain (more accurately drizzle) behind me, and miles of road ahead of me. I am about 35km from Châlons-sur-Marne. I’m feeling very lonely. Singing to myself does not help:
…road in front, crest of hill after crest of hill; road behind me; my pack seems heavier than usual; my left arm and shoulder ache thru hitching, my right arm and shoulder ache thru the load I’m carrying!
I pass the Fort de la Pompelle, which played a key role in the work of the French Resistance during the First World War. Further on I find a restaurant in which to take a short break with a cup of coffee. It is full of military memorabilia – helmets, mortars, grenades, rifles, kit bags and swords. The till is made of decorative brass or copper., There are only four other customers.
When I get back on the road again (associations triggered during the telling of the tale – Canned Heat, Jack Kerouac and, for completeness, The Beatles), I find my mood has lifted. After an hour, I get a lift as far as Châlons-sur-Marne. I stood at a junction on the outskirts of the town to try for a lift to St. Dizier, the next known l’auberge de jeunesse. A pale blue car drew up after about fifteen minutes, with a large dog in the back. The kind gentleman driver offered to drive me as far as Strasbourg and kindly dropped me off right outside the hostel.
The scenery changed dramatically during the drive as we passed through several towns such as Toule and Lunéville, and did a swerve for Nancy (something I hear that Nancy quite likes). The flat and featureless landscape became hilly and forestry, and dotted with small churches. The picturesque views were occasionally blighted by factory complexes and residential estates.
I recorded in my notebook some thoughts about feeling safer in the big trucks rather than in the small cars, and, as a reminder of how times have changed, I noted that I wore a seat belt for the ride to Strasbourg.
The youth hostel was full with about 230 guests. I spent a pleasant evening in the company of some French and German youths.
So, that was the fourth day of my travels. Slow progress across northern France. Where will tomorrow find me?
Clues: The town is known as the capital of the Black Forest; it has a minster of exemplary Gothic architecture; its name translates as “free town”.
See you there!
Psychologist on the Move 