The ferry arrived in Dieppe at 5.30 a.m. on Thursday and I then had a four hour wait, sitting outside the parish church of St Jacques de Compostelle for the 9.30 Mass. There are two statues of St James here in Dieppe: the exterior one pictured here at the main door to the church - a stone sculpture of the 14th century - and another more modern statue made of wood by the main altar inside. It was wonderful to continue the week with the first readings at the Mass from the Letter of St James.
I followed the Chasse Marée footpath from Dieppe. This is a modern reconstruction of the ancient route taken by the carts taking the fish from the port of Dieppe. They would leave the town before 5.30 p.m. when the town gate was locked and then continue inland through the night.
This route criss-crosses the D3 for some way out of Dieppe and goes through woodland and pretty Normandy farms. At the end of the first day's walk, I pitched the tent in a wood and was suddenly astonished by a deer running right past me - crashing through the woods at the speed of a racing cyclist going at full tilt - and I can only think it saw me just at the last minute and veered off suddenly. I must have pitched the tent exactly in its normal path through the woods.
Once the wildlife of Normandy had done its best to surprise me, it was the turn of the weather. On Friday, nearing the small town of Cléres in the late afternoon, the sky turned black and a fierce thunderstorm began, with the imminent downpour indicated by a sudden rush of wind. I was caught in open countryside with no cover at all, so I quickly made an instant and disastrous decision to erect the tent. I had hardly begun to put it up than the storm stuck, and it was not rain but a fierce and prolonged hailstorm of hard balls of ice. I crawled into the half assembled tent and sat upright as I was pelted with what seemed like a skip-load of ballbearings dropped upon me from the sky. The tent was instantly demolished and I sat with the thin wet material draped around me! It felt as if I was being stoned to death! The continuous hailstorm lasted for twenty minutes, and when it was finally safe to emerge, I came out of the wreckage of the tent to see a landscape suddenly transformed into winter, the fields and road completely white. Within minutes there were sounds of distant sirens, as emergency vehicles began to attend the various traffic accidents caused by the freak storm. I passed by such a scene a little while later and realized how lucky I had been to be walking, not driving. At least I was simply soaking wet and cold; others were badly injured. The summery day had suddenly turned the roads to wintry ice in a few seconds and caught many drivers completely unaware of the dangerous conditions.
Later on that second day's walk in France, I had another encounter with the wildlife. Again I found a quiet spot in a remote wood and pitched the tent. Everything was still soaking wet from the afternoon storm, but I decided to make camp again in the open in the hope that I could dry things out - which would not have been possible had I found accommodation in a pension, attractive though that idea might seem. As I was pitching the tent, there was an extraordinary - and very frightening - high pitched shrieking noise near to me. A wild boar ran straight past. It was not a fully-grown animal but nevertheless quite fierce in appearance, particularly for an English pilgrim unaccustomed to the experience of wild boar charging around the countryside. Since I retired from teaching English, I thought I had seen the last of Lord of the Flies, but here I was confronting the Beast in a remote wood, and armed only with a replica 15th century pilgrim staff.
Finally I arrived in Rouen late on Saturday afternoon and made the rendezvous with Jean-Noel of the Amis de Saint Jacques de Normandie, outside the cathedral. We had arranged this before I left England and it was very good to be welcomed by a friendly greeting as he arrived and met me outside the cathedral. The wild animals of the night and the storms of the daytime had receded behind me, and here for the moment was a homely welcome and refuge for a pilgrim.
High above me on the west front of the cathedral - not sufficiently visible in the photo - is a statue of St James, but it is a copy of the 13th century original. Many of the statues have been removed and replaced with copies in the renovation work of recent years, and the originals are placed inside the cathedral on either side of the Lady Chapel.
Here, to my delight was the original life-size statue of St James, once situated
a hundred feet up and now placed at ground level. What better than to ask him to hold for a few minutes the replica 15th century pilgrim staff I have carried here all the way from Worcester, step-by-step over these past two weeks. After taking this photo a tour group of American tourists with their guide arrived and used the opportunity of an encounter with a real live pilgrim - all the way from Worcester on foot - to explain the medieval tradition of pilgrimage to Compostela. I wondered for a moment, looking at the quizzical expressions on the faces of the group, whether some of them thought I was simply there as a paid actor providing a piece of local historical theatre for them. Did any of them believe I had walked from Worcester and was now continuing south towards the Pyrenees? It would be natural for them to see me as part of the
Disney element of the town, along with the incongruous little white tourist train, the Joan of Arc waxwork museum and the juggling street artists in medieval fool costumes.
I remain on my guard, however, for this is the city of Flaubert; and after the surprise encounters with deer and wild boar earlier, I may not escape Rouen without a Flaubert parrot attack.
At a gathering of Les Amis de Saint Jacques for a meal near the cathedral in Rouen this evening, we exchanged stories of the Camino and enjoyed swapping tales of extraordinary moments on the pilgrimage. It was very good to have this opportunity - in the middle of this pilgrimage - to meet others in such a convivial atmosphere. Now I am preparing to leave Rouen and continue to the next stage of the journey, to Chartres. I am especially grateful to Jean-Noel and Lyn who have made my stay here so pleasant, and I will leave fortified by the day's rest, good food and warm company, having made new friends in this historic city. 
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