• the former monastery at Bourg
• Peter Channel’s parish church and museum
• the Church where Peter Channel said his first mass
• the Basilica at Ars.

Part of the day’s interest were the mixed messages. The Bourg monastery, is a magnificent structure but also a memorial to times long gone. The popular tourist spot is still unbelievably ornate, but now a shell, no altar, lectern and is even empty of pews. What were once monks rooms have now been taken over by artists selling their works. A massive building and a statue to the past.

By contrast, it was good to visit what seemed to be the live and vibrant parish church where St Peter Channel received his first communion and to be the first pilgrimage visitors of sisters who now have charge of the St Peter Channel museum. While their English was minimal, but they seemed buoyed by the new task ahead of them and we think they were pleased that we visited.

A Peter Channel story from the side. Unbeknown to some, Peter Channel left the seminary for a while, not long, because leaving the church one day he came across one of his former teachers, a sister, whom he opened up to. She asked him was he sure that his leaving was what Mary wanted and “told” him to get back in the church and pray. It was therefore a special moment to visit this Church and pray surrounded by the same statue of Mary and at the altar of his first Mass.

Our next stop, although perhaps not a Marist place, but in another sense a wonderful Marist place, was the visit to the Basilica at Ars. A wonderful church one with a “special” feel. Yet a place where the Cure was to hear so many confessions, had but one priest available for this ministry and for the time that we were in the Church, only one person approached him to go to confession, and he was one of our group. However as the priest couldn’t speak English, he was left writing his sermon, perhaps for tomorrow (Sunday).

I know we are showing our age, but the words of The Beatles song “Eleanor Rigby” and the figure of “Fr McKenzie, writing the words to a sermon that no one will hear,” came to mind of several of the Marist pilgrims.

That aside it was a privilege to visit this Basilica, the place of such a wonderful man, who ironically even in death is still drawing the crowds.

I know I’m returning to a theme already mentioned, namely that it was a long day, however as the day got hotter Bernard, not Bernd, decided to take off his socks and leave them in the bus while we spent an hour at the Basilica in Ars. Arriving back, we were greeted with a perfume, let’s say, other than the odor of sanctity. The Charity of Denis O’Brien said that once the bus gets going and the air circulates more, things will get better. A charitable perspective it might have been, but what we experienced was something way beyond what any air conditioning system could cope with, and as the waft of pungent sweaty sock repeatedly hit, sometimes with a small reprieve, we soon learned that we weren’t far away from the next “round.”

What could we do? Someone suggested finding a plastic bag to wrap them in, but not even a well experience traveller like Charlie could produce one from his bag of tricks. The question remained, and the answer? Nothing. We were caught, we knew it. The piety of the pilgrims shattered, our response was laughter, and we laughed and laughed, some even with tears on their cheeks.

They say that what goes on tour, stays on tour, and in one sense, we all say “Amen” to that.

After the picnic lunch it was back to Belley to prepare for a tour of Bon Repos, College Lamartine, La Capuciniere, the Bishop’s palace, the former cathedral, and a visit to the chapel where Jean-Marie Chavion is buried. Mass followed. It was a big afternoon and the heat was telling. Thankfully  upon returning to Bon Repos, Sr Marie, our tour-guide, “shouted.” Beers, soft drink or fruit juice all round. Even Sister agreed she was parched.

With the heat of the day gone, but the stiffness from walking down hill for such a way beginning to tell on all except Charlie who walked half the Lacrous to Charley distance backwards, a few of us gathered down town in Belley for a quiet pint. It was Friday night after all.

Matt’s reputation preceded him because despite his smashing one of their glasses the previous night, we were were obviously known and greeted in English with “Hello”. Who knows what else they might have said amongst themselves, however when we simply asked for “beer” and they immediately knew which variety to pour, and unlike other tables gave us complementary peanuts.

While feeling very much at home and well looked after, it was our last night in town and the attraction of a blues singer in the Bar around the corner also had pulling power for our few Euros. The songs, good old favourites and in English, our singing along soon caught the ear of the artist. As well as the music, this was an excellent venue for those interested in sampling some good French red wine.

Not wanting to be home too late, we bade farewell to our new best friends, Matt getting the customary kiss on both cheeks from the attentive waitress. Five minutes and we were home again, no German Shepherd tonight and much to everyone’s delight the PIN number for the door now worked.

The first stop on the journey to Belley and environs was Cerdon. The old Church still stands, and Mass was let by Marcel Ma’ah. Some described celebrating Mass here as a “heart-lifting”, as it was the place that gave cause for the founder of the Marists to say that this is when the Society of Mary began.

After lunch we toured through the old Cerdon presbytery. It’s really in pretty bad shape, and while the local bishop is intending to renovate the presbytery, with poor piling and much of the interior needing significant work, it will be interesting to see what how the new presbytery will look. Local politics I’m sure will come into play. It’s sad to see it in such a state of ruin and really hard to see what can be done to do it up, yet keep it authentic.

Arriving at Maison St Anthelme, the one-time seminary but now a mixture of old peoples’ home and a backpackers (we’re the later), our room allocation went smoothly. Not all rooms had the same facilities, some had TV’s, phones and en-suites, or combinations of these. For those who had them, a talking point was the tiny size of the en-suite. It seems they were a kit-set and just fitted into the rooms. Quite novel.

It didn’t take long for our “invasion” to become public to the old people, well least one of them. While one might like to think that it was in the spirit of Fr Colin and the early Bugey missionaries, it’s pushing it somewhat. You see, Matt Morris was looking for Charlie Randle whom he thought was immediately opposite him. Matt however was a little disoriented, and so knocked on the wrong door. An elderly French gentleman answered. Matt, surprised not too see Charlie, apologised. Despite Matt’s apology, he old Frenchman had a little difficulty with Matt’s “cold calling” and as he turned to go back into his room, closing the door on Matt, he said in broken English, “Vot-iz-zee-matteir-wiz-you?” (What is the matter with you?) Profound question or not, those that know Matt I’m sure can imagine that he’s been “dining out” on it for a couple of days now. For those that don’t know Matt, it’s never just about the story, the humour is also in the re-telling.

As well as the natural progression of the renewal programme, with most of us travelling light, people had remote preparations for our three day journey. Everyone seemed to be going to travel even lighter and so it’s a case of taking the necessary clothes and hope that no disasters happen. There’s been lots of pressure on the laundry and drying facilities.

Arriving in Belley and after a long day on the bus, the opportunity for a beer down town, just 5 minutes walk away, seemed an answer to prayers. To the best of our knowledge, and unplanned, eight of us, including Christoph and Thilo seemed to congregate at this one particular pub. If our stories and consequent laughter didn’t make the locals wonder who we were, our arrival was soon announced, again by Matt Morris who knocked over his 50cl almost full glass of beer. The beer “fortunately” spilt mainly on Matt, the glass smashing on the ground. I say “fortunately” because Matt also brought with him a pair of shorts, which he’s wearing to visit the churches for the next couple of days, saying, “after all these years, God’s going to have to learn to like my knees.”

The dramas of the first day were far from over. Arriving home after 6pm, the main door to the backpackers/retirement home was locked. We left prepared with the combination numbers, however they didn’t work. With a German Shepherd guard dog barking our our heals, and uncertain whether the patrol man had given the dog its dinner yet, we were keen to get inside quickly. As you would. Several tried putting the number in, then at last, a moment’s respite and the man who appeared to be the owner came to our rescue. He proceeded to “tear strips” off of us, all in French and we think because we were supposed to use another door other than the main one. Who knows, however we quickly forgave him for buying his hospitality diploma on the Internet, just to get away from that angry German Shepherd.

The story doesn’t end. Later in evening, Charlie arrived home after a post-dinner walk. Arriving at the same door, he put the same numbers in and couldn’t get in. So he pushed the door bell. Immediate the window above opened and in French, so we can only presume, Charlie was told a thing or two. He tried again. No luck. So he pushed the door bell. Again the window opened and he was told a few more things, and while it was still in French, Charlie suggested that the message, it not the content, was just a little clearer. So, no German Shepherd in site but none the less taking his live in his hands, he ventured forth a third time! He still couldn’t get in, however this time pressing the door bell had an irate Frenchman open the door.

Next morning, after breakfast with the old folks, some of whom were in their dressing gowns for breakfast, Matt Morris and John Murphy were sitting in the foyer. The owner approached and started to talk to us once again in French. Gesticulating, it was clear that he wanted to once and for all settle how to use the front door, after-hours. Matt went with him to get a lesson on how to open the door. All of a sudden a quickly humbled owner apologised to Matt in perfectly acceptable English, saying that he couldn’t understand why the combination wasn’t working.