Monastic life

7th Day Mon
Date 04- Sept
Start Dijon
Destination Baume les Messieurs
Kilometres 117
Cumulative Kms 483
Ave speed (kph) 10.1
Max speed (kph) 42.4
Time taken 05:50
Max Height (m) 555
Today climb (m) 465
Cum.climb (m) 3220

Once again I was up and about early and checked out of the hotel, leaving Séamus asleep in the room with a note reminding him of our rendezvous point for later in the day. And what a difference Séamus' presence made - he had kept a lot of my gear so I was only carrying one lightly loaded pannier. The bike felt responsive as I made my way through the Dijon traffic and out of the city.

Moreover my injuries gave me no trouble. They were to continue to need bandages for another two weeks and walking was uncomfortable but they did not stop the tour. Probably I should have had the left knee stitched - it would have matched the right that I injured by kneeling on a rake as a child - and it carries a scar to this day but while I was careful to keep it clean it was only a nuisance for the remainder of the trip. And that the last I'll say of that.

This was the longest scheduled day at over 110 kilometres but not the most difficult. I had skipped breakfast in the hotel because I was too mean to pay 80 Francs for breakfast and went as far as Couchey where I bought a selection of croissants. I then settled down in a bus shelter on the road along the Cote d'Or and enjoyed them as lorries rushed past. The road was very busy but it was a lovely sunny morning and all seemed fine with the world. The view from the windows of the shelter was magnificent with the famous vineyards all around. This was another of those great moments on the tour when a collection of simple elements combined to create a memory that will last a lifetime.


I was breaking one of the unwritten rules of cycle touring by staying on a main road but I was not bothered by the traffic and quickly came to Nuits St George. I believe the wine is excellent and certainly this is a lovely picturesque town. In a moment of exuberance I sent off postcards to my brothers-in-law promising them a bottle of wine from these vineyards if I got to Rome. I was planning to turn left here onto a minor road but a detour was in operation as the road was being resurfaced and this slowed me down a little. I walked the bike along the fresh tar on my intended road but wondered how Séamus would manage to get back on the route.

Meanwhile I was in Agencourt by 10:00 and rang home before continuing on a quiet road lined with trees and through forests to Citeaux. There is little to see there now, and nothing to evoke its past; but the name had drawn me there. On low marshy ground, close to the little river a powerful trio of churchmen founded Vouge, a monastery, in 1098. Their leader was Robert from Molesme, who had founded there some twenty years earlier a community which was intended to re-establish the rule of St Benedict in its pure and simple form reacting against the growing laxity and artistic freedom of the Benedictines of Cluny. Still not satisfied that their life of poverty, prayer and labour had been reduced to its absolute essentials, he led a party of twenty one monks to found a 'novum monasterium' near the site of the Roman town of Cistercium.

An Englishman, Stephen Harding, later to be canonised at St Etienne, became abbot in 1109. It was he who in 1112 took the momentous step of admitting to the community a group of thirty Burgundians led by a young man called Bernard. His restless energy allowed him to spend only three years at Citeaux before he left it with a few followers to found yet another 'pure' community at Clairvaux, just over the northern boundary of modern Burgundy in the department of Aube. Harding presided at Citeaux until his death in 1134, by which time it and its original four 'daughters' at La Ferte, Pontigny, Morimond and Clairvaux had multiplied to five hundred new abbeys founded in forty years. Within the next hundred years this number had doubled, and the 'Cistercian' rule was established throughout Christendom, from Ireland in the west to Syria and Palestine in the east.

The abbey church at Citeaux was built on the scale and on the impressively simple plan I had already noted at Pontigny and Fontenay, but unfortunately it was not so well preserved. It and practically the whole of the monastic complex, which grew up on the flat ground to the south, was finally destroyed by the anti-clerical fury of the French Revolution. The monks were forced to scatter, and it was not until 1898 that their successors in the white habit returned to follow the rule, which had been founded here 800 years before. The monks of the modern community are committed as strictly as their forerunners to a life of simplicity, work and prayer. In winter, for example, their day begins by waking for prayer at 03:30 and again at 06:15 for weekday Mass.

I turned right and faced into a slight headwind but it was a pleasant run to Jallanges where I stopped at a roadside café in glorious sunshine for a coffee and buttered bread. I thought Séamus would have caught up by now but there was no sign of him so I continued on. At the junction I was not quite sure of the turn so I took out my map. No sooner had I done so than a guy in orange cycling shorts and pink shirt rushed out of his cottage to show me the way. He looked a sight but was delighted to be able to help and I was on my way again.

I discovered when crossing the river Doubs that Limerick is not the only city with a singing bridge and this one was in a very tranquil setting with a fisherman out in his rowing boat surrounded by cranes (Herons).

I reached Pierre de Bresse at 12:45 where I had arranged to meet Séamus at the church. It was always more convenient to meet at churches because they were clearly marked on maps and easy to identify on the ground. Séamus was not there and I got cold quickly so put on an extra top and settled down to wait. He arrived a little later in a new Opel Corsa rented from Hertz. He had learnt his first lesson of the trip - a bike is not that slow after all!! We called Raheny on the mobile phone and confirmed that contact had been made with the boy wonder. We had Croque Monsieur and Pizza for lunch at a café/bar and then continued on along very straight roads in splendid sunshine to Bletterans. The town was bigger than I expected but the public loos were covered in graffiti.

Subtly the architecture changed and the character of the landscape hinted at the approaching, if unseen, Jura mountains. At Arlay a construction crew had a wonderful contraption for keeping the dust down on the road as they worked. The vehicle made it's way slowly along the road spraying water in all directions. I wondered how they would switch it off as I approached. They didn't. And they used recycled water. I was speckled with brown drops when I emerged.

That was soon forgotten as I cycled the 6 km from Voiture to Baume les Messieurs. Every book I read about Burgundy and indeed those describing the picturesque villages of France spoke of this place. I had had to alter the route many times to get to it and even then the daily mileage had had to be adjusted to make sure I could stay in the village itself. It did not let me down. These few miles lead into an enchanted world. The ordinary world was cut off physically and metaphorically as the gorge rose to surround me. The road was narrow and winding and the bells on cows grazing on the slopes tinkled in the still air. Each bend in the road unveiled more magnificent views.

The village of Baume-les-Messieurs is at the junction of three valleys that lead from the foot of the dramatic escarpment of the Cirque de Baume. The village evolved around an abbey founded in the sixth century by St. Colomban. In the tenth century St. Besson and a group of monks from Baume left it to found the illustrious abbey of Cluny in neighbouring Burgundy. After the Revolution, however, the name was changed from Baume les Moines to Baume-les-Messieurs. This was partly because the character of the establishment changed at the beginning of the sixteenth century, when the simple religious life of the monks gave way to a more worldly and noble existence. Jean de Watteville was a famous seventeenth century abbot of Baumes who made a reputation for himself more as a swashbuckling philanderer than a religious leader. His exploits included a duel to the death with a Spanish knight, which resulted in a period in Constantinople, where he became a Muslim. After many years as a soldier he finally returned to the abbey and died there in 1702 after 84 quite remarkable years.

While I was growing up I had had three aunts in the Columban Sisters so this abbey of their patron was special to me. Whatever about the other sacrifices he made in the life he led, Columban knew how to pick his locations. Fortunately Sr. Joan had only recently suggested I read Cardinal Tomás Ó Fiaich's book on the saint or otherwise I might have been tempted to follow his route around France and Italy to Bobbio that is outlined in the book.

But here I was at last in the abbey and Séamus was there to welcome me. The building is now in private ownership and I had booked months in advance for this night, as only three rooms are available for bed and breakfast. Or so I thought. There was no record of my booking. In desperation and in desperate French I pleaded that I had sent a letter and a cheque. A check among assorted papers revealed my letter and a booking for 5 September. Tomorrow night. Somehow I had mistakenly booked the day of departure as the night of arrival.

A few frantic prayers hastily forwarded in silence were promptly and efficiently answered when I was told that fortunately there were no other bookings for tonight. We were lead up ancient stone stairs to a unique room in the abbey building which dates from the fifteenth century. What a contrast from the modern chic of the night before to the basic arrangements in the abbot's room. But nobody could compete with the abbot for the view from the window. Nor indeed for the surroundings as Séamus and I discovered as we wandered the area. Near the village are caves, which looked spectacular but were unfortunately closed, and at the head of the valley, below the cliff, is a spectacular waterfall that yielded one of the best images of the trip.

Monsieur Ghislain Broulard and his wife who own the abbey are eccentric and how they manage to operate remains a mystery to me. There were the only restaurant open and we had dinner with them. It was like a family dinner and they ate with us in a refractory more than a dining room. We carried out a lively conversation in a mixture of French and English.

He regaled us with stories of how difficult it was to negotiate some of the local roads in a four-wheeled vehicle. Both felt it impossible to get out of the gorge on a bike never mind continue across the Jura into Switzerland. But that is what I hoped to do tomorrow.

Suddenly tomorrow looks difficult and long. Can I do it?