I’d taken a final walk in Edam, to Fort Edam which was closed. It’s the seaward end of a series of 45 forts surrounding Amsterdam and Utrecht, built just before WW1. From Wikipedia:

The Stelling van Amsterdam (pronounced [ˈstɛlɪŋvɑn ˌɑmstərˈdɑm]; “Defence Line of Amsterdam“) is a 135-kilometre (84 mi)fortification line around Amsterdam, which would function as a national redoubt. It comprises 45 forts, as well as dams, dikes, locks, pumping stations, batteries and casemates.^[1] The forts are 10–15 kilometres (6.2–9.3 mi) from the centre and lowlands, which can easily be inundated in time of war. The inundation was designed to give a depth of about 30 centimetres (12 in), too little for boats to cross. 

It was an eery place, as many abandoned military installations of the period are. And with the cold wind and grey sky, the sense of desolation increased. Looking out beyond, I could see the flat meadows, full of Friesian cows grazing on the lush pasture, untroubled by thoughts of warfare.

On the map, the furthest I felt I wa comfortable to go – six hours travelling – put me just south of Reims; so its was either Epernay Camping Municipal, or Onlycamp Châlons-en-Champagne. Of the two, Châlons looked the more promising. Having got here, the site has just been taken over this year, and while I thought it would be busy with grape-pickers, it is full most nights of people using it as a stop-off going south or north. The usual mix of Dutch, French, German and British, with the odd wandering Swiss, who’s probably a little lost. I’ve made it my business to go and say hello to every British van, in a slightly eccentric manner. My crowning glory last night was to introduce two couples, who ended up in the bar together. Now usually I’m worried about dominating the conversation. Last night I was able to step back (I did need to force myself a bit) because the conversation was flowing well. And tonight, a couple from Edinburgh came to my van, and proffered a packet of shortbread, which they frequently do they said.

I’d walked to the large Carrefour round the corner for supplies; today I’d decided to take the bus into the centre of Châlons. The #5 stops close by, at “Camping” and I knew I had to go to the stop “Tissier”. Unfortunately, the internal signage wasn’t working: I knew it was by the big abbatial church, but it continued. I asked fellow travellers whether the stop was near – “No, it’s back there”. Oh well. So I looked round the Abbatial – built in the C12th, it’s a huge lump of masonry. better on the outside than inside. Then wandered down to the cathedral, which had the most beautiful stained-glass windows on the south side. An organist took the opportunity of practising, so I sat and listened for a while.

I’d seen on Google Maps, that Châlons is the based for the French national circus training centre; so I wandered down to one of their buildings, a rather elegant masonry Big Top on the edge of a park. A useful plaque outside was very informative:

On the door was a series 0f opening hours, but no sign of a reception. There was, however, a door giving off into a typical meeting/reception room. I noticed a woman busily pottering about, so wandered in and asked whether it might be possible to see the auditorium. No, she was sorry, but the students were using it at the moment. I explained that I had been a former ‘Professeur de Regie’ in England when I was younger; she did offer visit to the resource centre to read all about circus, but I declined. Having seen the research centre at the Marionette Centre, I had a pretty good idea what it might be. I didn’t quite put it like that to her. As I walked out, I felt pleased that I had made the effort, at least. So to lunch, at a brasserie: the plat du jour: braised beef with vegetables and gravy, possibly the most substantial meal I’ve had this holiday.

This was always going to be a tricky week, containing as it does Rosie’s third anniversary. I’ve been up and down, which is why I knew I needed, at least, some sunshine. In an ideal world I’d be back home with the family, offering mutual support. I’ll ring them tomorrow evening, I think, to make sure they’re OK. One of the helpful things that Steph said, back in Edam, was that everyone grieves in their own way and in their own time. It will be what it will be. She would, I think, have enjoyed the discovery of a ‘cat cafe’ opposite the hypermarket, sadly with limited opening times. You can have your coffee and cake in the company of a dozen cats, on pillows and pillars; on chairs and shelves. Just don’t get a fur ball.