Day 9 Part Two: Travellers and wide smiles

I checked the map and it confirmed that I was on a walking route. It would take me through a travellers' camp, where caravans, Transit-type vans and Mercedes were parked. All the vehicles were white, and all were spotlessly clean. I wasn't troubled by anyone but the man at the gate who was tending a ferocious fire looked wary. I gave him a big, broad smile and said, "Bonjour!" I got a grudging reply.

The wide grin is a new technique of mine for disarming the French. It's occured to me that they are unsure of me and what I'm doing. My routes take me down quiet residential roads, along farm tracks and busy highways, so I don't look like the normal tourist. I remember hearing that when travelling in far-flung parts of the world a smile gets you a long way. There's something primitive and essential about non-verbal communication and I've come to realise that when I'm nervous I can't help communicating that to those around me.

With a big smile I bid people, "Bonjour!"

They instinctively smile back, albeit with an uncertain look. My imbecilic grin seems to be working.

Approaching Tourville-la-RiviéréI saw the familiar blue and yellow sign of Ikea. At home on a bank holiday Ikea would be packed, with overflow car parks pressed into service and special motorway routes in force. Here, Ikea closes on bank holidays. It reminds me that in France recreation involves dining with one's family, in Britain it requires shopping.

In Oissel I saw nineteenth-century terraced houses, some of them four-stories of rooms around a courtyard. The bricks were dirty and the windows and doors grimy but there were families living in them.

I'd crossed the Seine again (8.5 times now) and noted how broad it had become. It was easily three times as wide as in Paris and, with its waters swollen by the Eure, was now a mighty river.

I trudged through the streets to the "Rond Point aux Vaches", which made me think of Leicester's Pork Pie Roundabout. Sure enough, but inexplicably, the Rond Point was populated with life-size plastic cows.

Last night was my first in a Hotel Premiére Classe, my preferred French budget hotel. Unlike the more common Formule 1, Premiére Classe rooms have their own showers and toilets and, best of all, free wifi.

This was a real blessing as I've been spending far more than I'd planned on internet access through my phone. It's been strangely unpredicatable; some days I've spent less than a pound, on others it's been fifteen pounds. I think that in the rural areas the signal is patchy and that I'm charged each time a connection is made, whereas in the city the connection holds for a long time. I'm still not certain though.

I dined at the neighbouring hotel on white fish (not sure of the exact variety) and rice, which made a welcome change from chips. This was accompanied by a very quaffable carafe of Vin de Pays Rouge.

At the till I got talking with a family from Rotheram, who were setting off on a six-week holiday in the south of France. I swapped email addresses with Melanie, who I hope might be able to read the blog later today (send me a comment Melanie, if you can).

It was great to talk with Jennifer, who is beginning a week-long holiday with two of her friends in Malaga. She must have flown above me during the day. Never has our family been so scattered.

My walking verse for Day 9 was 1 Kings 8.23, [Solomon] said, "O Lord, god of Israel, there is no god like you in heaven above or on earth beneath, keeping covenant and steadfast love for your servants who walk before you with all their heart."

Lord, thank you for the steadfastness of your love, which remains constant. Let all my walking for you be wholehearted. Amen.