Frensne-Saint-Mamès to Bucey-lès-Gy

Quick Note: I covered the relatively short walk from Fresne-Saint-Mamès to Bucey-lè-Gy in the last post (to have something positive to talk about after reporting the domestic abuse situation to city hall), so this will be a short post about my favorite night thus far on my walk.

Bucey-lès-Gy

Pierre and I arrived in Bucey-lès-Gy about 2:30 p.m., which is usually way too early to check into a gîte. I was booked for a bed at Chez les Domdoms, which caters to pilgrims, and Pierre was booked for another pilgrim’s gîte another kilometer further into town. As we stood outside my gîte wondering if they would allow me to drop my backpack in their garden somewhere until check-in time, the owner, Dominique, came outside and told me in French (interpreted by Pierre) that it was fine for me to check in. He also offered us both beers before doing anything else. After a hot walk, that seemed like a great idea, and we took him up on it before Pierre left to find his gîte and I went in search of a shower.

On the way through the house to the rear garden, I met Dominique’s wife, also named Dominique, thus the inspiration for the name, Chez les Domdoms. My bed was in a four-bed cabin that they are still finishing exterior work on. The beds were in lofts on each side of the building. Fortunately, there was only one other pilgrim in the cabin that night, so I had my loft to myself. The even better news is that the other pilgrim was Jacques, the Frenchman I had met several days earlier outside Torcenay. He is the one walking the Via Francigena to raise awareness for anexoria in honor of his 16-year-old granddaughter.

Dinner at Chez les Domdoms

We were invited into the house for dinner, which also included another French pilgrim, Frederique, Dominique and Dominique’s son, Alexander, their daughter-in-law, Maria, their 13 and 16-year-old granddaughters, and the Domiques’ 15-year-old foster son, Jason.

Dominique, the wife, had specifically asked her son and daughter-in-law to dinner because her daughter-in-law, Maria, teaches English in a local school and is quite fluent, but she is always eager to speak with a native English speaker. She explained that she begins to lose her English if she only talks in basic introductory sentences with sixth graders.

Learning about Romanian life under Ceausescu wasn’t on my day’s bingo card.

Maria was an outgoing delight. She is from Romania, where she lived under the dictatorial rule of Nicolae Ceausescu. She was only 7 1/2 in 1989 when he was deposed and executed, but Romania remained a broken, impoverished nation for many years afterward. She recalls the paranoid atmosphere in Romania under Ceausescu when everyone was afraid of being reported for non-patriotic talk or behavior. She also recalls the extremely limited rations and actually going hungry when your ration stamps couldn’t buy bread or meat because the stores didn’t have any. Despite being hungry and fearful, the children would be forced to march in parades waving flags, smiling, and cheering Ceausescu.

Maria met her in-laws, and her future husband, Alexander, when they came to Romania to do humanitarian work. They made several trips and even took in Jason as a foster child when he was three years old and his mother had abandoned him on the streets.

Maria said her in-laws take in pilgrims because they love giving and having people in their home and at their table. The meal consisted of bowls filled with potatoes, grilled sausage, cheese sauce, some special bread, and two kinds of wine. Dessert was an apple crumble.

Conversation around the table was a combination of English, mainly between me and Maria, and French with everyone struggling to speak some English to engage with me from time to time. Alexander and I even carried on some conversation although he speaks no English, but he is a carpenter, so I showed him some of Collin’s recent work, and he showed me photos of a complex staircase he had recently completed.

At the end of the meal, I felt that I had just been dropped into a genuine family meal with people that obviously cared for each other. It also reminded me that nothing in life quite compares with sharing a simple meal with good friends and family.

Breakfast the next morning was smaller, but just as authentic as we enjoyed homemade yogurt and various homemade jams.

My total bill for a beer, the night’s lodging, dinner, wine, and breakfast was 48 euros.

Next stop: Besançon (pronouced “Booz-un-sone” or something close to that)