Bapaume

I slept and woke very early, took breakfast, and went to ask the woman on staff if she would call the parish in Bapaume to let them know I was coming and – if possible – let me sleep on the floor. We left a message.

So I stumbled through Arras in the dawn looking for the day’s provisions. I stumbled for two hours in Arras in the dawn because, I learned again, nothing in France opens until relatively late. 

It was slow and depressing goings out of the minor sprawl of Arras and slower more depressing goings once I hit the countryside. The sky was overcast all day and the roads were rather boring so the mood never changed, like a movie with only once scene played on repeat. Many massive farms, few wooded sections, and at one point I may have passed an abattoir – in any case, I heard animals screaming inside.

About an hour into the walk, the pain in my toes became too much, so I strapped the boots to my pack and wore sandals all day. Miraculously, it worked – I have new blisters now, but the old ones are hibernating.

Also, I shouldn’t say the walk was all boring. I saw more shrines today than any other day, including one with a VF mark inside, along with a notebook signed by pilgrims who have passed through. The rest of the shrines were eerily locked, ridden with weeds and insects and dead birds, and if you peer through the cracks you can see Mary’s face and body weather-worn and falling to bits. These were all in use at some point – being part of this line of walkers, even as a “traveller in an antique land,” gave me inspiration of some kind.

I reached Bapaume and crossed a few men backing a camion into a warehouse. They asked me where I was going. When I said Rome, they asked if I was going to meet the pope. Maybe, I said to them, but probably not because I don’t know when he is in. They wished me”Bon courage!”

My intended accommodation was awkwardly placed beside a high school that was just being let out and I got dozens of odd looks walking by. A note to future pilgrims: letting people know you’re a pilgrim is great, but carrying a long stick as a walking pole and having grass in your hair and otherwise being a “traveller in an antique land” will get you lots of attention whether positive or not.

Anyway, the building was closed so I was left without a place to stay. Still fairly early, I went into the town centre (well, the centre of the large village) and found a tourist information building. I did not expect it, but I imagine it exists because of the amount of WWI-oriented tourism that exists in this part of France. The woman at the desk phoned a number of people in town to get me a good deal on a place to stay. When I said I’d happily sleep in a garden and forgo a shower and any meals, she gave me an address on the outskirts of town.

When I arrived at said address, the lady who owns the house said something that I believe translates to “What youth!” and gave me tea, free roam of the house, and an offer for breakfast anyway. We had a pleasant chat over vanilla tea and biscuits and then I went outside because I’m still, indeed, sleeping in the garden amongst many squirrels. Bon courage!