Day 6a: Tournai to Cambrai (85km)

I should have known the fat guy would be a snorer. When I came back to the room after dinner, it was dark and he was already in bed, snoring away. Luckily it was a relatively soft snore, not a get-your-earplugs-out snore, but it took some getting used to. The mystery man (the one with the shopping trolley) turned up later in the night; he was a snorer too.  In the morning there was a pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed where he had stepped out of them; on the bed there was what looked like a pile of rumpled bedclothes, but which actually had a person under them. The joy of shared rooms. I dress and slip out of the room, leaving my room mates snoring contentedly.

Tournai - Grand Place; no people, no cars, only bikes allowed

I ride into the centre of Tournai in the early morning and find it is a ghost town. I am riding in a scene from a 'morning after the end of the world' movie and I am the only survivor. It is a little eerie but it doesn't last as I eventually spot a little old lady out for her morning walk. At least there are two of us, I think, but if this is all then there's not much hope for the human race. So much for morning thoughts.

Tournai has an attractive old centre and an impressive cathedral which would be even more impressive if it were not covered in scaffolding and was open. Actually, things being open (or rather, not open) is to become the theme for the day. It is Ascension Thursday, a major holiday in France. Surprisingly - at least I thought it was surprising - all the churches and cathedrals, which I thought would be open to celebrate such a day, are also all closed. Note to anyone thinking of going to France in May: it's the month of public holidays and 'ponts' (taking the day that falls between a public holiday and the weekend off as well so you have a four-day weekend.) A lot of France shuts down in May. The unkind might say that not much work gets done the rest of the year either. Actually, the subject came up during dinner, when one of the guys stated that France has one of the world's highest rates of productivity. I almost choked on my food. He quickly explained that this apparently dubious statistic was created by counting the county's output and dividing it by the numbers of hours actually worked (and not the number of hours actually available to work), so making the result appear impressive indeed. Impressive French rationalisation. We had a good discussion about French politics (always a popular subject for dinner table discussions in France, and with the current President with his record low popularity rating of 15% also an easy subject).

Guarding the border

The border crossing between Belgium and France at Rumegies is marked by a little customs post, with a statue of a French customs official sitting outside, serenely surveying the passing traffic. It's somehow symbolic of bureaucracy: he's not actually achieving much of anything, but he's nevertheless working. A little further down the road an abandoned packet of frites is scattered on the road, another symbol that we are leaving Belgium behind.

It's a grey day, with rain threatening the whole day. I pass gardens with colourful collections of gnomes, including one which has what seems to be an entire gnome village as a front lawn. The front gate has little windmills as guardians.

Naked women and pilots

Just outside Cambrai I pass a memorial to a wartime pilot, Alfred Fronval. This in itself isn't so unusual, but what catches my eye is the fact that this particular pilot is being celebrated with a naked women holding a branch up to him. I think about this, but cannot imagine a scenario that explains why a pilot should be remembered by adulating naked women. Still, this is France, so anything is possible where sculptures and naked women is concerned.

A bit of colour on a grey day

At Cambrai the rains come and I spend some time alternating between sheltering from the rain, and riding around the almost deserted town over the rain-soaked cobbled streets. True to form, the impressive cathedral is closed. But to my surprise the tourist office is open, and I am even able to get a stamp for my pilgrim passport. There's even a little display in the basement of the tourist office where tunnels under the city have been excavated, so I have something to see and explore. As I leave, the rains begin in earnest and I find a McDonalds just on the edge of town where I can shelter from the lashing storm. I am definitely not a McDonalds regular, but I they do offer reliable and free WiFi, and the bathrooms have hot air dryers which I can use to dry out my soaked things. And to my utter amazement, there's even a proper café serving what turns out to be very acceptable coffee. Since I cannot arrive at my destination, which is about twenty minutes away, for another hour or so, I decide to sit it out in the warm and dry restaurant. The rain stops, but starts again in earnest just as I have set off on the final leg of the day's journey, so I arrive at my B&B completely soaked.

Cambrai Cathedral - on the right path

I don't know whether it was the cold, or the rain, or whether I was now riding in France, or perhaps it was the fact that I'd given my bike its 400km service, but my average speed today rose markedly and riding felt easier. Maybe it was me starting to get my 'bike legs'. Even the last part of the ride, in pouring rain, seemed to go surprisingly well. I could have done without the rain though.