Montauville to Liverdun: Day 138

A day of woods and open fields with a number of small villages, in one of which I visited the village fête.

Waking at 6 am, I brushed my teeth and packed with only my head torch to provide a pool of light. No moon helped me and the first light of dawn was yet to appear. Every direction looked the same, black beyond a few saplings picked out by my light. Lacking any idea of where I had come from I relied on my GPS, and the track I recorded last night to return me to the path. Not long after pieces of gray were visible above me, and as I turned onto a more open track I no longer needed to rely on my head torch, although I keep it on a little longer for fear hunters might mistake me for a deer. At that early hour it was cold but the clear skies led to a warm and sunny day, although mist persisted for a while over lower ground, "steam" rising from streams and wet vegetation.  Unlike on other trips there had been no "dawn chorus" of bird song this morning. Owls exchanged hoots overnight and a few pigeons cooed once the sun had risen, but there was none of the joyful dawn birdsong I had found elsewhere. Maybe the wrong type of woods or the wrong time of year.

Morning walk.

Today was a mixture of deciduous and mixed woodland, interspersed with a series of small villages: Mamey, Martincourt, Gézoncourt, Rogeville and Rosières-en-Have. Each village had a church, war memorial, a mixture of houses and buildings with large barn doors, presumably once (and maybe still) used to store hay or other farming related items. Compared with previous days they looked well cared for.

Farmland crossed by the roads and farm tracks used by the GR5 consisted of large open fields. No hedges or fences interrupted the sight lines over the curving land. Many fields had recently been ploughed, in others there were leafy, green vegetables. Sunflowers had long lost their bright yellow petals and now their drooping grey seed heads awaited harvest. Some grain crop had been harvested leaving a field of stubble, another field of grain was still green despite the lateness of the year.

A field of yellow mustard beside the track.

As the sun filtered through the leaves the woodland stretches looked as pretty as ever. Although beech was common, today there was much hornbeam. The three pointed "leaves" that surround the fruiting body covered the path in places, and when the many clusters hung down they gave the trees a reddish brown hue when viewed from a distance. 

With three hours of walking still to go my left knee was giving me some pain, having been knocked about on rough tracks of stones or grass with unseen dips. To give it some rest I decided to sit down for a while when I reached the village of Rosières-en-Have hoping for a bench. I wished it would have a café although from my research I knew it did not. I thought of the unexpected but enjoyable events that sometimes happened on my walks and could not think of any recent ones. It seems that God was listening to my selfish pray because as I entered the village I saw a sign for the "Festiloup". Following the signs I found a village fête. Entry was free but the tombola stall was positioned such that it would be difficult to avoid buying a ticket from the three young people eager for your custom. I am hoping I do not win as taking delivery of the basket of goodies, which was the prize, would prove difficult. The fête was similar to one in Britain with craft stalls, produce for sale, a band (two guitar players and a cello) and refreshments. In Britain tea and cakes would be served, the cakes made by the village ladies, however here it was beer and coffee, steak haché sandwiches and crêpes. I bought a steak haché sandwich however it had only grazed the grill and was essentially raw. Now I am hoping their hygiene standards were good and I do not suffer any ill effects. Although the crêpes looked delicious I knew overloading my stomach would mean indigestion for the next few hours of walking.

Band skilfully playing tuneful variations. 

I am now camped at Liverdun, a campsite once again by the River Moselle. The village itself has a medieval centre and stands on a high point well above the river, which has encouraged me to eat at the campsite restaurant tonight, especially as a Dutch cycling couple has offered a share of their wine.

Looking down on the River Moselle again, this time from the village of Liverdun.