Day 5 Taking a wrong turn

Day 5 turned out to be even longer than I'd planned, thanks to a navigational blunder that added an hour and a half of plodding. But even with this, and despite a soaking, day five turned out to be the best so far.

I know exactly where I went wrong. It was the moment I came out of the corner shop, clutching a can of pop and looking for somewhere to sit. I spotted a bench outside the Mairie in the dismal town of Rosny-sur-Seine and thought about how good it would feel to take off my boots.
I'd satisfied my newly acquired taste for sugar with a can of something tropical, so perhaps it was the sugar-rush that made me set off again in completely the wrong direction. I had really enjoyed getting into the walk, having been on the road already for a couple of hours and everything seemed to be ticking along nicely.

It was only after I puzzled over an advertising billboard for a restaurant in Mantes, where I began the day's journey, that I realised that things had gone wrong.

I'm normally pretty good at knowing which way I'm heading but today the sky was overcast and I had no clue where the sun was. I checked the map and found that I'd been walking for a good 45 minutes in completely the wrong direction.

The day was already due to be the longest so far at seventeen miles and with an inadvertent diversion was now probably going to be the longest of the whole walk.

Never mind, I was in good spirits as I headed back into miserable Rosny and remembering how exhausted I felt circling Rutland Water without a decent break a few months ago I decided that I should stop for lunch. I saw a decent boulangerie when I passed through for the first time and considered yet another baguette. Then I spotted a Greek kebab house. Perfect.

The menu on the wall showed faded pictures of every variety of kebab imaginable. I settled for what I knew. Paler and even fattier than those in Oadby's chip shops, the glistening doner kebab oozed irresistably on its spit.

The comedy moment came when the kebab man asked if I wanted all the salad options. Next to me stood another customer and his son and they saw me struggle to explain. "He's not French", said the customer to the kebab man. I smiled, and pointed to the onions, which I didn't particularly want. "Sans... "I struggled to remember the word. I tried a bit of Franglais, "Sans onions" then added weakly, "En françrmous kebab and chips. I polished off the lot.
It was a good move. I'm finding it much better to eat a larger meal in the day and to snack at night. Not only does it give me energy when I need it but it can be tricky to find a restaurant near the Formule 1 hotels.

I left Rosny for a second time and walked an hour to the even more worn-out Rolleboise. These towns along the Seine are on the old trunk road but now that the A13 motorway takes nearly all the through traffic their restaurants, hotels and shops have almost all closed.
Bonnieres-sur-Seine was a little prettier and Bennecourt, across the river and off the old main road, even better.

A tractor pulled off the road in front of me and into a field of barley and rape. It unfurled its spraying booms like some insect and began to discharge its pesticide as it set off. I was only yards away and had to walk through the mist, so clutched a handkerchief to my face.
After Bonnieres, I walked uphill on a quiet road towards Limetz. This was more like it. The hills and valleys stretched out before me, cows grazed in the fields and for the first time on my walk the sound of the wind in the fresh leaves of the trees was the loudest thing I heard.
Limetz is a pretty villlage with narrow streets and an ancient church. I felt I'd entered rural France.

From Limetz I took the road to Giverny, where the impressionist painter Claude Monet made his home. Apparently Monet was riding on a train and saw the beautiful village from the window and resolved to settle there. He built a house, planted extensive gardens and painted many of his most famous works there, including the paintings of water lilies in the lake fed by the River Epte.
I entered Giverney at what I thought was Monet's back garden. Through the fence I glimpsed wonderful lawns, the flowing stream and many willows. It looked idyllic.

As I turned the corner, I took a photograph of the magnificent house. Only later did I realise that this wasn't Monet's house at all. His was on the opposite side of the road from his famous garden and wasn't half as attractive. I fancied that the owner of the first house was a better gardener than Monet but couldn't paint for toffee.

I snapped a picture of the Monet residence and the placque outside. For some reason, both dates had been engraved incorrectly and clumsily rectified.

What I couldn't understand was Monet's choice of colour scheme. His house is a garish shade of pink, the same as the bizarre house on Gartree Road in Oadby. I wondered why a genius with the palette would get it so wrong with a 7" brush and masonry paint.

Monet's home and gardens are now open to the public, though I didn't have time to visit. It was late in the day and I still had a long way to go. But I was surprised at how few visitors there were; just one coach and a handful of cars. It seemed the perfect time of year to visit, when the leaves are of so many subtle shades and everything is lush and growing. The gentle drizzle that fell lent everthing a special tranquility and brought fresh scents from the flowers.
Walking the old railway I thought of Monet on his train during his first visit. It is a charming place.

The path brought me all the way into Vernon, where they make the rocket engines that power the mighty Ariane. Apparently the town was first mentioned by Pepin the Short, King of the Franks, in 750. (Surely it's hard to take seriously someone by the name of 'Pepin the Short' - wasn't there lots of sniggering in the court?)

Even though its a big place Vernon still has a sense of history and a confidence now lost on the bypassed towns I saw earlier in the day.

As I shopped for supplies (at Lidl), the rain turned from steady to torrential. The walk to the hotel took fifty minutes and I was drenched when I got to reception. The man at the desk was very kind and when I asked for the most peaceful room, obliged happily.

I put in 20 miles during the day. That's 65 altogether so far.

Today's walking verse was Leviticus 26.13, "I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be their slaves no more; I have broken the bars of your yoke and made you walk erect."

During the day I'd been pondering captivity and liberty and thought of the escaped prisoners of war and airmen shot down in these fields of northern France. They had to travel by night without the GPS and maps that I had. All the time their one goal was to get home. They were already free, in a sense, but their liberty wouldn't be fully realised until they were home.
The Israelites had been delivered from slavery in Egypt but at what moment, if ever, were they truly liberated?

Lord, free me from all that restricts my living for you and help me be an agent of your liberation in the world. Amen.