- a l t o p a s c i o

“there are always flowers for those who want to see them” - Henry Matisse

Today saw a “molto brutto” stage of the Road to Rome, leaving bellissima Lucca to hike on mostly flat road to Altopascio. 

And yet, the path is changing in another way as I get closer and closer to Rome.

There are more and more other pilgrims on the road now. The Via Francigena is very well ordered into about 18 days or “stages” from here to Rome. The discipline of setting a target each day, waking up very early to start, and crucially, stopping when it is reached, has been a pleasure. 

Villafranca to Aulla was the last day I walked by myself, and I am really grateful. Walking with other people throughout the path has been a huge relief.

You can work together to find the path. There is peace of mind knowing you could help each other if you suddenly had a need. When then the path is industrial and lacking in aesthetic, you can turn your attention towards learning about the people around you from all different places in the world and life. 

Yesterday, we arrived at 12PM so I had much more time to visit the Lucca and the others I walked with amicably made a small tour of the cathedrals, plaza, walls of the city and local food.

When I arrived back at the hostel, I was dead tired, but I finally figured out who I was sharing a room with - Alice (ah-li-ché), a girl the same age as me who came from Firenze to walk the Via Francigena from Lucca to Rome.

I didn’t know this at first, I just said yes to tagging along to view the eclipse with her and some filmmakers from Lille in northern France, because I knew I would have to wait 100 years for another chance. 

It was fun. Curiously, the highlight of watching the lunar eclipse was listening on the sound equipment one of the filmmakers brought to record the night in lieu of taking pictures.

With a microphone on a small stand and headphones on, you could hear all the sounds of Lucca on an alive night- cars closing in the distance, someone a few meters away explaining how an eclipse works in Italian, children running and laughing outside the city walls, a little more opera singing, motorcycles.

I could never have imagined that experience. Staying up a little late for the eclipse led to a great day. Alice and I coordinated waking up early to walk together and yesterday’s army grew by one more.

c a m a i o r e - l u c c a

“things don’t have to change the world to be important” - steve jobs

I am writing from the loveliest cafe in Lucca. It’s 3PM and I am drinking an American coffee.

Because Cappuccino after 10AM - never! 

Okay, on different day this cafe playing Dua Lipa and selling Herschel backpacks might look suspiciously like an Italian version of Urban Outfitters but- the coffee is wonderful, everything is marble and I am floating on a cloud.

Today’s walk was about 25km. I began before 5AM. I actually thought I was waking up in the middle of the night to get water from the kitchen, but the other pilgrims in the hostel were taking coffee to start the day.

In a moment, I decided to grab my tiny backpack in the dark and join them. 

My one hesitation was that I wanted to say goodbye again to my friends Francesca and LeLe.

It felt like a good omen that as I was heading down the stairs to leave Francesca had also woken up in the night (or maybe it was my rustling next door) to say bye once more.

I fastened my still wet socks to top of my backpack.

We started walking five deep in the dark. 

The pace was brisk. Among the ranks of the pilgrims was Massimo, an Italian retiree who had amassed 77 marathons over a running career of more than 30 years.

“When I run a 42km marathon”, he said, “and I have 41 km in my legs and one remaining, I start thinking about the next marathon” 

It’s always nice to meet people who speak your language! 

We walked about 6 hours, covering 4-5 kilometers some hours.

Some uphill was challenging for me. I took energy from my new yellow Via Francigena scarf from LeLe and Francesca, already  glued to my ​forehead with salty sweat. 

But what I will remember most about today is maybe the precious hour we spent having coffee with Sergio and Rossetta, an octogenarian couple living in town of 180 people. They invited us in their home just after chatting with us on the road.

They showed us what they loved the most, their garden and their one “bella regazza” - beautiful daughter. 

It was a wonderful repose.  

The trail continued, a small army that occasionally lost one to a phone call or stop inside a church. We passed several churches, without bothering to stop, though, the Italians pointed out, several predated the discovery of America in 1492.

 The last part of the trail was flat and followed a river, another nice repose, and before noon we were in Lucca, a chic Tuscan city with the best gelato, the prettiest violin and opera music floating into the streets from practice studios, and the cleanest shower in the world. 

m a s s a - c a m a i o r e

 “...waking at very early dawn amid all that sweat, he had found himself comparing this journey with his own life...”

- Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, El Gattopardi

Today saw 30km from Massa to Camiaore. 

The day was hot and the path was climbing and full of surprises.

A view of the Mediterranean Sea and the first town of the Cinque Terre.

A sculpture and frescos by Botero inside a cathedral in Pietrasanta...

In the final kilometer of the walk, a beautiful beautiful papagayo who didn’t mind playing show-off for us.

Upon reaching the hostel, I realized my friends would be leaving tomorrow- a reality of pilgrimage. 

It was very special to me that they surprised me with a gift- a Via Francigena scarf printed custom by an artist friend- to match theirs.

 “Send is a picture with it when you get to Rome!”  they said. 

I’m working on it! 

c a n i p a r o l a - m a s s a

 “It’s fun to be alive. It’s a hell of a lot better than being dead” - Joe Strummer

••

Today! The new routine of prying my eyes open at 5:30 AM and heading out the door as soon as possible is going well!

This morning saw a beautiful sunrise.

Between the microwave and the tiny electric kettle, there was instant coffee for all at the pilgrim hostel.

Yet, once I found the Via Francigena path and was walking along, I couldn’t resist the open door of the first cafe for a proper Italian coffee.

While I was still there, the Italians, Francesca and LeLe, I had been on the path with since Aulla, also stopped by.

“Ciao! Ciao!”

I was going a little slowly over my coffee. But I knew that their target for the day was Massa, like mine, and that they would make good time.

I hustled to fall in step behind. 

As much as the solitude of walking alone is tonic, walking with other people keeps me going! 

Even better, Francesca and LeLe’s style of walking was just like mine ​

“7 hours for walking, 2 hours for the photos”​

Francesca joked aptly..​

and ​nearing the midway point to Massa, LeLe got serious-

“Target: Gelato​.”

So we speak the same language after all!

The trail climbed to vineyards and views of the Mediterranean Sea. The clouds helped cover the sun. We found wild berries.  

I learned something awesome from Francesca. I asked when the figs would be ripe, and she told me usually the end of August or September. Bt actually, it’s possible for some fruit to ripen before. Even individual fruits on the same tree can ripen a month or two apart from each other. I love a metaphor, so I put this amazing nature fact in my back pocket for the next time I feel tempted to compare my trajectory to my peers’...

We passed marble factories and they pointed out the mountains where the marble was extracted from. I noticed even the street curbs and the stairs of the convenience store, was white marble.

We approached Massa with some hills. The word “hill” apparently sounds indistinguishable from the word “hell” to Italian pilgrim ears. So I learned a new word, “inferno”, and saved a little inspiration for today’s quote.

a u l l a - c a n i p a r o l a

 “I was a sunburnt pagan now. I felt privy to mysteries” - William Finnegan, Barbarian Days

 ••

Today’s went from Aulla to Caniparola, just outside Sarzana.

I left at 6AM this morning and finished with plenty of daylight. By 4pm, I was jockeying for the shower with the same pilgrims that just this morning I had eyed taking last cream-filled croissant from the bakery on the Via Francigena path.

My clothes are now drying in the sun and im listening to some siesta snores from the top bunk. So this is what it’s about!

Actually though, it was really cool to start and end the day with other pilgrims on the road. I was determined to do things differently. I was the first to leave this morning at 6am. At the bakery, I saw some others, but they didn’t want me to wait.

“I’ll catch up, we are going on the same path”.

When I stopped to stretch, I did catch up with the first pilgrim. When I stopped to take pictures, I lost her.

I came to a picnic table and decided to reorganize my backpack in the sunlight.

While I was taking this second break, the Italian couple I joined for dinner the night before passed me with their walking poles. I said hi as I  finished folding and rearranging my things to satisfaction, and never caught up with them again on the trail.

After breezing through a tiny town with no cafe (I tried!) the trail started climbing and climbing. I thought I saw a VF trail marker, but I became nervous when I checked my compass and I seemed to be going north. I walked a good 400 meters back to study the last marker.

“Painful mistake”

The Flemish accent of one half of the retired pilgrim couple I also met at the ostello summarized this 1km detour on one of the most difficult parts of the trail.

But no matter, now I had backtracked enough to share the trail with him and his wife. I knew they would climb slowly and accurately.

He checked something that looked like a beeper and assured his wife there was only 500 meters of climbing left. I had also met her the night before.

I remembered  as she put her things down on a cot, she had the look of the a pilgrim who had spent all day in the hot sun and was audibly out of breath.

Respect!

I asked what their objective for the day was; the ostello 3km outside Sarzana, like me. And I decided to fall in step behind. I trusted they were going to make it, early and out of breath, more than I trusted myself.

Following behind two massive backpacks on the uphill reminded me it isn’t easy for anyone.

Finally the climbing stopped, and we took a break at the top of the hill.

Another couple from the night before caught up; from Poland. The man was stoic. His wife, Anna, a geography teacher, was almost a Pixar animation. From talking to them and looking at the patches on their bag, I learned they had made many, many, pilgrim ways over the years, including very long and difficult ones I had never heard- from Poland to Rome! Passing the Pyrenees! 

But at the end of the 500 meters of climbing in Tuscany today, a relatively small feat, Anna danced in celebration.

What a vibe!

We took a selfie - “say marmalade!”

When we started walking the group spread out a bit again. I reached the St. Antonio ostello with the Belgians and completed my new routine. A shower with a tiny piece of soap that I also used to wash my clothes in the sink, a lay down, and some time to write.

The Italian pilgrim couple was there too! They invited me to a program going on at the church; a presentation on athletes with physical handicaps cycling from Rome to Santiago.

The athletes connected with the pilgrims, like this man who gave the Camino bracelet he was wearing for five years to one of the cyclists.  

It was a very cool ending to a hot Italian summer day. 

••

v i l l a f r a n c a - a u l l a

 Each day is a little life; every waking and rising a little birth; every fresh morning a little youth; every going to rest and sleep a little death. - Arthur Schopenhauer

••

Today was a very short day of walking. But I hope a very important day of the trip. 

When I left the albergo, Giancarlo said that my target for the day Aulla, was only 10km away as far as he knew, maybe 40km (did he mean 14?) by the Via Francigena.

I thought since I had taken such a long way yesterday, I would try the most direct route today. I walked a very unscenic path along cars and gas stations to Aulla, until I found the bicycle path, which worked very well. 

I arrived in Aulla with plenty of time to spare, and looked at the pilgrim musuem there. I asked for a stamp. I tried to show that my pilgrim passport was full and I wanted to buy another if possible. I thought this was successful. 

Then I tried to ask what the pilgrim accomodation was. The volunteer told me she did not know. But I saw a sign for the abbey. I knew I had to be in the right place.

I watched the volunteer lead another pilgrim with walking sticks, a sun hat and a big bag pack to a building behind the church. 

I was sure I was in the right place! But why hadn’t the volunteer showed me the way? I read a paper on the musuem table about the accomodation for pilgrims, very clearly printed in 4 languages, including English.

I realized very sheepishly that since I was walking with the tiny canvas daybag I had picked up at the the Col de Grand San Bernard Giftshop, and a cool linen dress with my sneakers because my other two outfits were dirty, the volunteer had just quickly judged I was a lost tourist looking for a hotel, not a Via Francigena pilgrim looking for the abbey.

I found this kind of funny. I showed all the stamps on my passport since Canterbury and a photo of my the big backpack I left behind. I don’t even think I had to do all that, just asking a second time was enough.

But something crystallized. Watching the other pilgrims filter in, all arriving in the early afternoon in a uniform of big Osprey backpacks, wide brim hats, and walking sticks, I saw a real part of the walking/pilgrim culture people who have done the Camino de Santiago first (which is most people) talk about.

On my lonely track, I had been taking notes from Simone De Beauvoir, who I read in a panel somewhere in France “didn’t bother with all the preliminaries, and never obtained the semi-official rig of rucksack, studded shoes, rough skirt and windcheater breaker”.

I watched the other pilgrims wash their clothes in the sink first thing and put them in the sun to dry, then relax and organize their packs.

Yup, never tried it.

I talked to the other people in the room who wanted to know how many kilometers I was making everyday. I watched people take out their thread and needle for blisters.

So this is the simple rhythm of life people are enjoying when they talk about pilgrimage.

The girl on the bottom bunk who said she would start at 6am tomorrow.

To me, a lot of the Via Francigena experience has been as erratic and eccentric, as full of people and media and tangents as my life in New York

My pilgrim life has happened between the hours of 10AM to 10PM. It never took on the measured, disciplined satisfaction I used to feel about recycling, laundry, and cleaning when I stuck to the same routine for 4 months, part of a time when I moved outside Manhattan and saved carefully for a trip like this someday.

I reflected on all this as I took a shower, washed my clothes in the sink, and angled them in the sun to dry.

tie dye crop top of mine fell below the balcony and an Italian nun in a white and beige habit retrieved it without translation.

Maybe there was something to being a 6am pilgrim, a sub 4 marathoner, someone whose phone stays charged and follows their GPS. I still had time to find out.

With my extra hour before dinner, I sat at the fold out table in the window and put pen to paper. I copied the name of each city remaining from the Via Francigena app into the days of my paper planner with the distance in kilometers. I caught a glimpse of Rome and experienced a new thrill.

- v i l l a f r a n c a

 “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.” -  Phillipians 4:8

Good morning from Tuscany! Have you ever seen such a beautiful sky? Yesterday saw a day of walking about 20 km along the ancient Via Francigena path from Pontremoli to Villafranca (halfway to Aulla). 

There are two Via Francigena paths that run from Pontremoli to Aulla; I think I took the long one.

A clap of thunder sounded as I set off on the path. I put my raincoat on over myself and my small canvas backpack for about 10 minutes until the rain passed.

The first part of the trail hiked up into the woods behind some beautiful Tuscan homes, then emptied to a more commercial road.

On the road was an open bakery with pink boxes. I stopped.

Outside, I was happy to spy an olive tree growing in front of a pretty orange house. I recently learned to identify olive trees by their delicate pale green leaves, and promised one of my Aunts to photo some here! The next part of the trail was mostly a cobblestone path through the forest. The stones were slightly wet from the rain. In places, they built a bridge across shallow running water.

I stepped carefully and with my camera pointed.

I walked through a small medieval town, Filaterria, during another brief rain. The chapel was marked everywhere as a stop for the Via Francigena, and I enjoyed a shelter from the rain there.

The path led out of the town from the chapel directly into the woods. Boisterous voices in the distance signaled life in the city center on a Sunday.

Bamboo trees on the trail (like the ones that invaded my grandmother’s garden for years), then a horse farm where I took coffee from a tack room vending machine reminded me of home.

“Connet- i - gut”

When I finally arrived at Villafranca, the albergo owner, a man with white hair and dark rimmed glasses named Giancarlo,  took my passport as a matter of form and flipped to the front page for a short biography.

“You were born in Connet-i-gut”.

It’s true. And I was pretty sure even without seeing it written, that his name was Giancarlo.

At least, I remembered

“Gian-carl-ooooooo!”

Was the magic word the massive Italian smoking a cigar outside the hotel had yelled towards an open window to commence business hours when I arrived. For a terse minute before this, it was all locked doors, a blank look and my backpack.

I guess that’s how things are working here in Italy, and I was so glad. They offered me a nice room at a small price. The church in town had recommended them as the Via Francigena accommodation in this town,  smaller than than the others on the way.

The restaurant where dinner was served had a lot of life though, of it supplied by Giancarlo himself, who told jokes at every table and translated the German menu into English in no particular order. 

I had an Italian coffee to finish one of the most delicious meals yet and slept beautifully.

p o n t r e m o l i

today I restart my walking after a resting week in Italy. 

I chose Pontremoli to search for the famous labrinynth in the church. I found a different church at first, but it was beautiful.

I stayed in the home of a sculptor from Florence named Sylvia Fossati. This is her, her home, her oven for ceramics, and espresso machine

The city of Pontremoli is very charming, and a dinner party in the small midieval streets was happening yesterday.

f i r e n z e

“if you follow all the rules, you miss all the fun” - Katherine Hepburn

 ••

Yesterday, as the sun rose high and hot over a leisurely breakfast of two cappuccinobrioche, something very good happened.

Hier alors que le soleil était au zénith, mangeant mes brioches accompagnés d’un cappuccino, quelque chose de très bien est arrivé

 ••

The ping of an iPhone , which lies heavy in a pocket all day and night for moments like this!

Hier alors que le soleil était au zénith, mangeant mes brioches accompagnés d’un cappuccino, quelque chose de très bien est arrivé

•• 

An invitation to Florence!

Une invitation pour Florence!

•• 

As I noted in the board in the pilgrim accommodation, in Italy there are no less than three official Via Francigena paths.

Comme je l’ai écrit sur le livre d’or de l’auberge paroissiale, en Italie il n’y a pas moins de 3 chemins officiels via Francigena

•• 

I thought to make another.

J’ai imaginé en créer un autre.

So I did. 

Et je l’ai fait.

- s a n t a • c h r i s t i n a

Yesterday’s walk was a short one, from Bellagiogioso to Santa Christina. 

La marche d’hier était courte de Bellagiogioso à Santa Christina. 

•• 

The guidebooks will say this is the walk of one day, but I made it in two. 

Ce chemin peut être fait en une journée d’après le guide mais il m’a fallu 2 jours. 

•• 

 “Piano, Piano”

•• 

The woman at the Chevalier hotel saw I was sore in the morning and, as someone who has seen many pilgrims, gave me the advice to walk slowly.

La réceptionniste de l’hôtel Chevalier a remarqué que j’avais des douleurs, car elle a déjà croisé beaucoup de pèlerins, m’a conseillé de marcher doucement.

•• 

So I did.

Donc je l’ai fait.

•• 

When the dogs looked at me and barked, I stopped to look back.

Je me suis arrêtée à côté d’un chien qui aboyait pour le regarder, il avait les yeux vairons.

I admired the succulents growing in a stone wall. They weren’t for sale like the ones in New York.

Jai admiré de jolis cactus poussant sur un mur de pierre, ils n’étaient pas à vendre comme ceux a New York.

But this beautiful house around the corner was.

« vendesi »

Mais cette belle maison au coin de la rue l’était.

I considered making an offer on this lamborghini tractor, but it passed too fast.

J’ai voulu faire une offre pour acheter ce tracteur Lamborghini mais il est passé trop vite.

The blackberries growing along the rice field were free.

Les mûres poussant le long des rizières étaient gratuites.

I arrived at the Santa Christina cathedral. As I sat in the quiet, a mass of children shuffled in to recite prayers. I followed along. After this prayer, before I had a chance to find the Italian words to ask where the pilgrim accommodation was, the priest walked to the pew where I was sitting.

“Pellegrina?”

Je suis arrivée à l’église de Santa Christina. Je me suis assise dans le silence et un groupe d’enfant est entré pour réciter plusieurs prières. Après ces prières, un italien est venu me voir pour me demander si je souhaitais dormir à l’auberge paroissiale, en m’interpellant ainsi :

« Pellegrina ? »

•• 

The accommodation was right behind the church. I put my name in the guestbook with the day’s date behind three other, a couple walking to Rome from Marseilles and a cyclist from Switzerland.

L’auberge était  juste a cote de l’église, j’ai inscrit mon nom sur le registre ainsi que 3 autres pèlerins dont un couple de Marseille faisant le chemin depuis leur maison jusqu’à Rome aller retour et une cycliste Suisse.

With just a short day of walking, as recommended by the hotel in the Belagioso, I had time to watch a movie in the evening with the others.

We chose “Paris Can Wait” a film about taking one week to drive from Cannes to Paris, an 8- hour trip.

•• 

Avec une courte journée de marche comme on me l’a conseillé à l’hôtel de Belgioioso, j’ai eu le temps de regarder un film avec les autres pèlerins,

Nous avons choisi « Paris can Wait » un film à propos d’un voyage d’une semaine sur les petites routes entre Cannes et Paris, la où l’on peut ne mettre que 8h par autoroute.

p a v i a - b e l g i o i o s o

 “We will only understand the miracle of life fully when we allow the unexpected to happen.” - Paulo Coelho 

Yesterday saw 18 km of walking to just exit Pavia and enter Belgioioso. 

The day started late with a stroll through an open market in Pavia. 

At the heat of the day, I stopped into a small cafe for an hour or so to hide from the sun. I played pinball for the first time in my life. If you travel this way stop by Caffe 1450 in San Leonardo and try to beat my score - I made the “good earner” level.

I saw a graphic I really liked.

And a sunflower.

Some barking dogs 

pink flowers against a pink wall.

I walked through rice fields

And past a very old fiat tractor 

The pilgrim accomodation in Belgioso came with an extra precautionary instructions and without WiFi, so I opted for The Hotel Cavaliere in the city center. This also meant I could choose what to eat for dinner from the adjacent restaurant’s menu- a good risotto  flavored with lemon. 

p a v i a

 “I’m not a mind reader, but I’m reading the signs” - Miley Cyrus

 ••

I am writing from Pavia, where I am after a 150km leap across the rice fields to the ciy yesterday.

What happened? 

Well, I didn’t wake up with the plan to take a bus and a car to past all the good mosquito-y countryside, but in the morning I saw a few new signs. 

The first was, after sleeping on a very parochial pilgrim bunk bed, I felt very stiff, as I did before seeing the ortheo. Then I saw a message from the amazing harpist from Ireland who is walking to Rome from her home in Clonakilty. She was leaving Pavia today.. 

“Pavia, Pavia..”

Someone along the way had told me about Pavia and how it was the best hospital in Italy but I didn’t remember who.

Was it the pilgrim yesterday who had insisted if I still had pain the best idea was to see a real doctor instead of an ortheo at the spa?

I remembered very clearly his Italian sign language, two fingers tracing a square in the air to represent a diploma on the wall.

No, it was a separate conversation a day earlier. The waiter at the hotel in St. Vincent had told me that Pavia was the best hospital in Italy because it’s where his daughter studying to be a doctor hoped to do her residency. 

I took these three pieces of information and the discomfort I was experiencing I was not too proud to take a bus.

I arrived in Pavia and was seen quickly. The hospital really was first class. The X-rays concluded nothing was broken, and it was just a matter space between my discs I never felt before because I never walked 1,000km.

I felt really relieved to have an expert opinion and continued with confidence. 

That evening, as I walked through the city with mosquitos biting around every corner, I realized the value of also skipping a week of hardship through the hot rice fields. 

I had a really wonderful dinner with three other people I had met along the way; one an Italian nutritionist who studied in Pavia too and helped me order in Italian a very healthy and wholesome meal of salmon and fresh salad.

She had already done the Camino de Santiago twice, as had one of the others. Their stories really inspired me about this special way in Spain. 

And todo was tranquilo .

s t • v i n c e n t - v e r r è s

“Live quietly in the moment and see the beauty of all before you. The future will take care of itself” - Paramahansa Yogananda

••• 

Yesterday saw; I don’t know how many kilometers from St. Vincent to Verrès.

I don’t know how many kilometers because this is roughly how they day went; hike, hike, hike... 

make friends with a kitten

find a crumbling castle with a dead end view 

meet a group of Italians working for the tourist office to point out the good path and the Roman Wagon wheel marks in the road... 

 ... appreciate the elevation of the road that once would have made it accessible when the valley below was flooded...

 ...meet some beautiful Nanas...

 ...hitch a ride past the dangerous part of the road with the Italian guides and take a three hour lunch...

 ...find Don Giuseppe to unlock the pilgrim accommodation at the church...

And see the end of another day from exactly where I needed to be .

c h a t i l l o n - s t • v i n c e n t

yesterday saw only a short hike up the hill from Chatillion. Even though taking 2 1/2 days of rest in Aosta felt like forever, I was really feeling my first day back on the trail when I woke up, so it was very slowly I picked my way southeast out of Chatillion.

I headed towards the river and found the cyclo vía signs, and following the wide pavement trail through the woods and along the river. 

When the trail started reaching up, up, up, I checked my map for some mistake. When the path emptied out into a beautiful a little city with a thermal pools boldly advertised everywhere, though, I knew this was no mistake. 

I stopped to pray in the church, then for a gelato, then for hours of swimming in thermal water to cool my legs. 

I just had my running shorts and sports top, but the other women told me it was fine for swimming.  

“sei in italia tutti bene” 

The pools overlooked a magnificent valley, and I couldn’t imagine anything better at the moment than the weightless feeling of swimming with this view. 

When I left, I looked around the lobby for a television for the World Cup final.

I asked at the bar of the spa if there was a television to watch the World Cup final. My Italian is still incomprehensible, but the message was international. 

The young Italian working there shook his head towards the phone he was hunched over when I came to ask.  

Obviously, there was no  television to watch the game there and that was the problem of the moment.

I walked outside and stuck my nose in the first place I heard noise. A television was blaring music videos, but there was only one group inside, cyclists with their back turned to the screen, so I asked. The Italian girl working there was super nice but ambivalent to the game, so it took a minute to understand each other, but a second before the game started, it was sorted.

I was going for France, the cyclists, Croatia. One more french fan joined, so then there were two. 

And two stars for the new French jersey by the end of the game- representing  their second World Cup win ever! 

a o s t a - c h a t i l l o n

“So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly my darling,
on tiptoes and no luggage, not even a sponge bag, completely unencumbered”

- Aldous Huxley

yesterday saw a big effort to Chatillion, the first full day of hiking in Italy. 

I was very charmed by the quiet countryside. The Alps in the distance I had also seen in Switzerland and France, but here they were framed by garden tomatos and pink and orange houses. 

I found some of the trail still challenging; uphills and sections requiring lots of focus to keep the bottoms of your shoes from sliding. I was thankful that one of the pilgrims I caught up with in Aosta gave me their hiking poles, and felt stronger walking this way.

The other massive gift on the road was the cold mountain water running alongside the path in a stone bath. I soaked my sore legs like my uncle taught me to do with lame horses. I had tried to convince the hotel in Aosta to give me a room with a bathtub unsuccessfully for two night in a row for this purpose, but what I found on the path was more perfect. 

About 10km out from Chatillion, I started following the Cyclo Via, the flat bicycle path along the river, for a respite.

Upon finally arriving in Chatillion, I was greeted by the noise of the streets on Saturday and the delcious smells of pizza. After asking a few questions, I learned the only option for a room in the city was atop this alluring pizzeria.  

​After the first long day in a while, the pizza was devoured before any photographic evidence could be taken. 

This morning, however, over jam-filled croissants I suspect were made with pizza frite dough

 ...and an warm apple tart the matron stopped by to mention she had made herself...

I captured a bit of the pizza magic as the chef prepared for the day. 

And tutto was bene.

a o s t a

“Happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast” - John Gunther ​

yesterday, I finally checked out of the hotel mignon after two days, had my back clicked back into place, and found my next stop - la méizón de Sara, next to the Via Francigena path in Aosta.

the nice thing about spending three days in one place has been the volume of other pilgrims I see as they pass through. 

when I left the ortheopata, I was walking down the street taking pictures and heard someone call my name. 

it was Tracey, an Australian woman I first heard of over breakfast in Trefcon from two Belgian pilgrims. We had never met up in all this time, but now we recognized each other on the street in Italy. With her was Michael, an American pilgrim I had met in Langres.

 “Where are you headed? l walk with you!”

Tracey showed me some stretches for my back and how to use hiking poles to distribute your weight efficiently while you walk. 

And we went to the Italian post office and to lunch. 

After, they continued 15km to the next city and I checked into new place in Aosta for a third and final night - la maizon de Sara.

The name caught my eye for some reason.

It turns out that Méizón is a patois spelling, not the french “Maison” or Italian “casa”.

The other Sara is a very cool Italian girl who runs the bed and breakfast with her parents and likes a lot of cool things like telemark skiing, snowboarding, backpacking in Cambodia and surf camp in Spain!

It was nice to spend the last day in Aosta with so many friends.

a o s t a

​“the trick is, when there’s nothing to do, do nothing” - warren buffett

​hello from aosta again! for the first time in more than 40 days I stayed in the same exact place two nights in a row, and although this  made me homesick at first, I really like the breakfast here at hotel mignon, so that’s something to look forward to!

yesterday saw - 8km of wandering around the aosta- bumping into friends, making an ortheo appointment, eating gelato, ​listening to the italian tapes of city conversation, washing clothes and even shopping.

​now that i am italy the lingering race, race, race spirit I set off from New York with has almost disappeared.

when my confused coffee order in italian yielded two cups - a coffee with a side of cappuccino, I decided they get really me here. I could stay at least another day or two. 

One day for the ortheo to click my back into place this afternoon, maybe one more day to let it set in place.

All in due time. 

The day began with me trying to check out of the hotel, and the front desk giving me an ice pack and Tylenol instead.

“Ospidale”.

A stern but caring look and a point across the street.

This is when I went to do my laundry and go shopping. I really didn’t want to walk myself into an emergency room, but if I had to, I needed clean clothes.

Before it came to that though, I stopped in a clean place buzzing with people and a sign outside - “massage, osteopatia”.

I thought to myself, well, if you were waiting for a sign, this might be it. 

No one spoke 100% English, but one of the  therapists cracked her neck twice to demonstrate “osteopathic massage”, and that was good enough. 

I arranged to come back and went on with my day.

I saw the other pilgrims with backpacks and walking sticks just arriving in town.  

It felt like I was on a different track with clean hair and a shopping bag on my arm.

But I was happy to realize that now two small groups of Via Francigena pilgrims I had met  along the road would be in town, and hoped we could all come together. 

I went back to the hotel and took a nap.

When I woke up, I checked my messages to see both groups had assembled separately on the same main street.

I headed in that direction. Within minutes and without texting, we all found each other sharing a table and stories; of hiking the Great St Bernard this week, The Camino de Santiago (the other Sarah did it with a broken arm and got her stamps on her cast!!) and English hospitality on the Coast to Coast and from Canterbury! 

It was a good moment and certainly good luck that although we came from four different continents and countries we could be in the same place at the same time to share a piece of pilgrimage. 

s t • r h e m y

Don’t forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted.
What happened?
He lived happily ever after.

- Willy Wonka  

Today’s photos were pretty scarce because I had to march to keep forward today. I was so excited to start out though, within maybe the first 500 meters out the door of the Hospice I met the Italian border! 

My back kept spasming as I picked my way along the path. I was lucky to follow another Pilgrim out of the city, also 40 days out from Rome and hurting. I don’t know if I would have attempted walking with pain solo, but it was important to me to cross into Italy on foot.

I sang to myself - John Mayer. 

“Who says, I can’t be free? ... Rewrite my history?”

I occupied my mind writing a little history paper.

What does it mean to cross into Italy by this very old military pass on foot? What does it mean to be Italian-American and grow up believing all these about who I am and who my ancestors were - Italian military men known for a distinct style of walk/running?

Is it even true, or would I be shocked by a DNA test? 

Were there women in this military?

Maybe the true history was being written today as I passed through the Alps, crying out in pain at points, but for peace, or friendship, or curiosity,  not war.

As the downhills got steeper into the valley, I listened to John Mayer’s cover of Free Fallin’. 

I discovered that keeping a steady rhythm  helped a lot. So I did that.

Somehow, I found a way. It was a short day -  15k - and by the time we reached the 15 minutes away sign for the first little stop - St. Rhemy, I was cruising - Ouch!!!- almost.

When I reached the first open door I. The village of St Rhemy - I felt like I had made it. The people inside had accents like accordions and pretty tan skin. I ordered something and sat down. 

I stood up to check my phone for a minute, which turned into 20 minutes, which turned into being frozen like a marble statue while the empty table next to me filled up with three people. They worked their way around me to get to and from their lunch- a pile of cheese and meat that I was standing way too close to.

I thought about sitting down and ordering something else, or at least politely stepping to the side, but I just didn’t know which way I could move that wouldn’t make my back spasm. So I just stood there. Then for the second time in 40 days, started crying fat alligator tears.

I really believe in not crying in public, but maybe I truly found my people here. They didn’t judge me at all. The chef gave me a big hug and looked critically at my crooked posture from behind Prada glasses. In a moment, she decided to cancel the reservation I had just made with her for the hotel attached to the restaurant, put me in her station wagon, and chase down the bus to Aosta. 

We went back and forth through the mountains until we met the bus. She pulled her car right up to the front of it and explained to the bus driver in Italian what was going on, with instructions to drop me right off at a reasonably priced hotel next to the hospital so I could see a doctor if I wanted to. He gave me a ticket and did that.

On the bus I half fell asleep, half had a very nice conversation in french with an peppy white haired Italian woman in dark sunglasses. She was happily « tout seule » too. 

I checked into The Hotel Mignon, which is kind of Mignon (cute!) with its vintage posters framed on vintage wallpaper and functional WiFi.

I found my legs enough to walk to find something to eat nearby. 

As they say, I don’t know a lick of Italian, but I pieced something together to get a sandwich at the first place I saw, a small corner grocery store. 

I paused awkwardly when the woman behind the counter started speaking Italian to me.

“Americano” I said first, to establish I was confused. 

Then I remembered the name of a deli in midtown Manhattan whose catering menu once cluttered my desk- 

“Mmmm... Mangia?” 

I pt my fingers together like a sandwich and  pointed them towards my mouth with a little tap - Was this Italian sign language for “eat?” 

“Óra?”  - I knew the Italian word for “now” because I once looked it up for an Instagram caption. I tried to inflect my voice so it didn’t sound rude. I think she understood. 

With a little pointing a new sandwich order was born. Lots of good salami between a little slightly sweet bread roll.

I sat outside and ate it with a Coca Cola.

“Italoamericani” - I reviewed the new word I learned. 

g r a n d • s t • b e r n a r d

 "As you walk and eat and travel, be where you are. Otherwise you will miss most of your life." - Siddhartha Gautama

I am writing from L’Hospitalet in Gd. St. Bernard! Below you can see the path I took from Bourg St. Pierre.

You know it’s going to be a good day when the second word you pause to translate into English after “col du montagne” (mountain pass) is “synchronicité” (synchronicity).

But how do you divide a day? Hours? (6) Kilometers? (12) Elevation gained? (1100m) The passsing of the tree line? The passing of a lake? Towns ticked off the tail markers? Breakfast, lunch and dinner? 

This day was all of these! 

I discovered new music from the friends I made where I stayed in Bourg St. Pierre! And also learned it is okay to drink the white water if you are above the cows.

So I drank from a mountain stream! As luck, Providence, or synchronicity would have it, I trailed behind another pilgrim for the day who captured it on video, and lent an extra water bottle when I forgot mine!

It was a beautiful day and I felt a part of the whole thing! 

b o u r g • s t • p i e r r e

“Anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve” - J.K. Rowling 

•••

I am writing this from Bourg St. Pierre, just a short way to Italy. The welcome sign to the city was one affirmative greeting when I arrived. The shop sign in Italian advertising a special sale on Lindt chocolate was even more! I am just at the Swiss edge of Italy now.

Yesterday’s climb was very short. I am making the steep parts in very conservative efforts of 15-20km days. I feel some of the adjustments that comes with this drastically different terrain- the strong sun, the altitude, and the trail which requires a lot more careful footing and upward energy.

I left Orsières in a bit of a dream. I felt I could almost stay there forever, or at least to see the snow come! Maybe that’s why it took me a cappuccino, a chocolate bar and 2 wrong turns to make it out of the city limits. 

​I stopped at workshop to look at things being made out of the abundant wood in the area.

I took my first wrong turn after the river, and used my compass to scramble back up on to the southeast trail through hiking a small mountain stream and a field with a promising 5 stair steps built into the top.

When I finally saw this sign I knew I was made.  

So I continued on, with very few stops before reaching Bourg St. Pierre.

Well, except the admire the beautiful little chalets and yards. 

And stops to enjoy the sounds of whitewater on my feet on a bridge.

I felt the erratic splashes of air and water as I reached out to touch the cold stream.

I stopped for a closer look at the animal and plant life all around.

I lost the trail markings just coming into Bourg St Pierre so I cut through a steep grassy pasture. It was barely walkable in the direction I needed to go, so I stopped again and took my favorite picture of the day.