I have decided to stay for the day, taking the time to sort out my tyre and Post Office visit rather than rush for no reason. The town looked pleasant when coming in last night and the view from my tent is lovely, looking out over the various surrounding valleys including a clump of trees called Forks Hill or something like that. You can see the whopping white statue from miles away, which is Virgin Mary sitting on top of a neo gothic chapel built to remember how Langres didn't surrender to the Prussians in 1870.
As usual, the campsite is stuffed full of people from the Netherlands who are all overnighting on the way to the south of France. It is on the expensive side at 15€ but has lovely showers and facilities run by a very nice guy. An elderly couple with a delightful tiny caravan that looks so well loved have taken a spot next to mine. It makes such a huge contrast to the super swanky RVs that make up the usual kinds of vehicle I have become accustomed to seeing. They have been making the same journey in this caravan for the past 40 years and have a well practised routine. Big smiley faces, kind eyes, generosity of spirit and a rather fetching collection of artificial flowers gave me a lovely warm fuzzy feeling as I set off for the town centre.
Wow, Langres is a nice city, Roman in origin and high on the top of a hill with massive ramparts circling it entirely, which you can walk along. The streets have a super nice feel to them, the equivalent to a medieval market town in the UK and I notice that it is indeed twinned with Beaconsfield. Makes a change from the uninspiring small towns and villages that I have been passing through up until now, although Reims looked pretty swanky and I liked Laon.
I dropped off my package and carried onto the Intersport, a short distance out of town. They didn't have Schwalbe, but they did have Michelin and multi packs of short white socks, handy as I have been squashing mosquitoes with my rank current ones so time for the bin. Feeling relieved, I made my way back to the campsite via Leclerc for more packets of lentils and other high fibre goodness which I am not enjoying having to consume. Cycling home with a full load and two baguettes wasn't easy but great to get here and have my ham/cheese/tomato sandwich and such a relief to finally get a decent replacement tyre on there. Relieved to see that no broken spokes either....
After a very satisfying lunch back to Chez James (my tent) which was aided enormously with a half-bottle of chilled white something or other, I decided to head back and pick up a postcard or two. Remember them? My mate Alex in London loves to receive these and I have been very lax is posting these off to him. I was also in need of some practical supplies, including a loo roll although the campsites so far have been pretty good at supplying these.
As I walked past a resto, I heard the unmistakable sound of the English Language that sounded actually English being spoken by two lycra clad cyclists. Turns out they were a couple, Caroline and Jan from Ireland and Belgium respectively, so half way there, kind of. They actually lived in France somewhere and were on a short jaunt around the area. They invited me to join them which I willingly did, there is always room for more food when you are completing a périple. It was amazing to chat with actual people over actual food in an actual restaurant for an hour or so. They were keen cyclists and I could see a glint in their eye when I talked about my journey, but they were young professionals. Caroline had the same accent as some of my Irish family, which made me feel good. She was a bit confused at first as her eyes flickered over my top, complete with Slovenian flag on the left arm which dated from a rowing training camp a couple of years back at the gorgeous Lake Bled.
Packing this top along with another plain black wicking top and my trusty black fleece had proved inspired. I just didn’t fancy the idea of spending 3 months wearing your traditional lycra cycling tops, those ones with the pockets at the back for handy things like bananas and pumps. There is only so much lycra a man can wear every single day and seeing as padded shorts are a must, anything to avoid those MAMIL defining tops was welcome. I had actually spent a small fortune on merino wool tops as well but had sent them home. They are excellent, even if it sounds mad to be wearing wool as a cycle top, although I just felt more comfortable in my tried and trusted t-shirts and fleece that had accompanied me during my Camino trip the year before.
This evening was a magical moment. I took the bike for a spin around the ramparts and the sunset was astounding. Everyone was out, younger kids playing, older kids hanging out, couples, families – everyone smiling, and I remember a small house I had seen earlier that day with a garden that looked v stylish. As I walked past again, two guys there just having dinner and must have been loving the view. God loves the Gays.
That night I got a message from my sister-in-law, who has started following me on Polar Steps. She asked the question whether I felt lonely or alone. As I lay back in my tent, watching the very last vestiges of daylight disappear from my open flysheet-with-a-view, I can honestly say I felt neither. For the first time I can remember in ages, I felt deeply, spiritually content.
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