For today rain and strong wind predicted. And what did the weather gods offer us? Dry all day and no wind ! This was also necessary, because Uncle Harry has caught a little ” rume ” (French for cold ) a couple of nights ago . And not really caught, though! I woke up and realized I did not have enough blankets. That’s why. O.K., Then I’ll just use a shawl .
Once more about yesterday. I’m writing a bit chaotic may be.
I’ll tell you how things usually go: In the afternoon or evening I arrive tired, weak with hunger; cold; dirty, wet hands of holding the horse’s guide rope. Unpacking the horse, tying the rope, charging all the electronic devices, preparing the food for the evening, possibly showering, checking tomorrow’s route. And then just before sleeping quickly, quickly type my day report without having time for rereading it again. Well , my blog doesn’t have to be literature. For me it is a kind of diary, a way of contacting the outside world, a report for Mama Alice. N.B. Mama Alice I mention here from time to time hoping it will not be forgotten !!
About today, not much fascinating to report . Surely it was a long run, with only a short break in a cafeteria. The animals were tied to a bench again at the church square. See picture. In the pub the usual question “where is the journey going? Pilgrim?” My usual brief explanation. Some oh’s and ah’s. The landlady was a 50-er, wearing a mini denim skirt and underneath she wore black leggings with some fancy pattern. I didn’t pay too much attention to that. A few tattoos on the arms. Funny. Indeed she kept the discussion going, because the other dull couple that was present said nothing but “bonjour”. Along the way I made a few pictures of typical castle hills, in Dutch called a “motte” at least, according to the explanation sign in front of it. Just like in Gulpen, the Kieuwegracht. Furthermore, except for chickens, nobody to be seen en route. Therefore, the extra day was enlivened by phone calls from cousin Miel, Arjan, sms from Vijlen, SMS from Jan in Spain. And that was it for today.
[Caption id = “attachment_99979” align = “align none” width = “300”] 
pub [/ caption] 
tatou cafe proprietor does not show well [/ caption] 
animals waiting outside in square [/ caption]
Fortunately I finally got in the pretty village of Cluis. Now still only a few km. more to the medieval Mouhers. From Mouhers it still is 1.5 km more to the hamlet of Beauvois. There, I once again asked a farmer the way. 1 km or more, at the end of the road, he said. Fortunately at the end of the road this “town” Beauvois proved to really exist. But the road to Cluis is very long. So now I’m past Bonavois, past Mouhers, past Cluis, at the Thoonsens’ family, a farm out in the middle of nowhere. A lovely isolated cottage with everything at it, with lots of meadows and playgrounds for children, although nothing to play for me. But good grass for Leon. The boss, Mr. Thoonen, came to my appartment to make acquaintance. His parents emigrated in 1946 from their farm in Neerbos Nijmegen in the Netherlands to France, because here was more space. But Thoonen is completely Frenchman, only large and with blue eyes, probably like his Dutch parents. Tomorrow I’ll be again with a Dutch family. It seems like half of France consists of non-French inhabitants. Xenofobia will be difficult then.
For a change I read my blog again and after a false finger movement all text is gone. “Verdulleme” (Darn) would be the carefull curse of our former prime minister van Agt. Again 30 minutes of typing lost. To hell. But, quoting Czech writer and politician Watzlac Havel, when asked how he looks back at his long stay in jail as a political prisonor: nothing in life is in vain.
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