City Escape Collection

I set off from Germigny under a sky that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be cloudy or bright. Thankfully, it leaned toward the latter. The air was cooler, the light softer — the kind of weather that makes you want to wander, even with a backpack on.

The first few kilometres were fine, but as the path stretched on, I realised I wasn’t really enjoying the walking part of this walk. The landscapes were quiet and pleasant, but the rhythm started to feel monotonous. I kept checking my distance, wondering when I’d get there. And in little hamlets, I found myself tensing up — the sound of barking dogs still makes my heart race. I try to remember the advice: keep walking, don’t run, use a calm voice. But still, it rattles me.

At some point today, it clicked: this journey isn’t about walking for me. It’s about moving — getting from one place to the next, discovering something new every evening. The actual act of walking is just the in-between. That said, I do love the feeling of arriving, of stepping into a new space and knowing it’s mine for the night.

The campsite in Sully is simple but lively. I’m pitched in the area for people travelling on foot or by bike — no cars, no generators. Just a few of us with our little tents and weary legs. It feels right. I like this part of the trip: the routine of shower, rest, wander.

Later in the evening, I decided to skip the campsite food truck and head into town. I crossed the bridge into Sully and found a little restaurant with outdoor seating. It was right by the road, but traffic quieted down as the sun dipped. I ate slowly. Just being somewhere new, surrounded by strangers with their own stories, was enough. On the way back, I caught the distant sound of French chansons from a local fête. There was a golden light over the river — that kind of light you can’t photograph, not really. You just stand there and soak it in.

Back in my tent, I listened to a podcast about slow travel. The woman speaking was all matcha lattes and boutique Airbnbs, which felt far from my frugal little adventure. But still, her idea of staying longer in one place, of going deeper instead of further — that resonated.

Tomorrow’s walk is short — only 13 km — and I’ve decided not to push myself. I’ll take a bus from Dampierre straight to Gien, instead of doing a long, wet 25 km trek on Saturday morning before catching my train. I’m not here to prove anything. I’m here to enjoy. And sometimes, enjoying means changing the plan.