A Tale of Two Cathedrals

I know that I am supposed to be en route to Italy and not meandering around mediaeval France anymore, but I hope you will allow me a little detour here and there for some cathedral wandering. Laon is amazing: early Gothic (12th century) and an influence on Chartres, Reims, Amiens...all of the others, really. It stands on the top of a hill and from a distance has something of the Bram Stoker / Whitby Abbey about it. Gaunt and faintly skeletal open towers looming over the southern plains, built in dark stone to make it even more, well, Gothic (in the romantic sense of the word). But inside it is stunning: very light and clean and airy. Apparently influenced by the Cistercians (those ascetic types who believed in a life of work as a route to God). I don't usually go for Cistercian stuff coz its just a bit too pure, joyless and austere for my tastes, but Laon is utterly harmonius. Also, despite the hoards outside, it was completely quiet so I got to sit and contemplate nothing very much at all, which is more or less my favourite pastime on these journeys.

Reims by contrast, was absolutely massive: monumental columns in a dark and narrow nave. No wonder the church was pleased to have this as the site of coronation for over 1000 years; since Clovis in the 7th century, I believe. I defy even the most vainglorious French Kings, (in what is a pretty long list), not to be humble before God in such an imposing place. But the rest of the town is pretty crappy: the war again, I'm afraid. Oh, and 1960s architecture.

Anyway, now, after a short sprint down the Marne, and a slightly longer slog over the rolling former wheat fields of Champagne (not all grapes, you know) I am on the borders of Lorraine: in Joinville. The birth place of the tiresome teenager Joan of Arc is just down the road, but after several up and down yomps across the grain of the land and 100+km of cycling, I have called it a day. I am holed up in a tiny hotel whose carpet is thinned and colourless with age but the bath is huge - a great deep iron footed job. It is also a place where my presence in this bar/tabac playing constant 80s music (the Police at the mo, in case you're intrested. Walking on the moon. Aha 'the sun always shines on TV when I came in, which as friends will understand; felt like fate after my long lasting school girl crush on Horton Market.) is beginning to occasion lots of remark. I envisage a jolly evening explaining what on earth I am doing to lots of incredulous old men in the bar of my hotel. Ah, the joys of long distance cycling. Still; tomorrow is going to be fun: following a piste cyclable all the way to Langres...then I will finally leave Champagne, which is definitely a Good Thing (or would be if I weren't entering the beginnings of the Jura). Must go. They are starting to play French music and there's only so much I of Jonny Halliday I can stand.

Cheers!

Vittoria (I met some Italian pilgrims also cycling this way and hence this is now my name)