A rebel without a clue.

There is a wonderfully warm sun shining in through the large patio doors heating my body, which feels a little bone weary. A little earlier I took a walk to the Eglise in Beaumont, but that wind really takes the edge off any real power from the sun. The lady at Home Saint Pierre told me it takes 5 degrees off the temperature easily. It feels like it is brushing the glaciers and snowcapped peaks and blowing it down the Rhône valley. Even with several layers it's no fun standing still. Much better when walking with it behind or to the side, but I don't need to stand around really. The village has nothing else to look at. The view is amazing with mountains to the north and west, but I'm better sat in a comfortable chair with a woollen, warm, deep piled carpet beneath my feet? Sometimes I think French people are very lucky with their country. Rurally it's absolutely top banana. It's staggering. Like many countries it has real difficulties, but it's heart is held hi...

It's nice to hit my stride rapidly and regardless of the bad night's sleep. Last night I destroyed Robert's lamp twice, and the second time it was truly broken, then inadvertently I walked into the wrong room, switching the light on in his daughter's bedroom: luckily she was in bed so no incident there and I went next door instead. After breakfast, a malted oat affair with honey and fruit, the first part of the morning was along the lake and crossing the Rhône into old Geneva and up to the Cathedral, which was closed until ten. Having asked advice I was shown into Home Saint Pierre for a stamping of the credencial and was allowed to have a little more breakfast - bread and creme du Marrons and another coffee. Then it was a straightforward 22 Kms blown all the way by a gusty cold wind known locally as La Bise. In Neydens I ate lunch from 12:15 until one, then I had to go up and over the long foot of a mountain: the grassy part to around 800 metres from a piffling 560 me...

Raclette, Tomme and pomme de terre. All the way into night. Beer, chassalas and the sound of freight trains throughout my dreams. Bellevue before Geneva. Robert of LA, Stanford Alumni, is the patron and I am blessed all the day. Walking on the right bank of Lake Genève. Emmental, Tomme, tomatoes, bread, cornichons and avocado for the day ahead. 7.5kms before Cathedral Saint Pierre and before Neydens for today. Time to enjoy the sunrise, etc and say bon chemin.

Here I am. On the shore of Lake Geneva with the mountains rising behind it. Robert, my American Stanford graduate host, has Italian ancestry so was on the Via Francigena when I messaged him about a night here before setting off on the Via Gebennensis towards Le Puy. My aim is to reach Le Puy in maybe three weeks or just less (I intend to head back to UK around 15/16th), but I will have to go back a slower way missing the Easter hordes heading back to the UK on budget carriers: buses all the way, however that is many days away. He's left me here so he can head into Geneva and get me the yellow guidebook I will need to find a place to stay. He's got a copy from 2017, but refuses to let me take(pay) his and he get a new one later. He says he has an number of errands in town and has a train pass anyway. Briefly I wandered to lake side, but it's quite cool without a jacket. I will pass it on the morning anyway. This is all pretty prosaic. The long morning did me in and even th...

The airport is overwhelmingly large, and I missed where you pick up a complementary ticket. I found an information desk, informed the lady on the desk that I am on the autistic spectrum: especially in busy, crowded, fast paced, illuminated spaces; I can't cope with it at all. No amount of antidepressants will ever help my feeling of helplessness in these situations. But it is over. I'm on the train as the lady went and got me a ticket. And I was the last person onboard. Phew. A man speaks in a French voice so very fast on the tannoy: it's rabid. I felt like the lad from the Incident of the Dog in the Night. I wanted to crawl into a small space and escape (not nice) to wait for my brain to stop pulsating. Now I'm relaxed on a lesser, slower, more peaceful and speechless train.

Can they actually talk forever? Maybe they could talk as the world explodes. This is a real difficulty. They're harmless, but incessant. They compare each other continually and are really scoring points. It's a better class of person, I'm sure, but it's undeniably meaningless. I am so trying to see peace not grievance. Plane journeys are barren and those behind me are banal. But it is over. I'm am glad I wasn't climbing , skiing or snowboarding. The bus is wedged with people. I'm allowed to sit next to the driver. Phew. Let me get out of this place. The bus follows number nine to the terminal. There are no seat belts ... I exist in no man's land.

Robert, my host, tells me to get some rest on the flight. So I climb on board the Jet2 Holidays emblazoned Boeing 737-300/800 in fear it will be filled with Stag do's and Hen parties. Saying hello, and good morning, to Lynsey the excusing myself passed Amy I take my seat. Another passenger comes along and, as she cares less which seat she has, moves me along one. Seat A with the window view. From here I can see the sea. Here comes the announcement and I'm removing my boots: it's too uncomfortable to have them on in this position for so long. Some people cannot count or find their seats. It's hilarious. Such a simple instructions to grasp. Take a deep breath and go in. Boots off before breakfast comes out; second breakfast. Last night's pasta and sauce. Then perhaps a moment's shut eye without too much dribbling, drooling, farting or snoring.