Troyes to Auxerre: Brueghel-esque barns, English Archbishops and pork tripe sausages

Getting towards Burgundy the terraint gets more varied, but the cycling felt easier. Perhaps my legs are getting stronger.There is less empty farm land and more villages. Although Chalons and Troyes have lots of timber-framed houses, it is the timber framed barns that, to me, seem most attractive. In various states of disrepair, panels of plaster missing, their tiled roofs heavy with green moss, and in places partially caved-in, they are Brueghel-esque (see Adoration of the Magi) and in what I would call a state of pleasing decay- Andrew Davis would love it, Gil Bolton, less so!

I made a diversion from my route to visit Pontigny. This early Cistercian Abbey, and one of the best examples of Cistercian architecture, played host to three prominent English churchmen seeking sanctuary from tyrannical rule back home. All three were archbishops of Canterbury, all three were very remarkable, and two were saintly. Thomas Becket took refuge from Henry II in 1164. Stephen Langton, who led the barons in their dispute with King John and masterminded the Magna Carta, and who, in his spare time divided the Bible into chapters (the verse came later in the 16th c) was here from 1207-1213 between being consecrated by Pope Innocent III in Viterbo, and Kin John acquiescing to his appointment. Lastly, Edmund Rich reitred here. Although he died south of Paris his body was returned to Pontigny and soon miracles were recorded. His relics are sited in the reliquary above the high altar in the church. One of my three new churches is St Edmund's in Backworth. I don't know to which Edmund it is dedicated, but I may have just visited, by chance, the relics of one of my new patrons.

The point of Cistercian archtecture is its clean white lines, without ornament or distraction. It is interesting that the view of Pontigny of which there are most postcards is that of the outside taken from behind and showing the curved tiled roofs of the apse and its buttresses.

The last time I cycled in to Auxerre I was with my brother's family and the city slowly unfolded as we came up the Canal du Nvernais. This time I crested a hill, and came out of a wood and suddenly the whole city was visible all at once. It was a little like cycling down Bent House Lane towards Old Durham with the cathedral in front of you. I could see St Etienne, the cathedral, and the other fine churches, and the white high rises of the suburbs, all surrounded by corn fields. 

I was lucky enough to find a place in a walkers' hostel (Maison des Randonneurs) and had time to explore the historic churches. Moreover I had an en suite room to myself for all of €17. I went out to celebrate. The first nice restaurant I found had Andouillettes as the Plat du Jour. The waitress seemed concerned: did I realise these were sausages made from pork tripe? I did, and I knew that they were local, and I thought to myself, we eat all sorts of things in sausages, how bad can they be? But these are not like other sausages. Once the outer skin is pierced these sausages fall out into their constituent body parts. It was like a scene with the forensic scientists in an episode of Morse as I picked over the badly dismembered body. I ate it, just.