Day 11. September 4, 2026. La Haye-Pesnel to Genêts. 18 kms

 The world is too much with us, late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our power.

Little we see in nature that is ours,

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon.

I begin with another bit of Wordsworth. How prescient he was! At the beginning of the 19th century he was lamenting the rise of commercialism and the loss of man’s bond with natural world. On this walk, I have been communing with nature.

Of course it wasn’t long before I was walking down another sunken road with a field above my head on either side. This road was wide enough, but I woke up last night wondering about the narrow lanes that were just wide enough for a single horse and carriage. What happened if two parties should meet? One horse could hardly back up to allow the other to pass. And then the answer came to me. Of course, they would never have to pass each other because only the Lord of the Manor would drive a carriage on his domain.

Certainly, I was walking on ancient roads which led pilgrims to Mont-Saint-Michel and on to Santiago.

What happened of course was that in modern time these ancient roads became paved over, and only when it was convenient or necessary for the modern engineers to take a detour would the ancient road survive. There is a good example of this in the photo.

Yesterday I came upon a part of the ancient way that had been washed away by the rain, exposing layers of stone and history. A little later on, I observed a sign warning fools on ATVs to ride slowly and not wipe out this history. And speaking of fools:

Last night, courtesy of my genial hosts, I had moules frites for supper. How tiny were the mussels, victim of the warm seas this year around Normandy!

O tiny mussel minuscule,

On thee it’s difficult to drool.

Victim of intemperate fools

Who think the climate theirs to rule.

In case you’re wondering why I lapse into doggerel from time to time:

It serves to pass the time on lonely roads

And helps to ease the pain of heavy loads.

However, doggerelling can have its consequences. Somehow I missed a marker and found myself a couple of kilometres off track. 

However, I arrived out at the village of Montviron and had a nice café crème. At La Butte Es Grosse I thought I should resist the plat de jour à 9€, and at Bacilly I sat down next to the church and settled for my last chunk of saucisson de Lyon. It is a magnificent beast, this sausage: singular, solid, salty and savoury. Grace à mes amis Paul et Michelle, the saucisson has sustained me on walks before and I bid it farewell with thanks.

Ode on a Sausage

Each day at noon

I find it a boon

To gnaw at my sausage from Lyon.

This amorphous mass

Appears rather crass

But its meat would please the Pan-theon.

It’s a shape quite absurd,

Like a fossilized turd,

Its brown and white skin is quite scabulous,

But I have to admit

I enjoy every bit,

For the taste of this sausage is fabulous.

Only four kilometres to Genets said the sign. I chose this little road because it led past a place called l’Enfer. I wondered if I might see the diable, but when I arrived he was nowhere to be seen. In the yard was a van that specialized in Toilettage Mobile. Nothing hellish in that. On the contrary! In any case, I have it on good authority that the devil has now manifested himself in AI.

I’ve decided that my poles don’t clang, they clack.

Oh my feet do they clump and my poles do they clack,

And my pack it lies heavily down on my back.

And at times I feel like I’m stretched on the rack

And my body grows weary, alas and alack,

But the last kilometers, I think I can hack

For the beer at the end that I long to attack!

Alas, the bar was closed when I arrived, but I foraged around, and a nice girl at the boulangerie sold me a Steampunk IPA, and even opened it for me. Ice cold, it was a good substitute for the draught beer I had expected.

Tomorrow, I walk to the Mont-Saint-Michel.