I’m starting today’s blog with a quotation from St Bernard of Clairvaux. Mystic, abbot and theologian, Bernard was much sought after by kings and popes during the 11th Century. He seemed to have a great affinity with dogs, whose tails, he thought, could say more in a moment, than a person could say in a lifetime. He founded an abbey at Clairvaux, which I was to walk past today, and became the first word in monastic life, demanding strict adherence to the Rule of St Benedict.

Bernard is said to have written

“Every dog has its day, unless it loses its tail, then it has a weak end.”

I think this humorously highlights the importance of resilience and adaptation in life. It was something I was going to need as I left Bar-sur-Aube a shade before 10am.

It had been a leisurely start. A very good nights sleep had been had at in the Rue St Maclou, in the shadow of the church of the same name. This church had seemed to fall almost into ruin before a huge four year restoration project kicked off. There was a lot of removal of scaffolding going on from around 7.30am, but this hasn’t bothered me. I was still slumbering after the days forced march through the rain.

I’d busied myself buying supplies for a weekend in the country. Not some P G Wodehouse style shooting party, but protecting myself against the very real possibility of starving in the rural hinterland stretching for 40km between Bar-sur-Aube and the next “supermarketed” town of Langres.

Laden with these supplies, I sallied forth, saying goodbye to the mills on the Aube and the vestiges of civilisation. After the rather workaday route of the previous day along quiet departmental roads (necessary owing to the rain), I vowed to follow the official route today.

As I passed through Proverville and up into the woods, I soon wondered whether I had done the right thing. The route planner here seemed to have some sadistic urge to find steeper and steeper paths. I like walking up hill, but there were surely better ways of scaling the 350m to the top?

Above is the section that Sandy Brown describes in his guidebook as a “vertical forest path” – and he’s not wrong. Cursing, I strode on, making best use of Magda and Zbigniev.

And just as I was about to suffer a sense of humour failure, brought on by significant lack of breath, the path opened out onto to a broad upland (yes, it was indeed sunlit!). There was a view point from which I could stand and survey all that, though sweat and dark muttering, I had just mastered.

Feeling refreshed, and more than a little smug, I continued to loaf through woodlands interspersed by open fields. It was a wonderful morning’s walking.

Villages round here have a habit of appearing as one leaves a wood on a hill; nestled below in a folds in the landscape, like a sleeping dog in a basket. Baroville was one such township, curled up asleep.

This is another champagne village with some lesser known names emblazoned on houses. It was quite warm now in the sun and I could see my route through vineyard and woodland stretching before me.

This was to be the long forest ride though to Clairvaux. It was nearing lunchtime. The rabbit pâté in my rucksack was calling my name in a soft voice, yet with growing insistence.

I knew I was going to face the “where to sit down conundrum.” A tree stump seems to have romantic, possibly gnome like appeal, but after a few minutes, such notions begin to pall.

From a distance I espied a seemingly sturdily built bird hide, about twenty feet in height. I cast a careful eye about and then climbed up inside. It was just perfect! With a bench and a desk for binoculars or bird books, it was the perfect place for laying out lunch.

Granted, my picnic spot did sway a little, but it was a perfect place to watch the wildlife, stay in the shade and have a comfy sit down!

To be honest, I was a little sad to leave, I sized the hide up for a possible overnight stay, but decided I wouldn’t be able to stretch out sufficiently for comfort.

After another few kilometres of woodland, the abbey complex at Clairvaux appeared straddling the valley. At the Revolution the large abbey was dissolved and a little while later Napoleon ordered that the place be turned into a prison. It has remained so until very recent times.

On my visit it appeared that the prisoners have left and a body is working towards the “renaissance” of the abbey. I visited the very well stocked abbey shop and could have booked a tour, but time did not permit. I did however converse with a Frenchman who found it hard to conceive that anyone might walk from Calais to here. I must admit that when I stop to think about it, it is pretty crazy!

Bernard of Clairvaux founded the Cistercian Ordwe which tried to follow more closely the Rule of St Benedict and turn its back on the worldliness of the church. Cistercian monasteries were founded in remote places. I remember fondly visiting Rievaulx Abbey in North Yorkshire on a school sixth from trip. It was wonderful to stand here now in Clairvaux and think this was where it all started.

The area around was littered with reminders of this monastic past. Yet I was now occupied with thoughts of dinner and weekend eating plans. I had no bread, but I had some pâté, cheese and saucisson left, along with some yoghurt and clementines. Would this last me the next four meals?

The remaining walk was a long 10km though muddy woodland and down knee-labouring stony paths. Day-glow slugs strew my way.

Cirfontaines appeared like another docile hound slumbering in the landscape. It could not come soon enough!

I found my AirBnB in the Place de La Mairie and found that my fears were unfounded. Jeanine and Didier had clearly taken the Rule of St Benedict to heart. Barely before I was through the door, but a cool beer had been proffered and gratefully accepted. I was shown to a very comfortable room and a splendid meal of beef and potatoes, cheese and raspberry dessert followed. Washed down with port and wine, it was a splendid supper. Much time was spent tapping conversation into translation apps, but warm friendship resulted.

Every dog has its day, and today was mine. Admittedly at 32km it was a long one, but were I to have a tail, it would still be wagging!