At Vezelay finally vineyards. It remains a lovely, quiet landscape with villages that seem to date from my grandparents’ time. Because I will be left alone a lot because of my companions, I muse again about the loss of a more than 1000 years old farming culture, a bit of my hobby. In Roman times 

Breakfast at 7.30 am. Then getting Tosca out of the garage, where she slept on the blanket that is familiar to her, the blanket that during the day is on the back of the horse under the saddle. Only, about every night Tosca bites at least one new hole in it, or bites a patch 

All day rain. The administrator of our pilgrims accommodation this morning came to us and made a great effort to say goodbye. But of the addresses that were offered to us last night, so those of sister-in-law Lilian and the naturists address of my collegue Marietje, no one had responded. Only at the English B 

This morning my landlord-widower mr. Henri had put my coffee, baguette, some butter and jam on the table early morning. I complimented him on the neat care of everything: bed, beautifully pleated sheets, a decorative pillow. I do all by myself, he said. Children live far away: in Lille and Paris. Hardly any jobs. Everyone 

The day started with a more or less typical French breakfast. She had put bread on the table and a liter of milk ( picture). The bread I completely finished. I took the rest of the milk with me. To cover my bones’ need for chalk. Right at the moment that I wanted to go 

Snow predicted for today. Indeed, a few flakes, but all day the sky was gray. No sun. A few times I was tempted to deviate from my self-sought road lanes, and to follow the official Santiago route, but when I see the muddy St. Jacques route, I’d rather follow my own plan. I took the 

It’s getting late, so I will be brief. Tonight frost. After the cheap breakfast I immediately went to the baker’s to fill my stomach. Next thing to do was pnning money and on the move. Nice weather, even pleasant around noon. Partly I followed the regular small roads, partly the Santiago itinerary. The latter one 

Yesterday evening the indwelling son came in to say hello. I estimated him around 50. He did some fuzzing in the green house. My kitchen window yealded to the greenhouse. Tosca immediately started barking. I said, Entrez, and he did. Some chatting about his donkey: a cross between the almost extinct longhair Poitou donkey and 

In the morning it takes me 1.5 hours between alarm and departure. That time is not primarely occupied by my makeup, but rather in organizing everything, sweeping my cottage, packing horse Leon, saddling, . This morning after nearly 2 hours, at 8.45 am., I finally was ready. Landlady Chantalle showed me a shortcut, viz. through