Étape 18, 399km from Canterbury, 24 walking days
I left my wild camping spot in a cherry and apple orchard next to Cessières-Suzy cemetery after 10am. Just before midday I caught my first sight of Laon (pronounced “Lon”), the medieval city atop its hilltop ridge. I could make out the towers of the 12-13th century Gothic cathedral. I had wondered how I would feel seeing it again, having travelled ahead by train on my séjour to Germany a few weeks ago. Would I feel a second visit to Laon was worth less? Had I given myself spoilers?
I was certainly not expecting to feel as emotionally moved as I did. I remembered how far the journey from Saint Quentin to Laon had taken, via a rail replacement bus service from Tergnier which criss-crossed the canal I later walked along with my battalion of mosquitos. As I walked towards the ancient city, once capital of France, rising from the plain of wheat, oil seed, and sugar beet fields, I had a sense of how far I had travelled into France - from the coast - from Canterbury! - using the power of my body alone.
It took another three hours to reach the cathedral - it was still a long way, and I had to stop at the first boulangerie I found at the foot of the hill. After two days in the wilderness and a breakfast of peanuts and chocolate, I was desperate for baked goods.
The monumental staircase, les “escaliers municipal” began opposite the train station. A man, looking at my backpack, wished me a friendly but ominous “bon courage!”. An information board at the foot of the steps ended the English translation maliciously: “The municipal stairs is particularly appreciated for the real pleasure it provides to all”. “I’ll be the judge of that”, I thought, “and at the top, not at the bottom”. 265 steps and nearly 100 metres in height later - about twice that of Goodge Street tube station which in the years BC (before Covid) I used to climb every morning - I was up in the fortified city. I was rather too sweaty to notice any real pleasure I had received from my climb. Immediately seeking ice-cream, I looked so hard at the flavours in the window that I smacked my head on the glass, to the amusement of a crowd behind me.
After spending more time around the dead than the living of late I was glad to be back amongst people. The longest conversation I’d had before lunch was with a small herd of cows, who had a cream bathtub for a drinking trough. I stopped by the Mairie to have my credentiel stamped, and chatted to the team about which pilgrims had passed and when. I flirted with the person in the magic emporium, and I admired the street art in the Ruelle des Neufliers with a passing Belgian who was exploring the area. When I asked a pharmacist to point me towards the dental floss, she gave me a tour of the full range. “There are so many varieties these days, it’s like yoghurts”, she explained. ”This one expands between the teeth. And this one’s black! Some people like to see what they’ve produced”.
I stayed two nights in Laon to eat and rest, and I visited the cathedral several times each day to study how the changing light illuminated the white stone and the stained glass. The last time I was here I felt compelled, as a passing pilgrim, to join an ongoing Mass, but it was so long and incomprehensible, and most of it required standing up on my sore foot, so I soon escaped and went for lunch. This time there were thankfully no coinciding services, and I felt my private visits in the empty space of one of France’s most beautiful monuments were altogether more peaceful and contemplative.
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Previous posts:
Via Francigena: Arras to Péronne (étapes 13-14)
Via Francigena: Saint Quentin to Tergnier (étape 17)
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