Namur to Dinant: Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Although forecast for 25°c (which it was by mid-afternoon) the air was cool first thing this morning; a reminder that autumn is approaching. Though I'm glad not to be travelling  in the summer heat, I am also anxious about the weather I may face in the coming weeks. I can see myself slogging up hill, lashed by wind and rain. 

I often holiday at this time of year and so there is often an end of summer melancholy to my reflections as I cycle. The air is cooler, leaces begin to descend and the night's darkness comes earlier. It is the end of the season, and though it has been great season (I seem to have managed the captaincy without upsetting anyone, and I've scored more runs than I can remember) there is always end of season saddness. When I pass sports fields I find myself looking for scoreboxes and sight-screens, and then I remember that I have chosen to cycle across a vast cricketless waste.

Today was the simplest ride yet and one of the shortest that I've planned, down the Meusse to Dinant. (The reason that Namur gets the pilgrim traffic that it does is that the Meusse valley is an obvious route and therefore a bit of a bottleneck.) The river has wooded cliffs to either side, and towns such as Dinant are crowded, only a street or two deep, on to its banks.

I was staying at the Premonstratensian Abbey of Leffe. Friday supper and Saturday breakfast were essentially the same meal: bread, cheese and fruit. I had two fellow guests: Adam a Pole who worked as a librarian in a seminary, and Chantal, who was a social worker for a Catholic agency. Adam declared himself a pilgrim. "Where to?" I asked, "Santiago?" "No, why go there?" he replied, "That's medieval. I'm a pilgrim to the Kingdom of God." It was time to change the subject: "How long are you staying," I asked Chantal. "Till Monday," and turning to Adam, "and what about you?" Adam shrugged, and when Chantal had gone out with dishes he turned to me and confided with a twinkle in his eye, "Everywhere I go they ask me, 'When will you leave?'"

It was good to join this community for vespers, complin and morning prayer. Sadly there were no brothers around after breakfast and I cursed that I'd missed my opportunity to have my pilgrim's passort stamped. I also had no oportunity to taste the famous Leffe beer.

Postscript: Dinant has saxophones everywhere because it is the birthplace of Adolphe Sax, inventor of the instrument, and one of those three famous Belgians you've heard of.