Highs and Lows

“Oh good,” said D, when I brandished my trekking pole. “You can fight off the wild boar”.

It wasn’t quite what I was expecting when three ladies from church invited me to join them for a Saturday morning walk. But then  nor did I expect to be sitting on the top  of a double decker train speeding past sparkling streams, craggy rocks and downy hills studded with broadleaf forests and charming farmsteads, let alone sightings of storks and working horses the size of Suffolk Punches. And, please note, I exceeded  12,000 steps on my pedometer.

We set quite a pace on this walk, a section of the Sentier du Nord which stretches 65 km from Weiswampach to Diekirch, and completed the 9 km stretch from Drauffelt to Clervaux in about two and a half hours. Consequently, I am sorry to say, I did not have time to fumble in my backpack amongst spare socks and unneeded waterproofs for my camera. When we did stop, it was because I was rather red in the face and breathless at the top of a number of steep hills and far too exhausted to even think of taking photos. But hills make for splendid views and shaded leafy valleys. And luckily, no wild boar.

I shall return to this part of the world to show dearly beloved who manfully stayed at home battling with flat pack wardrobes. And I shall ensure that we take loads of photos to show you all.  I am told that one of the towns, Wiltz, has an annual festival that is well worth making the train trip for, so watch this space.

Inspired by my walking endeavours, we set out the next day to try out part of a similar network of French footpaths, our immediate section being “Sentiers de randonnee de trios frontieres” It’s those frontiers again! We headed towards Villers-La Chevre, about a ten minute drive away, intending to find the Sentier du Bois du Pays Bayard, a walk of about 6.5 km. It was at this stage that we realised and missed the excellence of the Ordnance Survey maps of the UK in which you can pinpoint a small mole hill. We had evidently driven too far along the way looking to park, although it seemed to correspond with the map. We could not find the start of this particular walk, which, we were assured, would be marked clearly en route.

We parked and walked, and walked a little further peering into the forest for signs. Eventually we found a board displaying information about the Sentier de Minieres, which, for want of any other direction, we followed. This path takes the route of the mining works that took place a few hundred years ago. Good iron ore is, apparently, rare in the Lorraine regions, but this particular seam at “St Pancre” produced a rich malleable iron. The miners worked in deep “ruelles” or lanes, and the path was set out along the crumbling banks of these steep deep ditches.  The trees have all grown over now, and the rocky clefts are covered in moss. Some of the works had been further exploited as quarries for the lovely yellow sandstone that I have mentioned before. Boards along the way described the miners, their lives, the geological nature of the area and how it was formed, as well as describing the flora and fauna of the land. I grasped my wild boar stick tightly.

The way was marked quite clearly with little white signs tacked to trees. This worked well generally apart from the fact that only the previous week, in the first spell of sunny dry weather, the foresters had been out and thinned a lot of winter damaged trees. Friday evening had evidently fallen before they had the opportunity to move said trees which stretched their lengths across the Sentier des Minieres. I am sure the miners would not have been fazed but we were a trifle disconcerted. Ralph’s binoculars proved useful in spotting signs further along the way, and we traversed along and up and down various ruelles and ditches to find our way back to the track.  It was worth persevering. A break in the trees at the side of the forest gave us a glimpse of the distant Lorraine countryside: a small hamlet tucked into the folds of the fields and hills, wood smoke drifting and a church bell sounding the end of Mass. It was good to be in the open air.

Later in the week, L, one of the ladies I had walked with earlier suggested a walk in Ernster in Luxembourg, again following one of the set walks. All we had to do was to find the start and follow the “three trees” logo for a brisk 5km stroll. Some work men mending the road after the winter’s ravages, directed us with confidence away from the village and we thought they might know what they were talking about. However, the three trees failed to present themselves and we found ourselves on one of the cycling tracks. But as a circular walk, it would never have worked as that circle continued for about 12 miles. Excellent cycling track, though, and if I still had the knees and the puff for it, I’d be there, despite the hills.

Ernster is a pretty village built in the traditional Lorraine style. A number of small farm houses or “fermettes” are clustered together, with thick rendered painted walls, deep window sills and, dearly beloved’s passion, huge barns under one half the house. I am not sure if I can take dearly beloved there, however, in case he insists that the local residents move out to make room for our ambitions to live in such lovely surroundings. They are very attractive solid looking houses, much sought after. Sadly, they can no longer to be picked up for a song as they used to be a couple of decades ago when the first Eurobods came over to work for the Commission and the Parliament...

We have continued our zeal for walking this weekend with our temporary house guest, Jack. Jack is always very keen to walk although his habit of sticking his cold wet nose up one’s trouser leg or running off with a shoe to encourage us on a trip out would not endear him to everybody.  He took us on a fantastic walk only minutes from Le Chateau at the weekend, through a small village and into the hills behind and on through to Belgium. We seemed always to be walking up hill however, and while Jack’s little legs would have been happy for the walk all over again, we spent the afternoon in a stupor, with a fine Belgian beer, slumped in front of the rugby.

Dish of the week: Coq au Vin. Mrs David let us down a bit here. We tried her instruction to warm through a glass of cognac and set light to it. Pouring it, still alight, over the coq proved to be incredibly exciting.  It flamed magnificently in the saucepan and set light to the extractor fan over the cooker.  And we were not that happy with the sauce…perhaps less flambee would have been the answer.

A bientot.