50ccPilgrim.uk

After a fairly wild and long day: Vespers, a simple meal, Compline. The services are in French, but if you're familiar with the liturgy you can pray along anyway. The words are already there, deep inside. And now silence. Peace. ///wiser.citadel.harmonica

Behold, Rocinante at the top of the Great St Bernard's Pass: crossing point of the Alps and 8,114ft above sea level. That's L'Hospice Grand-Saint-Bernard in the background.  Getting here was ... let's say, an adventure. Once I started climbing the pass (from 2,000ft in Martigny) Rocinante began to find the going harder and harder. The road becomes increasingly steep, and as the air thinned she got slower and slower. It took us an hour and a half to cover the 40km or so to the point where the road forks, going left through the tunnel to Italy or right up to the pass. I turned right. Rocinante spluttered and coughed but soldiered on. The huge question in my mind was: is it actually possibly to get a little 50cc scooter over the top of the Alps? Turns out the answer is yes, if (a) you've got a lot of time and patience, (b) you're prepared to get very wet when the day you choose to go over it's raining, and (c) when the bike finally can't manage ...

In another glorious moment of serendipity I arrived at the Abbaye de Saint-Maurice shortly before the Saturday morning mass.  The abbey has an astonishing history. It seems there's been some kind of praying community here since the early fourth century, and the present community was founded in 515 and named in memory of Saint Maurice and the Theban Legion (a group of Christian Roman soldiers who were executed / massacred when they refused to renounce their faith). For the first few centuries they practiced the laus perennis : the ancient name for 24/7 prayer. For centuries! Then they calmed down a bit and for the last millennium or so they've had the usual round of monastic daily prayers. And get this: the service was entirely sung, in French and Latin, to the traditional ancient Georgian chant melodies. I prayed in this amazingly beautiful church with a community who've been praying constantly for 1,500 years and then some, singing chants that have been part of...

"The one place in Middle-earth we don't want to see any closer," said Sam to Frodo in The Lord of the Rings when they saw the looming mountainous wall of Mordor in the distance, "and the one place we're trying to get to." I spent a pleasant morning rounding the southern edge of Lake Geneva, stopping briefly in Évians-les-Bains where the spring water comes from. And now this is the road ahead. One more brief stop before the Alps. It's daunting, this close up. Let's see what today brings. People sometimes comment on the What3Words links at the bottom of these posts - they are just random words to locate a spot on the earth, but sometimes they seem quite apt. Here's today's: ///harder.toolbar.activates

After the cathedral I went for a stroll and found myself passing Le Temple de la Saint-Madeleine, a former Catholic church which is now Protestant. I put my nose through the door, not intending to stay - I was heading for a walk along the shore of Lake Geneva. What a peculiar and wonderful church. There were pews and chairs, sofas, armchairs, even three deckchairs (I kid you not). The architecture was medieval but alongside a modern sound system, glass panels separating various rooms and chapels, a grand piano at the front, and a coffee area at the back. As if that weren't enough there was even aa fabulous collection of Orthodox icons in a side chapel, as the congregation had kindly offered to share the building with a Bulgarian congregation. Staffing the coffee area I met Phillip, a deacon (on the right in the photo) and his friend Rudolf, a retired pastor who has been ministering in Geneva since the late 1970s. We chatted about the Reformation, the church, my pilgrima...

No sooner had I written the previous post about how spartan and bare the cathedral felt than I stepped into the riot of colour and decoration that is the Maccabees Chapel, a side chapel near the cathedral door. What really caught my eye, though, was an inscription high above the pulpit in glowing golden letters (which you can see on the right side of the photo): Post Tenebras Lux, which means After darkness, light . I'm making this pilgrimage, in part, in response to a bunch of mental health problems I've had over the last couple of years (and affected by a history of similar issues through the years). I'm hoping to recover some peace, calm, stability - and I found those words so hugely encouraging. And I guess I'm not alone: I saw them painted on the back of a lorry that passed me on the road here! Can I just say, if you're struggling with mental health issues too, you could let me pray for you: just email me on 50ccpilgrim@gmail.com and share whatever ...

Sparse, simple, uncluttered - but also visually lean. I'm sitting in the nave of Cathédrale Saint-Pierre in Geneva which is so deeply entwined with the story of John Calvin and the Reformation. It's a stark contrast to all the French churches and cathedrals I've visited over the last ten days or so. There's no altar (although there is a communion table in the nave, underneath the huge pulpit). The great apse at the front of the church is unused now, so becomes a kind of strange void, a place where something obviously used to be. Aside from the stained glass, everything is clean lines and undistracting. But - honestly? - also boring. I prayed here, sitting up in the apse where you could remain undisturbed for ages. There is a sense of God here, but it feels like coming from a series of interesting local market town shops into Lidl's. It's plain, functional, gets the job done. But where's the soul? To all my Calvinist friends: please note that, eve...

On the bridge, just past the middle, which traverses the impressive Rhône river. To the north, the Jura mountains which we finished crossing a short while ago. To the south, the foothills of the Alps with some of the more towering peaks like grey shadows in the distance. As of this moment (11.50am local time, 10.50am UK time) I'm now in Switzerland. Just ahead of me stands the old border crossing building, abandoned and tatty. No need, of course, for passports and customs and police and whatever. Remember those days? ///joyously.elbow.intolerance

I don't have anything profound to say about this. I'm sitting watching the sun go down behind Lac de Nantua in the general direction of Montréal-la-Cluse. It's magical, and I wanted to share it with you all. So here's a couple more photos. Lakesides can make great praying places too. ///left.peelers.skips

Rocinante fought her way valiantly to the top of Col du Berthiand this afternoon, swinging through the switchbacks and hairpin bends at about 15mph while we climbed to a giddy 780m. The gradient was around 7% on the way up (10% on the descent) and she managed it, but it did give me pause for thought again about the crossing of Great Stuff Bernard's Pass in a few days time. It'll be the hardest part of the trip for my poor little bike. The climb is around 5%, but it goes on for over 40km while climbing to around 2,470m. It's not going to be easy. Still, I'm more or less committed at this point, unless I backtrack over the Juras and head south for the coast road. We're going to push on and give it a go. ///highway.occupations.nephews

Cluny Abbey was the Taizé of its day, and then some. Founded around the year 1000, it began as a fairly small and simple community, but with one great gift: precious relics of Peter and Paul. People began to visit on pilgrimage, and the community began to grow. By the high middle ages it was an immense and significant monastery with an astonishing collection of sacred objects: the rod of Moses, a piece of the true cross and of the Bethlehem crib, some of the Blessed Virgin's milk (I do find it pays not to think too hard about some of these medieval ideas...) That resulted in the construction of the biggest church in the Christian world at the time: the great Abbey Church of Cluny. Visiting it today would have been awe-inspiring if it weren't for the fact that it was torn down during the French Revolution. Iconoclasm, as usual, has a lot to answer for, in this case the destruction of a wonderful of the western world. Still, the modern visitor centre is excellent, and...

Morning prayers at Taizé. It's not even high season yet, and there are thousands of people here ... the (enormous) church was full last night and this morning. The singing was as enchanting as I'd always been told; this is one place that really lives up to expectations, and then some. Taizé is famous for the singing, and rightly so. But what I've heard less about is the silence, which is a hugely important part of the experience. Walking into the church we're 'greeted' by dozens of young volunteers holding huge signs reading 'Silence' - just as a friendly reminder. The church itself is kept impressively quiet, considering the huge number of young people here. And each service includes a long (long!) period of silence after the reading. For me, that silence, but shared silence, has been a real gift. Sitting quietly for an hour is good. But sitting in silence with other people for an hour: heavenly. ///foresight.bowlful.heavier

Sometimes you just stumble into Paradise. I went for a short walk into Taizé village and went into the tiny Église Saint-Marie-Madeleine. Incredibly simple: bare walls, stone floor, wooden benches and a small, plain altar.  The acoustics were amazing. At one point five young people came in, clearly interested in singing but holding back because I was already there. I encouraged them to go ahead, and they sang a handful of Taizé chants - in full four part harmony! - which reverberated so beautifully.  But the rest of the time, silence. And such a profound silence; in some way the incredible acoustics seemed to amplify the quiet (although don't ask me how that works). I sat for hours, praying, listening, dwelling like Elijah in the presence of the still, small voice. I wish I lived near this church ... ///stealth.arithmetic.obsessively

I've arrived at Taizé where I've been offered the opportunity to spend the night in the 'Pilgrim's Barracks' (their term, not mine!), share in a couple of meals and experience the worship. Thousands of people, particularly young people, flock to Taizé every year to experience the rich contemplative depth of the community - incidentally, demonstrating that what young people look for in a faith community is exactly the same as what older people look for: authenticity, depth, genuine spirituality, the capacity to take God seriously. Children, in my experience, respond to this too. But we're so often tempted to try to entertain them (games, food, movies, quizzes, trips) without always offering the living water they actually want.  I'm sitting in the Church right now and about to spend some time in contemplating. Boy, talk about to God in the beautiful places ... ///beverage.nesting.foresee

I wasn't planning to stop, but then very little about this pilgrimage is really planned. Église Saint-Georges (which the map called Saint-Vincent, but it seems the local folks beg to disagree) was right by the side of the road in Sercy, and the doors were wide open. An invitation, and act of hospitality. Why resist? I'm not sure how long I spent praying in this beautiful, simple and quiet village church, but it was a wonderful while. I prayed the Jesus Prayer mostly, slowly working my way along my prayer rope with no particular concern about the number of prayers - it just kept my hands occupied. I like the tactile feel of the knots; I've been associating them with prayer for so long now, just holding the rope seems to stir my heart to want to pray. ///rears.sham.draped

It seems word of this pilgrimage has really got out. Everywhere we go at the moment Rocinante and I are greeted with balloons, ribbons, bunting, and signs congratulating us on our epic tour of France. These French folks really are so sweet.  Oh, and I hear there's a bunch of cyclists pootling through tomorrow, so hopefully they'll leave it all up for them too. ///revenue.playable.assessed

You try to think of everything, preparing for a trip like this. I've been collecting together the gear I thought might be useful for months. Be prepared , as they taught me in the scouts. This morning my razor broke. My cheap, disposable razor. My one c heap disposable razor which my brain, I guess, thought would see me right during a couple of months of cross-continental travel. I brought Dante, for goodness' sake, and a pilgrim's staff, and ten  spare pencil leads. But only one  cheap disposable razor. It's not any kind of disaster, but it does make me wonder what I was thinking. In the meantime, I am both Esau and Jacob today: an hairy man and a smooth one, both at once. ///starred.basic.overnight

Travelling through the mountains in the pouring rain was more fun than I expected.  By rights, I should have been miserable. It was cold and wet. Rocinante can cope with hills, but it's slow going. There was nowhere to stop, other than to admire the views, and after a while the riding became a bit monotonous.  In fact, though, it became a series of challenges I had to work through, and it was surprisingly enjoyable. I had to shape what wet weather gear I have into suitable rain protection. I fashioned a rain projector for the GPS from a plastic bag and some duct tape (move over, MacGyver ). I had to figure out how to ride as fuel economically as possible to get over the mountains without running out of petrol. Coming down the final slopes towards Beaune felt like a huge achievement!  ///tablets.judge.alarming

Well, apologies that the posts will all be late in the day today, but I spent most of the day crossing the mountains into Bourgogne (Burgundy) in the rain, trying to keep moving, and usually not having much of a signal. Not great blogging conditions!  I took the photo of me with a half naked lady at the source of the Seine; it was only an hour from where I stayed last night, so it seemed worth the trip. There's a park around it, in the middle of nowhere, bought by the city of Paris under Napoleon and turned into a kind of national shrine. Not very big, but certainly worth calling in.  Around the time of Vatican II there was a significant influence at work right across the Catholic church: ressourcement.  Going back to the sources. Biblical scholars went back to the original Hebrew and Greek scriptures. Religious orders returned to the Rules of their founders. Layers of later accretions were peeled away in a search for the original inspiration behind the faith....

  I've posted a lot of photos over the past week alongside some comment or other that says, "I prayed here." Which is true, and it's been a tremendous gift and blessing. What I've not written too is "I slept here," although most of the time it would have been equally true. Another of my companions on this pilgrimage, helping to make things just a little more challenging, is hypersomnia: a condition not unlike narcolepsy that causes me to fall asleep all the time, at unexpected moments, and sometimes without warning. Unlike my autism this is a fairly new thing for me; it's emerged over the last few years. I've had a polysomnography measurement and multiple sleep latency test at the local hospital's sleep clinic, and met with the consultant there; we're still trying to work out exactly what's going on. In the meantime, the impact has been quite significant. I'm not allowed to drive a car at the moment (I don't think I've bee...

 I didn't have space to bring many books with me on this trip. Here's the entire list: My Bible An old pocket edition of Dante's Divine Comedy  in Italian and English An old pocket edition of The Little Flowers of St Francis of Assisi A 32 page booklet called On the Invocation of the Name of Jesus  by 'a monk of the Eastern Church' ( Lev Gillet ) It's that last book I'd love to mention here for a couple of minutes, if I may. I've been reading it for about a couple of months now, which is why it made it onto the (very) short list of books to bring. You might think I'm a very slow reader (that averages about half a page a day!) but it's an incredibly meditative book and you really need to sit with it over a long period of time. And it's worth the investment. Gentle, gracious, direct, hospitable, practical, deep and rich all at once, I think it's hand-down the single best book on prayer I've ever read. And let me tell you: in three decad...

Although I'm making a pilgrimage to Assisi, I took the day off today to be a tourist, have a break, and look around the lovely French town of Châtillon-sur-Seine. Which reminded me of an interesting article I read before setting off, by an Irish Catholic priest named Frank Fahey, and titled Pilgrims or Tourists? I'd be interested in your thoughts. Fr Fahey suggests that there are eight aspects of pilgrimage that mark it out as different from simple tourism (I'm quoting his words):  FAITH: "Pilgrimage is essentially a journey in faith or at least with an element of faith expectancy in it. In this most people are indeed pilgrims." PENANCE: "Pilgrimage is about growth—in search of wholeness. Growth entails 'change' and in the context of pilgrimage, change means 'change of heart'." COMMUNITY: "Tourists can seek the company they choose, the persons that they eat with, the people they talk to on a tour. Pilgrims shouldn't. They must an...

Morning prayer today in Église Saint-Vorles in Châtillon-sur-Seine. I've decided to stay for the day, do the tourist thing for a bit, and regain a bit of energy before heading towards the Alps over the next few days.The church was delightful, with a tenth century foundation (there was a wonderful altar in a crypt that seemed to be part of the original building) and an amazing sculptural work of the burial of Christ featuring a collection of full-sized figures, superbly crafted, gathered around the prostrate body of Christ - and it was possible to walk among the figures, to become part of the scene. A lived Ignatian experience. But for me the gem was this tiny window on the stairway down to the crypt. An old and delightful piece of stained glass which, as far as I can tell, doesn't show a scene from the Gospels or a gruesome moment from the death of a martyred saint (the French seem very keen on detailed and distressing depictions of martyrdom) or anything else particularly eccl...

You might have noticed that I'm doing quite a lot of praying on this pilgrimage. It'd be great to know if there's any way I can pray for you, the folks reading this blog. If there's something I could be praying about which you'd like to share, I'd suggest you don't put it in the comments below (unless you're happy for it to be public!) but instead email me at 50ccpilgrim@gmail.com . I'll carry all the prayers sent to me through the pilgrimage and remember some of them in each place I visit.

Driving through Bars-sur-Seine I stopped for a break outside the target impressive Église Saint-Etienne. I'm so glad I did.  It's a weird place. The rear half of the church looks like desolate ruin, but the chancel area is gleaming. There is pristine stained glass alongside dusty, neglected statues. Judging from the scaffolding and other clues it looks like the place is partway through a huge restoration. I hope so, as it's gorgeous.  And clearly in regular use. There's music playing (chant and gentle hymns in French) and other signs that people have been here worshipping today. It's open all day, and there are little notes and signs for the benefit of visitors. And it feels prayed-in, it invites prayer. I gladly joined the long, long life of prayer here for a while.  And in the choir stalls, two (two!) huge books of chant! I've never seen the like outside monasteries. I hope someone here is using them ... ///luxury.proficiency.gust

The photo doesn't suggest much, but here's where I found myself 'praying to God in the beautiful places' this morning. This is Paroisse Sainte-Thérèse de l'Enfant Jesus in Chalons en Champagne. Classic 60s/70s concrete Catholic church in every way. So what made it so gorgeous? I'm not entirely sure. Inside, there was a lovely balance of colour and shape. One wall was covered with a fantastic modern stations of the cross, all the stations woven together with what looked like threads so they became a single, long story rather than stuttering episodes. And the building was very light and warm.  But what really made it special was passing just in time to see folks greeting the priest on their way in. I planned to scoot down to one of the big historic churches, but didn't know if I'd be in good time for their services. Clearly I could be punctual for this one! So I pulled up and went in.  The priest was very welcoming. I asked if he spoke English....

French campsites really are so civilised. The first one I stayed in charged me €10 for the night and provided a couple of croissants delivered to the tent door in the morning. And now today I opened my door to find this tucked under the awning. Breakfast in bed! These French folks are just tres  hospitable!