This trip is all about visiting new places and after a week traversing the flat plains of Picardy and low lying Hauts de France (why is it that this lowest lying of French regions is referred to as Haut, or High, in the first place?), I was ready for some time off and the rather stunning medieval city of Laon seemed to be the perfect place to do it.
All I knew about the place was that it had a phenomenal Gothic cathedral and that it was twinned with the city of Winchester here in the UK.
The Cathedral had certainly looked hugely impressive, its silhouette atop the crowded mountain becoming ever more apparent as I cycled down the ramrod straight section of the D1044 leading towards it the day before.
My spirit of adventure was strong as I woke up, excited to both to discover what this city had to offer and not have to wear lycra for a whole day. On a practical note, I had also separated out several items that I could send back home and was happy that I would have more space in my panniers and less weight to carry. The campsite was at the bottom of the very steep hill and I was gratified to cycle up it quite easily; I must be getting fitter.
On the way up, I mistook the St Martin’s Church for the Cathedral as I continued to follow a maze of narrow cobbled one-way streets until I came across one with hundreds of coloured balloons suspended high along its length, illuminated by the bright early morning sunshine. It seemed like the perfect place for breakfast as I waited for the Post Office to open and happy that I have remembered so much of my French as I chatted with the waiter.
Very much feeling the effects of leaving the EU when I finally got to posting my stuff home. Horrendously expensive and requiring a lot of paperwork; at least 5 separate forms.
Then up to check out the Cathedral, which was gobsmackingly impressive. A huge west frontage with soaring towers and three deeply recessed entrance portals surmounted with statues of oxen, a tribute to the animals that provided so much labour during the construction of the church.
As I entered, my eyes were immediately drawn upwards to the vaulted ceiling and at the far end, as light poured in through a rose window with three lancet windows below, the sound of gentle choral music filled the space. I always love that about French Gothic, the emphasis on height as though the higher it went, the closer to God you were.
After that, I went for a ramble along the ramparts and drank in the panoramic views over the surrounding countryside, feeling rather chuffed as I looked out over the route that I had cycled. I tried to imagine what it was like back in the day, as visitors entered the city through the stately gateways that still stood powerfully to attention, a reminder of the economic and strategic importance of this noble city.
I stopped off for lunch at a Le Bistrot de la Paix for a very satisfying beef bourguignon, fries and cheeky glass of Provençal red. Not normally a fan of red wine at lunch, but when in France and all that. Such a nice change from having to eat my own food, although no denying it would have been nice to have someone to eat with.
No change from the relentless heat, but the forecast was set to change later than night with huge thunderstorms on their way. Buoyed up by my rather fabulous day thus far, I decided that it was time to splash a bit more cash and find some accommodation for tomorrow night that didn’t involve canvas, especially given the torrential amounts of rain that would surely follow the past week of stonking sunshine.
I cycled past a McDonalds which advertised free WiFi and decided to check out some Airbnb lodging / budget hotels. Good call, great air con as well as WiFi and plenty of time to work out where I would aim for and enjoy some static civilisation which I figured would be at Reims which was only 50KM away. But the weather looked like it was going to be wet and if there is one thing that brings no joy, it is cycling in the rain. I settled on a studio flat with a washing machine, booked and felt very pleased with myself.
Then back to the campsite where I made peace with the neighbours that had been so angry the day before, had a nap and went down to meet Michel. I wasn’t sure what to expect, if we were going to hit some of the local bars or what. As it turned out, he was on duty at reception so beers on the patio outside it was. He was a lovely guy, held down about 3 different jobs and had a big house in a village a few KMs away. It was so great to chat with someone, get a bit drunk and no denying, I was impressed that my French was good enough to keep chatting for a couple of hours or so. I even acted as interpreter for some holidaymakers that arrived in their rather sexy camper van.
As I went up to bed later on, there was an awesome light show with spectacular lightening in the distance lighting up an expansive sky with sharp silhouettes of trees in the foreground. In anticipation, I moved the bike into the public shower block to keep it dry, tied down all the guide ropes I could find and sat inside waiting for the heavens to unleash. I was beyond excited waiting for the rain to hit as the thunder got louder and louder with each passing minute. I was texting Vicky who was now down in the South of France on her hols, describing the approaching tumultuous downpour as the first heavy splodges of rain started hitting the flysheet.
We both love the elemental nature of life and, like me, Vicky is never happier than being out in biblical weather conditions that savage and beat the living crap out of you. It makes you feel so bloody alive. I would work out what to do with the sopping wet aftermath the next day, but for now it was time to lie back and enjoy.
Except nothing happened. Nada. The storm seemed to take another direction and after those initial slaps of raindrops, receded completely. I felt a bit cheated, if truth be told. Although on the plus side, everything was dry the next morning except for the usual condensation on the inside of the flysheet, of course.
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