Pilgrim's Progress – Long Distance Walks in Europe and the UK

There’s a Divinity that shapes our ends,                                          Rough hew them how we will

William Shakespeare – Hamlet Act 5, Scene 2

It was 6.30pm, I was sitting in a shelter outside a church with thunder and lightning directly overhead. I was some way from where I thought I was spending the night, my phone battery was about to expire, and Agnes, my host for the night, who had rung me an hour earlier to say that she was on the way to pick me up, was nowhere to be seen.

The day had begun well. On paper it should have been a doddle – a 24km jaunt from Yenne to Saint Genix-sur-Guiers. What could possibly go wrong?

My night under canvas had been far from a disaster. Despite the campsite being adjacent to a major arterial route through Haute-Savoie, my earplugs had reduced the worst noise from the thundering traffic which continued throughout the night. It hadn’t been the perfect night – my temperamental air mattress had developed a slow puncture, but I managed to get a few hours kip.

Thinking that the day’s walk would be a doddle, I ambled into town to check out the pain au chocolat selection in Yenne’s boulangeries.

For a smallish town, Yenne seemed to have an awful lot of boulangeries. I counted five! The explanation lies in a local patisserie called ‘le gâteau de Savoie’.

Invented in the 14th century, the cake’s moist and light texture is due to the amount of beaten egg whites used in the recipe. It is still popular today, judging from tbe number of boulangeries in Yenne.

Tempting though it was to sample some of Yenne’s famous cake, I settled for a pain au chocolat and headed out of the campsite shortly after 8am.

The next few hours proved a rude awakening – a series of lung busting ascents that reminded me quite how out of condition I am.

I passed a chapel on the hillside dedicated to Our Lady of Notre Dame. It was erected in the late 19th century to celebrate Haute Savoie’s annexation by France and to provide protection against disasters – Yenne had been ravaged by fires in the years before it’s annexation by France in 1860. 6,000 locals gathered here on the 16th July 1866 to celebrate its inauguration.

Whoever, designed the route of the GR65 between Yenne and Saint Genix-sur-Guiers, must have had a macabre sense of humour. The arduous ascents, switch backs, and precipitous descents continued for a good couple of hours. By 11am I was feeling distinctly knackered and any illusions that the day was going to be a cake walk, had completely evaporated.

If the arduous route wasn’t enough of a challenge, the appearance of a monstrous tree dragging machine added an unwelcome element to the equation – thick mud and the risk of being crushed by one of the logs as I trudged behind in its wake.

Eventually the path evolved  from the rocky granite escarpments flanking the Rhone and descended to a more  benign pastoral landscape.

In the hamlet of Gresin, there was even tbe welcome surprise of a decrepit barn which had been converted into a welcome pit stop for weary pilgrims. Help yourself cold beers, cake and coffee were available for loose change.

When I eventially reached my destination for the day (Saint Genix-sur-Guiers) shortly after 3pm, I was feeling modestly pleased with myself. Ok- I had only covered 22km in the best part of 7 hours, but I’d traversed some pretty challenging terrain without suffering from a fatal heart attack. Now all I had to do was find my digs for the night. This turned out to be easier said than done!

When you select somebody to host you for the night, apart from their name, you have no idea of what awaits you. The Via Gebennensis is so infrequently walked, that there doesn’t seem to be any quality control system. It’s basically, pot luck!

I crossed the bridge from Saint Genix-sur-Guiers and tried to locate the address indicated in my guide book – 99 Chemin de Neuf. The problem was that there wasn’t any street called Chemin de Neuf!

I texted Agnes and asked for details of how to get to her house. She replied that I needed to go via Romagnieu – a village 4km away! This struck me as a bit odd, but I didn’t quibble. The afternoon was still young, so I headed off in search of a supermarket some 2km down the road.

Revitalised by some diet coke, sliced carrots and tinned mackerel, I headed off towards Romagnieu as Agnes had offered to pick me up by the church there.

When I got to Romagnieu, there was no sign of a road called Chemin de Neuf, there was no sign of Agnes who was not replying to my text messages. To make matters worse, I could hear distant thunder, and see a bank of ominous black clouds heading rapidly in my direction.

Eventially the heavens opened and a torrential deluge broke out which continued for 30 minutes. There was still no sign if Agnes, whom I suspected must be a slightly hair brained elderly spinster.

Eventually Agnes did arrive and apologised profusely for not answering my text messages – it transpired that her phone battery had expired! 

As we motored out of Romagnieu in the lashing rain, Agnes divulged that she  no longer ĺived in Saint Genix-sur-Guiers but had moved 10km away to a village called Les Abrets.It also turned out that far from being an elderly spinster she was in her early 30s with a young son whom she had just picked up from school!

She dropped me off at the house she owned in Les Abrets, briefly introduced me to a Polish pilgrim who was also staying the night and then left for the night, leaving us to our own devices.

I could see my evening of honing my French language skills was going to go up in smoke. The Polish pilgrim, who was walking from Poland to Compostella, didn’t speak a word of French or English and disappeared off to bed, shortly after I arrived!

To give her her due, Agnes had kindly prepared a courgette tart which I heated up in the oven and rapidly devoured. There was also the remnants of some wine in a bottle in the fridge which I poured into a glass and gulped down. It was only when I inspected the bottom of the glass and looked at what I had thought was the sediment that I saw it was something else entirely – a swarm of flying ants which had somehow made their way into the wine bottle and expired!

Yes, I thought to myself, as,I headed up to bed, it had been a funny old day!