Day 9: Houdain to Arras

April 22, 2019

I was ready to leave at our arranged time of 9:30am, but I didn’t see Bernard or Chantal, and I didn’t want to bother them, so tentatively called outand no one responded, so I opened the gate to leave and they came out to wish me a bonne route. They were so happy that I had been pleased with the accommodations that Bernard got teary. ❤ They kissed me goodbye and I was off!

The route turned left into the village park, and from there it was mostly rural paths (with lots of hills) with brief flashes of small villages. The Monday after Easter is still a major holiday in France (at least according to Bernard), and for the better part of the morning I was walking against masses of bicyclists. The route through the hills seems to be the perfect workout for local cycling groups. It was fun having a woosh of air and a cacophony of “bonjours” ring out regularly (until it got a little tiresome 🙂 ).

This is one of many areas in France that experienced a lot of trauma during WW1. There are war cemeteries all around. One of many monuments (below) is what remains of the Mount-Saint-Eloi Abbey. The French used the high view from the abbey towers as a base to scout German movement. The Germans discovered the French were there, and they bombed the abbey (1915) and this is what remains (many of the soldiers who died in the bombing are buried in nearby Ecoivres [remember this village, there’s a story later]). France declared what remains of the abbey a historical monument in 1921.

I stopped in Ecoivres to take my shoes and socks off and rest. I knew I was going to have a hard time getting to Arras. It’s not the distance or my muscles that bother me. I’m starting to get worried about my feet. There are very bad blisters on the bottoms by the toes. I alternate shoes and socks regularly and keep them as dry as I can, but it’s painful.

About 10 minutes outside Marœuil a couple (Marie and Jean-Paul if my memory is accurate) stopped me and asked where I was walking. I tried to tell them Arras for the day but Rome ultimately, but I’m not sure if they understood. When they found out I was American, they asked which state I came from (I always tell people Pennsylvania because it feels most like my state and I was born there). Jean-Paul loves America. They’ve been 8 times (to Oregon, Louisiana twice, Oklahoma twice, Florida twice, and Virginia). He has many friends there. I asked him how he came to be a fan. He said that when he was little, every Sunday after church his father would take them to go to different graves of fallen American soldiers to pay their respects.

Remember Ecoivres? He said there is a single American buried there. His name is Kenneth Weeks. He is from Boston and was studying writing in Paris when he joined the French Foreign Legion to fight in the war. Jean-Paul says someone from the town always makes sure to maintain/replace the American flag on his grave when needed. When I said I didn’t see the grave while I passed through, he insisted I turn back around and go. Marie scolded him in French clearly pointing to my bag.

He said he understood. They both hugged me, Marie asked me to spell my name, and wished me a ‘bonne route’ and went on their way to Marœuil.

Then this happened:

For the record: he didn’t cross the road. He ran around in circles and then went back the way he came. 🙂

After I left that park pictured above, it was about 4 km through the suburban outskirts of Arras to get to the city center. I was limping on the blisters and looking forward to checking in.

I’m in a third story walk-up apartment across from the Arras cathedral. I called M and showered and went to bed. I’m looking forward spending some time in Arras.