t r e k k i n g • t r a c k s

music gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything

- plato

---

asked to make a playlist of what I listened to on the francigena, I have two ideas. the first is to share playlists I made when I left new york, very simply, the titles of these songs are "anywhere", "runaway", "no roots", "free as a bird", and "my way". but there is another list of songs discovered along the way. they are not as thematically clear, but became they became the soundtrack to some of my favorite moments. this is a list of those.

Apple Music Playlist

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phase: northern france I terrain: rural, flat, sunny, wheat fields

sign of the times - harry styles

riptide - vance joy

lyrics to belt out: JUST STOP YOUR CRYING IT WILL BE ALRIGHT - when you want to stop at 25km but lack of accomodations forced you another 4 hours of walking to next town- ALL MY FRIENDS ARE TURNING GREEN - when you hardly spoken to a soul all day and are surrounded everywhere by shimmering jade stalks of wheat

---

phase: juras I terrain: forests, fields of cows with bells, tall grass

neighbors - j.cole

stupid girl - the rolling stones

lyrics to belt out: THAT’S WHY I MOVED AWAY I NEED PRIVACY SURROUNDED BY THE TREES - this sounded about right - I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE CLOTHES SHE WEARS, LOOK AT THAT STUPID GIRL - when i took a wrong turn to road walking on winding mountain highway with no shoulder and resorted to tiptoeing on the concrete barrier just alongside, I didn’t feel very smart.

---

phase : lac leman I phase: cool city, lake beaches, roads, rain

yes i’m changing - tame impala

sunset lover - petit biscuit

lyrics to belt out: ARISE AND WALK, COME THROUGH…THERE’S A WORLD OUT THERE IT’S CALLING MY NAME, IT’S CALLING YOURS TOO - in Orbe, I woke up in the middle of a dream with this stuck and my head and I was coming to terms with an injury, this motivated me to start again - petit biscuit was introduced to me on the road; no lyrics, just a vibe

---

phase : alps I terrain: climbing, forest, snow-capped mountains, sound of music hills

higher - don diablo

reckless - corey asbury

lyrics to belt out: I START TO HESITATE, RIGHT WHERE THE LIGHT ESCAPES, BUT YOU KEEP TAKING ME HIGHER - from martigny to GSB, it’s all climbing, and between these words and the beat drop, I liked to pretend I was being pulled up by a higher force - THERE’S NO MOUNTAIN YOU WON’T CLIMB UP, COMING AFTER ME - this is an intentionally spiritual song about the love and presence of God, when I hardly saw a single soul in the woods hiking for hours, it comforted me

---

phase : pavia hospital I terrain: uncertainty, off-trail, cities, rice fields

you’ll never walk alone - roger and hammerstein

lyrics to belt out: WALK ON, WALK ON WITH HOPE IN YOUR HEART, AND YOU’LL NEVER WALK ALONE - this took me through some tough times, when I wasn’t sure if back pain would force me to stop

---

phase: tuscany I terrain: surreal treeless fields and rolling hills
fearless - pink floyd

lyrics to belt out: YOU SAY THE HILL’S TOO STEEP TO CLIMB, WELL CLIMB IT - pretty self explanatory. my friend shared this with me on an uphill, and it instantly resonated. bonus is the sample of the Liverpool stadium singing “WALK ON” at the end.

---

phase: viterbo to rome I terrain: cities, fig trees, road walking

 how? - john lennon

lyrics to belt out: HOW CAN WE GO FORWARD INTO SOMETHING, WE’RE NOT SURE OF - each time I passed into a new country I felt some trepidation and uncertainty, but on the last days of the francigena I started feeling this as I looked forward to reaching Rome.

w h e r e • I • s l e p t

“To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the most pleasant sensations in the world. You are surrounded by adventure.”

―Freya Stark

Over the 89 days I was traveling, I stayed in almost 89 different places. These ranged from the hayloft of a goat farm (the best) to a Tibetan monastery overlooking Lac Leman and the Swiss Alps (really the best), to the occasional three-star hotel and many, many, ostellos, BnBs, and hostels. Most bookings were made upon arrival or at most, one day in advance. As the countries and regions changed, so did the system of hotels and accommodation. I encourage using the tourist offices in France/Switzerland and a guidebook or the Via Francigena app (from GSB) Dormi-Topo Francigena III app in Italy (from San Gimignano), with the caveat you may need to ask an Italian speaker to help you book over the phone.

Of course, if none of these solid options work out,  I found there would usually be at least one hotel in town, and if the hotel is booked-  the goat farm.

Sometimes the worst planning is the best adventure.

 b o o k i n g • l i n k s 

London (Stansted Airport) AIRBNB • Canterbury  KIPPS HOSTEL • Calais AIRBNB • Wissant HOTEL DE LA PLAGE • Licques POMMIERS DES TROIS PAYS CAMPGROUND • Wisque ABBAYE SAINT-PAUL • Arras ROYAL VARIETIES HOTEL • Bapaume DORMITORY • Trefcon VAL D’OMIGNON BNB • San Quentin AUBERGE DE JEUNESSE • Laon HOTEL DU TRAMWAY • Corbeny HOTEL DU CHEMIN DES DAMES • Reims CIS DE CHAMPAGNE HOSTEL • Verzy ALAIN LALLEMENT BNB • Chalons en Champagne HOTEL DU POT D’ETAIN • La Chaussee sur Marne LA FERME GOURMANDE BARN • Vitry Le Francois CASTOR HOTEL • St Remy en Bouzement AU BROCHET DU LAC BNB • Outines GITE LE COURLIS • Brienne Le Chateau PILGRIM GITE • Bar Sur Aube HOTEL LE ST NICOLAS • Chateauvillian PILGRIM APARTMENT • Langres L’ABRI DU PELERIN • La Liez HOTEL LES VOILIERS • Leffond MOULIN DE LA PAPETERIE BNB • Dampierre Sur Salon HOTEL DE LA TOUR • Gy LA CHARMOTTE BNB • Besancon HOTEL DU NORD • Vuillafans ACCUEIL FAMILIAL CHEZ BERNARD ET SOLANGE • Pontarlier AUBERGE DE JEUNESSE • Jounge MIREILLE GODART BNB  • Orbe HOTEL DU CHASSEUR • Monte-sur-Lausaunne PAROISSE DE ST AMEDEE • Mt Pelerin RABTEN CHOELING BUDDHIST MONASTERY • Villeneuve RITA MARZIO BNB • Aigle HOTEL DU NORD • Martingny HOTEL FORCLAZ-TOURING • Orsieres CLOCHER DE SIECLE  • Bourg St. Pierre PRIVATE HOME  • Gran San Bernardo HOSPICE AT GSB  • Aoste MAIZON DE SARA BNB  • Chatillon LOCANDA IL CERVINO  • St. Vincente HOTEL ELENA  • Verres CASA DEL PELLEGRINO COLLEGIATA DI SAINT GILLES  • Pavia HOTEL AURORA  • Belgiogioso HOTEL CAVALIERE  • Santa Christina PARROCCHIA DI SANTA CRISTINA E BISSONE  • Pontremoli AZURRA ART NOUVEAU BNB  • Villafranca ALBERGO MANGANELLI  • Aulla ABBAZIA SAN CAPRASIO  • Caniparola OSPITALITA CANIPAROLA  • Massa OSTELLO PALAZZO NIZZA  • Camaiore OSTELLO DEL PELLEGRINO DI CAMAIORE  • Lucca ACCOGLIENZA CANONICI REGOLARI LATERANENSI DI LUCCA   • Altopascio L’OSPITALITA DEI PELLEGRINI  • San Miniato L’HOSPITALE DEL PELLEGRINO SAN MINIATO  • Gambassi Terme OSTELLO SIGERICO  • San Gimignano OSPITALE DEI SS. AGOSTINO GIACOMO  • Monteriggioni CASTELLO PER FERIE SANTA MARIA ASSUNTA  • Siena AIRBNB  • Ponte D’Arbia CENTRO CRESTI • San Quirico IL PALAZZO DEI PELLEGRINO • Radicofini OSPITALE DEI SAN PIETRO E GIACOMO • Acquapendante ALBERGO TOSCANA • Lake Bolsena HOTEL LIDO • Montefiascone HOTEL URBANO V • Viterbo HOTEL VITERBO INN • Vetralla LOCANDA DAL SOR FRANCESCO • Sutri PRIVATE HOME • Campagno di Roma HOTEL BENIGNI •  Roma VILLA TASSONI

 l

d a y d r e a m e r

"karma is experience, and experience creates memory, and memory creates imagination and desire, and desire creates karma again" - deepak chopra

today I went to the beach. It was hot and sunny and I took a koing aman and a sparkling water for breakfast. I drove approximately 5 miles per hour to shorefront road, and then the parking attendant let me go through without the proper documentation to get to the water. thankfully.

I was happy and excited this morning to go. I felt inspired and knew there was nothing else in the world to do on a day like today but sit on a quietly at the beach. but somehow the stillness of the activity let my mind drift. 

I found myself daydreaming on the New England coast, the clapboard houses, the happy families, the sailboats. It was a perfectly serene afternoon, I felt my mind reaching to make anything more. I daydreamed. What if I was in Nantucket? What if I took a helicopter from the East River there instead of driving? What if I owned one of these houses with a private beach? What if I had a more perfect body to lie here in? What if I had 1 million followers, or 1 billion dollars?

I let these kinds of thoughts wash up in my mind. I realized what I was dreaming was awfully close to what I was living now - if I had all of these things, I would be still sitting on a beach on a beautiful day. I thought about all the other times that I dreamed like this -

Finishing a marathon, consumed with the dream of if I had finished 5 minutes faster.

Sitting by a pool in Montauk with my friends for the weekend, talking about how nice it would be to stay the whole week.

Being at a beautiful party, and wishing I was a different girl in a different dress so I could enjoy it.

Working in an office, and dreaming that I was someone more important working in the same office. 

I realized the difference between my dreams, and the reality - reality defined as what I could hear, smell, touch, see, taste - in all of these cases, was pretty small. In fact, it was as big or as small as I made it.

I let my phone die. It was hard to see the little screen anyway in the bright sunlight.

I touched the sand with my hands. I made little sand stones to fit together into walls like the ones I saw marking the houses in the distance. I discovered some sand was a better consistency for building. I put too heavy a stone on the top and watched the whole structure topple to one side. 

g r e e n w i c h

“You care enough, that you want your life to be fulfilled in a living way, not in a painting way, not in a writing way... you really do want it to be involving in living, corresponding with other living objects, moving, changing, that kind of thing.” 

Edie Sedgwick  

•••

The first order of business after returning home was visiting with family and friends.  Then was a visit to the orthopedic for help navigating the shock I put my spine in by walking 1,000 miles over the alps, and then, on doctor’s orders, a few days of air conditioning, movies, writing and editing photos from a resting position.

But I repeatedly had the urge to delete every picture from my phone. 

I have a dream to write a book about my travels, but I feel a struggle. I don’t want to relive the past. When I begin to write I want to be as engaged in the present time as possible. More excited about the project of writing itself than the subject matter which I’m explaining. 

After months of being outside and seeing things and meeting people and following signs, it is hard to make my primary project and engagement from behind a screen again.  

I felt this yesterday, and I couldn’t take a walk, so I took a drive in the country - what freedom!  

I had the idea if I simply went a way I hadn’t gone before, I was sure to find something colorful.  

My route memory, though took me the one way I knew - across the highway to pass my childhood home and back again. I felt a certain suburban emptiness from my teenage years. I didn’t want to go shopping, or eat something. I parked my car to answer a text messages. I saw if one of my friends was home (she wasn’t). I accidentally bought tonic water instead of a seltzer and started to drive back to Greenwich.

I missed an exit. 

I thought I found the direction back, but was distracted by a sign on the road, “POLO TODAY”. 

I have had the dream of going to a polo match for a long time. One of the remaining items on a Pinterest board of summer dreams that’s 7 years old. Maybe I had the idea of coordinating a group of friends and planning a picture perfect outfit back then. 

But there I was, alone in the car, feeling extra fresh because I took a shower and put on a sundress and flip flops (pilgrim black tie), with a completely dead phone/camera but readiness to go anywhere on earth alone if I saw a sign and felt moved. 

I turned in.  

Another sign “POLO 3PM”

Then “HAVE YOUR TICKETS READY” 

I didn’t have a ticket or the time, but I went forward and asked the ticket takers the time. It was 3:10PM and I could buy a ticket there.

I did. 

I parked and stomped my havianas towards the field. 

“Hi! What’s your name? Are you working here too?” the teenage parking attendant said

“I just came to watch, but do you need help?” 

It was okay, so I continued to the game.  

I found a hay bale to sit on right in front of the field.

Since I wasn’t drinking, or eating, or with anyone, I could give my complete attention to the game. The dangerous looking falls, the thrill of a fast play, the spirit of the horses whinnying as they galloped by to warm up.  

At half time, I followed the crowds onto the field to stomp out divets, a beautiful Easter egg hunt.  

And though I was at a loss without my own camera, it seemed I found a lot of work as a freelance photographer when people looked around for a stranger to take their group picture. 

Every angle was beautiful.  

By halftime, I met the women sitting beside me on the hay bales, and they were wonderful to explain the nuances of the game and who was who on the field.  

On the speaker system, they made an announcement. Someone I already knew was in attendance too- the most famous polo player in the world, Nacho Figueras!

What a special day!  

Nacho Figueras and his wife, Delfina Blaquier, have been interesting celebrities to me for a few years. They are famous in fashion and photography, but are real horse people first.

I am inspired by images of them, and of their family piled on horses bareback, no helmets, galloping across their ranch in Argentina. They represent  something real, that can’t quite be approximated by models or fashion or artifice. Though fashion loves them. They represent a way of living that’s a little wilder and freer. I think this is the energy designers like Ralph Lauren seek out Nacho and Delfi to bring to their brand. 

Anyway, I felt that much better than buying something Ralph Lauren black label for this energy would be a chance to briefly meet Nacho after the match, shake hands, stay for the massive asado, kick a soccer ball with his kids, and just enjoy what a magical day out a polo match can really be.

I smiled for a picture, and couldn’t stop. 

“He wasn’t supposed to be here today. He hasn’t been to the club in 8 years when he was here for a championship match”

One of my new friends with the authoritative scoop informed me over blood sausages on a picnic table.

She was translating from Spanish to English for me what he said in a a brief interview.. 

“He was just visiting some family in Greenwich and saw the “POLO TODAY” sign and couldn’t drive by”. 

••• 

 images via @nachofigueras  

o r l y

​“Transport of mail, transport of the human voice, transport of flickering pictures-in this century as in others our highest accomplishments still have the single aim of bringing men together.”

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

••••

I returned to New York, or rather Newark, on Tuesday, August 30. Exactly 89 days after I arrived in England to start my journey. My flight left Paris at 8:30PM, and I tried not to cry like my Mom told me she had when she left Paris after living there for a few months after college.

The flight was a pleasant budget air experience that landed in Newark Airport just before midnight. 

I knew this would be a new kind of foray into the unknown. I have a great relationship with the public transportation from JFK- I used it for a few years to get from the Rockaways to South Africa or the Hamptons, but always avoided Newark. Some mix of my travels and a significant savings on airfare emboldened me to this new choice- Newark International Airport.

I was greeted with an X on my global entry receipt for the first time, and waited in line behind a horse trader from Brewster, NY for the chance to explain to U.S. customs my pilgrimage. 

When I got my final stamp- thank God- I started looking for signs again.  

The first part of the train that promised a ride to Penn Station in New York, only made it so far as Penn Station in Newark. 

I looked around the platform, there was at least one familiar face, a girl with big glasses who had told me her harrowing experience with another new budget airline- Primera Air, flying from London while we waited for the train.

There were also many people sleeping near the platform, drinking out of bottles in paper bags, or dodging in and out of the halted train to New York, deciding what to do next. 

I congregated with the girl with big glasses and two other Brooklyn types who were on my flight from Paris. We worked together to make a plan- our own Uberpool over the bridge. Everyone was kind and cool about sharing the cost and taking a road that got everyone home in time, and the driver, Daniel, was excellent.

It was nice to share the way on the way home. 

p a r i s

Be careful what you set your heart upon - for it will surely be yours. - James Baldwin

•• 

Paris has always been a dream I had. It materialized when I saw the sign for “Parigi” in the Milan train station.

In the normal way, I had been checking flights and train schedules and travel plans for a few days. But the train from Milan to Paris was also something that often up in conversation in Italy; another direction that people liked to go. 

So I went, too, when my parents headed back to Rome for their flight to New York.

I savored the 7 hours of travel. I felt a new warm familiarity when I entered the train car and heard French.

When I disembarked, the train platform had an unexpected glow. I don’t know the origin of why Paris is called the city of lights, but I liked the light in Paris right away. Like the light was from a movie set or maybe what old novels call “gas lamps”.

I went directly from the station to Paris by night. L’ Arc de Triumphe memorializing the victory of Napoleon, the Place di Troncado for the best view of the twinkling lights on the Eiffel Tower.  

Merrymakers from all over the world popped champagne and posed for pictures, some with Mickey Mouse ears from Disneyland Paris. There was the tower, and the twinking lights around it’s steel frame. People smiling and hugging. Tiny replicas everywhere and the  picture reflected in hundreds of cameras.  

The next day belonged to the delight of a blue morning then overcast skies along the Siene. 

The cathedral de Notre Dame, the Louvre, the booksellers of Paris, and the view from inside the Eiffel Tower. The boards of movie posters and quotes on display in the Eiffel Tower reminded me the huge imagination I’ve had for Paris all my life. 

I felt this every moment I spent in the city, and it was a wonderful city to end my 90 days in Europe and prepare to begin again. 

l a k e • c o m o

Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved! That is the only reality in the world, all else is folly. It is the one thing we are interested in here.

- Leo Tolstoy

​A wonderful reunion with friends led to a peaceful day spent with family, when we chose to board a ferry boat around Lake Como for our last day of vacation together.

Collecting our tickets, we admired the beautiful town of Como, “the rationalist city” once again in the daylight.​

When we​ climbed aboard, the breeze moving along the lake tossed out hair, chilled out skin, and emptied our minds.

I saw smiles returning to faces. ​

Although all kinds of differences of opinion and disagreements seemed to come up over the last week spent in close quarters, everyone was lulled into a wondeful​ feeling for the 7 hours spent on the lake. 

The ferry stops rattled by.

We explored the three levels of the boat, from front to back. We tried out different places for taking photos, cooling off, warming up, standing or lounging, and everywhere enjoyed panoramic views of the lake and mountains.​

I resigned myself to the fact that there were thousands more beautiful views and pictures around me than I could possibly capture. I  was content when my phone battery faded and I could repurpose it as a paperweight in my skirt pocket; perfect for holding my light clothes down on the windy deck.

​We stopped in Bellagio for lunch.

The restaurants looked fairly crowded, so we had made to order sandwiches from a speciality grocery store and made a small picnic.

We saw many fine shops, but we didn’t need anything but maybe another taste of gelato.​

It was a beautiful voyage of discovery to share. 

c o m o

 “Sometimes miracles are just good people with kind hearts”

What a difference a day makes! After seeing the major cities of Italy, it seems we ran out road or at least names we recognized on the train departures board. 

But soon after we arrived in Milan, I heard from my cherished friends from the Via Francigena in Tuscany. 

“Why don’t you and your parents come to Como and visit us?” 

So we did! 

The train from Milan to Como is only about 1 hour, so there was plenty of time to travel and still explore the city.

Arriving was a breath of fresh air, coming from the mountains and rising over the shores of Lake Como.

It was cooler. Summer tourism was in full swing and it made for a light and lively atmosphere, not quite as intesnse as the crowds we had been a part of in Italy’s biggest cities. 

We saw the city center all together- my parents, my friends and one of their children. Just like on the Via Francigena, it was a lot of walking and a mission for gelato.

Then we retreated back to the agriturismo they operate as a family, L’Arcissa - just above the city. It is a wonderful property where we met friendly dogs, an affectionate outdoor cat, a horse, and maybe my favorite of all, a baby donkey. 

We shared meals prepared with what was grown on the land - fresh tomatoes, zucchini, kiwis, figs, stevia, blueberries, olives and pears. We chatted late over the dinner table, and at night, slept like rocks.

m i l a n o

“I have a fantastic relationship with money. I use it to buy my freedom.”

- Gianni Versace 

•• 

The shimmering canals and trinket-lined streets of Venice made way for the elegant, cosmopolitan city of Milano, which we reached by train in just a few hours. 

Seated next to us was a family of three from India; a mother, father, and their adult son. We laughed upon learning they were taking a nearly identical tour of Italy to ours- Rome, Florence, Venice, and now Milan reached by high speed train, with a preference for the red “hop-on, hop off” buses in each city. 

We compared notes on the Collosuem in Rome and the sunset views in Florence. They shared mung bean chips with us and recommended a places to visit in India- Kashmir and year-round hot springs.

Our coincidental crossing of paths and shared tourist trails reminded me of pilgrim encounters in the stops along the Via Francigena.

When we arrived, getting around Milan was the easiest of all, just like being in New York. I booked an AIRBNB in 30 minutes when we arrived, and within the hour we followed simple subway instructions to check in.

It was also clear where the city’s main attraction was and how to get there, we passed the Duomo metro station on the way to our accomodation. 

The subway emptied onto the plaza outside the church, and for a holy moment, the trinity of my mother, father and me, stood gape mouthed behind the viewfinders of the cameras on our cell phones.

v e n e z i a

“There are two kinds of stones, as everyone knows, one of which rolls” - Amelia Earheart   

We took the train from Florence to Venice. When the automatic doors of the station slid open into the city, I was shocked. 

It was hot and sunny, and people from every corner of the world trotted by with sunglasses and luggage. I couldn’t help but see what the NYTimes article on Venice I skimmed on the train lamented-  high energy, commercial tourism playing out at thousand decibels through old city streets.

I squinted in the sun, and we found a hotel; clean and cold. 

I worked with a few South American tourists to get this a postcard picture on the first big bridge outstide the train.

We took public transportation to another one of the small islands to eat lunch. After, I found welcome shade and solitude in a nearby church, like I had made the habit of doing walking the Via Francigena. It was a huge gift to walk into someplace big, empty and beautiful as my senses felt overloaded by the streets.

I remembered a thoughtful disagreement I had with another pilgrim on the way about the difference between pilgrims and tourists. We had experienced being among crowds of other travelers in cities like San Gimignano, Lucca and Siena, and I didn’t feel our journey was so far removed from the others wearing souvenir shop hats and eating ice cream

cones. I took the bold stance that the difference between “Pilgrim” and “Tourist” was mere semantics.  

 Everyone is searching in their own way.

The next day, we found the bright coincidence that our family was following the same stops as a retired American couple from New York- an overpriced drink to sit in the lovely air conditioned cafe outside the boat terminal, then a 12PM organized tour to Murano island. 

They told us their youngest child was almost twice my age, but I laughed so hard my little pilgrim back spasmed when they said about their tour of Venice - “the best part is sitting down!”

100% relatable.

. 

f l o r e n c • e

 Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel. Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are. 

Niccolò Machiavelli

••

Traveling with my parents through Italy has taken on a rhythm of its own after four days; a continuation of my pilgrimage where each day sees a different city, but adapted to their preferred mode of transportation- the high speed train! 

Standing in front of a red ticket kiosk at Roma - Termini, luggage in hand, we took a decision.

“Firenze- That’s Florence, Dad!”

I have really been showing off my expert knowledge of Italy to my family these past few days... 

It is my second one-day visit to Florence. The first came at a moment when I was still very much in the middle of my pilgrimage to Rome, a rebellious detour. I remember the feeling of seeing the Duomo for the first time and thinking that Florence must be the grandest, biggest city of Italy. 

Visiting Florence after Rome, the size perspective is wildly different, but I still find Florence beautiful. 

Instead of walking this time, I decided to take a bike.

I remember meeting cyclists on the Via Francigena that said they envied walkers for having a pace conducive to thinking. I don’t why this is, but I found the opposite! The pace of the bike seems to flood my brain with happy feelings and revelations. 

Like the place my pilgrim friends had showed me to find an excellent gelato in Florence, behind the Ponte Vecchio. 

This combination of flavors is banana, a rich Nutella sold under a different name, and whipped cream. 

Afterwards, in the quiet shop, I learned about gelato from an artisan. The first lesson is that a good gelato is one that makes you happy. But it can be like a fine wine too, where different elements of taste and color show the work of the gelato maker.

Things are always more than what they appear.  

n a p o l i

“I have a concept of Naples that is not so much of a city, per se, but rather an ingredient of the human spirit that I detect in everyone” 

- Luciano De Crescenzo

•• 

Yesterday, I went with my parents on the hop on, hop off bus to see some of Rome, the highlight being the Sistine Chapel- the most beautiful Bible I’ve ever seen! Today, we saw more painted walls, when, over this morning’s cappuccinos, we decided to hop on the train to Naples for lunch! 

The first adventure was getting a train at the last minute as a family. 

A “volunteer customer service person” helped us at the kiosk. He raised three pairs of eyebrows asking for a bank PIN, but in the end was satisfied to walk away with a 5€ tip instead, and did save us 6 hours by explaining which option was the high speed train. 

“An adrenaline rush!” said my Dad as we rushed to the platform after a track change.

We boarded just in time for an hour or so ride through the countryside.

We arrived at Napoli Centrale where I noticed more big hair, glittery sandals, and midriffs per capita. I scanned the displays in the shops and galleria for someplace I could get this look.

Then I remembered I was still operating out of a mini Jansport backpack and had been wearing the  the same thing for the past 4 days. I bought a t-shirt and filed the rest under “Naples” for future style inspiration. You know, in the future when I can put effort into style...

Exiting the train, the only solid plan was a pizza and a granita. We found pizza frites and bouquets of other fried foods, stuffed with ricotta and made with love. 

Walking around, feeling the sea breeze and wake of the ferries to Capri, we were also struck by the emotion on display in daily life in the Italy’s third biggest city.

A group of men in impassioned discussion, using their arms and hands to talk, blocking the middle of the sidewalk.

A teenage girl sat on the curb of the street crying and arguing about something at 1PM that involved 3-4 other friends and family crowded around. It want totally clear what it was about, but as we walked, the  disagreement moved from the curb to a kind of parade down the street alongside us. My parents were naturally concerned so we chose  a new direction.

Then there was a station wagon antagonized by the horn of a bus parked behind. After a minute of honking, the driver of the wagon, man built like a bowling ball, slammed his car door march right into the bus to fight with the driver face to face. This, admittedly, my dad and I watched from start to finish with a mix of human interest and disbelief. 

Even if everything was in Italian (and a new dialect to boot) anyone on earth could feel exactly what was going on. 

r o m a

“If you think you’re enlightened, go spend a week with your family” - Ram Dass

•• 

Arriving at the Vatican was the proper conclusion of the Via Francigena adventure. 

But in the words of Joe Strummer, 

What are we gonna do now?

After a few days off, I feel, I want to keep writing daily. I have always enjoyed writing and taking pictures. The path from Canterbury to Rome made me feel like I was doing something and going somewhere everyday and making discoveries worth writing about. That, of course, is all subjective. What was I really doing on the path besides walking, talking, eating and sleeping towards the holy direction of Rome? But, I have to “go somewhere”and “do something” and discover things every day to keep writing, than so be it. I will!  

So after the first look at the Vatican, and the Via Francigena testimonium... 

I tried for some angles in the spectacular architectural landscape of Rome that night.

I put my hard head in a helmet to make a small tour of Rome by Vespa! 

This was a small challenge and a thrill. The scooter company, with good intent, strongly discouraged me from the new endeavor of driving myself around Rome on a Vespa. But someone who knew me well from walking the Via Francigena vouched for me, so they stretched their faith and let me play.

After a slow start and a little fumbling with the mechanics, I doubted too, but all was well that ended well. I experienced a huge feeling of freedom on that little bike, the culmination of every happy moment on a bike I’ve had in my life so far, plus the buzz of a motor coming through the handlebars. 

The next day, I met my parents at the airport for an encore tour of the city on another  new kind of vehicle for me - the double decker tour bus!

As the quote alludes to, I tried to keep 100% cool headed professionalism as their new Italian translator and tour guide, but sometimes felt my voice lilting back teenage frequencies, when I wanted more influence on the group itinerary, and honestly, to do less walking! Don’t be fooled by the 65 and over card, my Dad is closer to his Bersaglieri heritage than me, especially when in Italy for the first time!

But if I didn’t gain 100​% cool-headed enlightenment from completing a long pilgrimage, I did pick up some new strategies. 

When the vibes started to hit an all time low in the mass of humanity queued for entry to the colosseum, I sent myself on a gelato mission!

There are no concessions directly outside the colosseum entrance, probably for good reason. But gelato is never far away in Italy. I have a pretty good sense of how fast and far I can walk by now. I exited the collosseum, crossed the street, and walked three or four blocks to find a small grocery store that sold ice cream bars by the piece and by the box.

My Italian-American grandmother, sometimes to my American mother’s dismay, never passed up a sale on ice cream at the grocery store. Even if it meant a freezer full of Neopolitan Breyers. So I took out my pencil and did the math- more ice cream was bargain! I ran back up the long line with a box of frozen treats, enough to share.

v a t i c a n o

“The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark.” —Michelangelo 

Yesterday I visited the Vatican for the first time, the ending point of a 1,800km walk from Canterbury, UK to Rome, the Via Francigena.

In the morning, I tallied the steps counted by my one almost constant companion, the phone I’ve used to write and take pictures and connect. It counted 1,758km since June 2. Pretty close to the original goal of 1,800km on foot. I traveled much further than that since June 2, though, because of a liberal attitude about taking cars when they appeared.

Anyway, I felt elated with this.

I mapped my course to the Vatican from where I woke up - a leisurely 40 minutes.

I looked at my two credentials full of stamps and realized there were many spaces left in the second, the one that I started in Aulla. 

So I took about 4 hours walking the 4 km to the Vatican so I could stop in everywhere and ask for stamps to fill my book, before it became a historic document. 

This led to some confusion, that was easily escaped with a thank you and and a ciao. 

But it also led to a beautiful stamp, and a nice meeting with two Italians who were genuinely interested in the Via Francigena and walking it for themselves.

“But I think when you go back to your life, you’re going to be completely different”.  

One predicted. 

I considered this as I looked for an opening in the Vatican walls. 

After a few tries in different offices of the Vatican, I found my testimonium - complete with a little gold seal and a stamp to commemorate achievement. But the rain as I left reminded me, it’s only a piece of paper. 

(Also, the guy at the desk was ready to give me three extra ones for my friends. No wealth is safe from inflation!)

I visited the Basilica and partook in some rituals and the awe of the place. I kissed the worn feet of this statue in an improvisation. My feet felt sympathetic.

I was baptized Catholic and raised Baptist, so it was an interesting experience to be in the bastion of Catholicism! I definitely fumbled with the code between my sports clothes and instincts developed over 70 days of hiking. 

​I learned that many old cathedrals are built over powerful currents in the earth. They are the strongest where only priests are allowed to go. 

The energy I felt in the Piazza though, was the most holy to me. The timetable of my day made zero sense. I spent so much time walking to stop and get stamps from tabacchinoa, waited in line for the basilica and then decided to move to the office to try getting my crudentiak first. But by the time I made it to the Piazza, I just  ran into my friends who walked from La Storta in the morning. 

And this is my other favorite picture from yesterday, of just the feeling. 

Moving, making friends, saying “see you later” and then seeing them. Sitting peacefully when you’re tired. It’s only a feeling, but as precious as anything that’s slipped through my hands or passed under my feet so far.

- l a • s t o r t a

 “Life is either a tightrope or a feather bed. Give me the tightrope.”

- Edith Wharton

•• 

Today saw a powerful 30km Romewards. Somewhere after La Storta, I technically entered Rome but I also have no concept of where I am exactly in the labyrinth of suburbs, so I will not feel “Mission Accomplished” until the testimonium is in hand.

But who knows what the future will bring, so here’s the closest thing I can offer- a rough impression of today in the wake of a delicious pasta amatriciana...

This morning- a late start around 9am after a wonderful dinner with pilgrim friends from Florence and Reims!

How it ended -

“Keep in touch! I’m interested to know how your life will change after this experience”

Me tooooo!

Then this morning. I took about 3 cappuccinos at breakfast before promptly heading out the door in the wrong direction.

But I’m a girl with a compass. So within the hour I settled on the Via Roma in the good direction. I heard that the original ancient road is actually somewhere underneath this “Brutto” industrial road, sooo good enough for me. The cars never bothered me anyway.

Actually, I kind of like these “ugly” roads, where you can sense the direction of the energy towards civiliation. The Via Roma turned into the Via Cassia. a concerned motherly type rolled down the window to ask if “tutto” was “benne”. This doesn’t happen in the woods.

The car horns can even be cool. Today, in a surreal moment, one perfectly synchronized with the car horn audio in one of my favorite songs.

I think I’ve posted some of the lyrics before, today it was this part-

“There’s a world out there it’s calling my name, it’s calling yours too”.

What a vibe!

I also discovered no less than three trees with ripe figs.

Somewhere on this way, I was so high on the life and the energy and momentum- the chocolate, the sweet fruits, the occasional VF trail marker on this busy road so clearly leading to Rome, I went 2km past my target for the day, La Storta; a city with no center. Literally blink and you might miss it.

I kept going. I couldn’t stop singing, even when I passed concerned pedestrians.

John Lennon-

“How can we go forward into something we’re not sure of? You know...”

And again, too stoked to notice the Via Francigena signs dropped until I was on the sketchiest road of all. I had to pause to find any way forward on a grassy knoll of garbage next to speeding, merging, traffic. I toed the line of the concrete barrier, tightrope style.

At least there was a train/bus station just beside. I hustled to a stopped bus to ask the drivers for advice. They weren’t going anywhere, actually, and a 5 minute discussion between three people yielded only this- take the train to San Pietro!

I say discussion, but the only serviceable Italian coming from my end was “Vaticano” accented by folded *prayer hands*.

I copied this useful gesture from a woman selling cigarettes along La Storta who I asked for directions the first time. She also recommended I take the train to San Pietro.

So I did. About 4 stops from Igpageo Devli Ottavia to Gemelli. I just felt like getting off here, no reason, or maybe the name sounds like a shape of pasta.

The train station belongs a sleepy part of town connected by a bike trails and made up of almost nothing but family-operated one room grocery stores. Not a Bed and Breakfast in sight, let alone an pilgrim refuge. I wondered for a moment if this would finally be the night I sleep on the street, but after less than an hour of trial and error, things panned out in the world’s okayest hotel by the Phillipines embassy. 

And although checking into a hotel sometimes feels like it lacks the quality of divine intervention fit for the last day, really, the silence was holy, right down to  the inexplicably broken WiFi and first bathtub since I crossed into Italy at Valley D’Aoste; my feather bed.

  ••

- c a m p a g n a n o

“What God intended for you goes far beyond anything you can imagine.” - Oprah Winfrey

today saw 15 km of walking, frescos, sheep, friendship, and at last an end in the set destination for the day - campagnano di roma.

I am now, so so close to Rome. Today I saw a road sign showing Rome was closer than Viterbo, which I understood.

The momentum feels strong. Part of the way I orient myself now is definitely the mentality that I am already “in Rome”, but I am in Campagnano di Roma. Yesterday I was in Sutri. And that is everything.

Sutri

I woke up from a very good sleep yesterday in the apartment that was generously offered by the owner a pilgrim refuge where there was not one available. Everyone went their own way, and I stayed the latest - until 7AM, to return the key.

“Do you have time for a cappuccino?” 

Always a question with only one answer.

I was glad for a chance to chat with Jill, who had hosted us. She had moved to Italy from the United States after traveling abroad in college, Greco-Roman studies. The way she spoke about the Etruscan history and early Christian frescos in Sutri gave me all the motivation to absolutely visit them before I left. She explained the thousands of years of pilgrims who had taken some of the exact path modern day Via Francigena pilgrims will to Rome. She explained pilgrims who would walk by proxy and return a white feather from Rome.

And she explained all the love her family shared in the place where we had stayed- working on the renovations; the close community of Sutri, evident in way to find the apartment you would ask their family name - not a street address, and now her own pilgrimages - soon to Santiago and everyday in Sutri with her friends to keep the memory of her husband. 

Our conversation explained to my mind all the good energy I felt in Sutri and woke up to continue with the morning. 

I felt much faith all of the sudden - more than enough to carry me the rest of the way to Rome. Understanding just a little part of all the love behind Jill and Claudio’s kind act of hospitality in Sutri, the last stop to Rome, was empowering. 

I ​didn’t hurry to the next city, I lingered by the ancient ruins at the edge of the city to see the frescos of pilgrims of Rome that Jill spoke of, and I was glad, it was really cool. 

v e t r a l l a - s u t r i

“I wonder how many people I’ve looked at all my life and never seen” - John Steinbeck

•• 

The walk of yesterday ran from Vetralla to Sutri, about 20km, but the km’s mean less and less every day closer to Rome.

The day started on a bumpy path. I was a bit off the path from the accomodation in the new part of the city of Vetralla. 

I had a map, but I still got lost. When the dogs barked, I almost froze. They didn’t bite, but I felt their hot breath on my ankles for about 500 meters. When they stopped, I was off the the path and in an orchard.

I asked some farmers for directions in Italian and got more lost. 

I checked the wires of a fence and hiked over one, then a second, to go south. If I didn’t have the path, I at least wanted to be going in the good direction.

Then I could see cars on the road, so I thought to go there. I got a good shock when I realized part of the fence was electric after all.

I felt trapped in the field for a moment, but felt comfort under this tree straight out of Shel Silverstein’s imagination.

I heard a tractor and found another spot to attempt climbing through the possibility live wire fence. 

It worked, but the tractor didn’t stop. I hiked towards the house hoping to refill my water bottles or find a road. 

I found a road and another truck of farmers. Instead of offering Italian directions, they lent me a ride in the back and dropped me back off on the trail. I walked in the woods out to where the Via Francigena crossed the road I had been watching from inside the electric fences earlier.

But I was in no shape to get lost again, or accidentally take the 7km Via Francigena detour, so I hiked the narrow shoulder of the big road to Capranica. 

I was grateful to find the town and take a brief rest. I checked and saw I could walk to Sutri in just another hour. 

The newer part of the city had Wifi and gelato, but the old part was sleepy and dreamy.  

​I savored the solitude of the streets until I exited on the massive stone stairs on to the trail again.

​I thought I might be on a detour, but the woods were cool, shaded and beautiful, so I just kept going on a little bit of faith. I found my salvation in the sight of Sutri around 4PM

I found the impressive cathedral, no word on the pilgrim accomodation but the woman cleaning the church was the authorized person to issue the stamp. 

I savored the city streets that led to the pilgrim place- which wasn’t accepting pilgrims at all last night. 

So I continued wandering. I passed some hotels walking from the cathedral to the pilgrim sanctuary, but I felt called to head in a new direction instead of retracing my steps.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the silhoutte of other pilgrims I had last seen in Acquapendente- what was left of the Italian army! They were some of the only people on the street in the siesta hour. They were working out the details of their accomodation for the night, and they had one place left.

vi t e r b o - v e t r a l l a

 “You're right to say "hold on to" instead of "keep." To keep is presumptuous. To hold means you realize that today it's yours and tomorrow who knows” -

Erri de Luca

​Yesterday’s walk saw another 20 km of the last 100km to Rome- Viterbo to Vetrella. It feels surreal to be so close to the end, yet walking Southeast all summer, isn’t this the natural conclusion?

Exiting Viterbo I stopped into a church with some enchanting music and a big youth group wearing matching Calabria shirts.

Once in the path, the  day was hot and the trail was mostly flat and passed along a highway.

With few opportunities to stop for a rest and a sandwich along the way, I climbed a big fence to buy a solid lunch of prosciutto fromagio on ciabatta bread and an espresso at a highway gas station.

I turned my head to the dust of some construction and found blackberries everywhere.

Later, a huge treat came in the form of an ice cream cone 4km from the town. When I stopped to ask to refill water bottles at a house and the homeowners chatted in a lot of Italian I didn’t quite understand, except “gelato?”

I saw some fresh graffiti paint, including a scrawling that means, “the way gives me everything”. 

Vetralla came quickly and without much of a climb. I arrived at the sleepy siesta hour in the old town and laid flat on a stone wall.

Later, I washed my clothes at a lavanderia. It was a good alternative to the traditional and symbolic burning of clothes near the end of a pilgrimage. 

- v i t e r b o

The human foot is a masterpiece of engineering and a work of art.

- Leonardo da Vinci​

••​

Yesterday saw the first step of the last 100km to Rome along an ancient road, finally some blisters! and reaching maybe the last major city before Rome, Viterbo.

Leaving Montefiascone was one big hill with a beautiful park overlooking the city and Viterbo in the distance on one side, and Lake Bolsena on the other. It was also a very well planned park, with benches at overlooks and playground equipment. Best of all was maybe the playground equipment placed at overlooks.

​Maybe stopping for 30 minutes before the walking even started for the day is no way to compete with the rising sun. The later you start the hotter it gets. Yet somehow, now that the finish line is in sight, I take less and less care about these things. I want to enjoy the moment and take in the sights. This day that meant the light feeling of swinging in an open sky and keeping my phone in my pocket. 

Tomorrow I don’t know, but I’m prepared to find out one step (or swing) at a time. 

- m o n t e f i a s c o n e

“This hill though high I covent ascend;
The difficulty will not me offend;
For I perceive the way of life lies here”

- John Bunyan

Today I reached Montefiascone from Bolsena, marking just 100km left to walk to Rome. The overwhelming feeling is that of eating an elephant bite by bite. Now that the end is in sight, it’s like, pass me the bread basket because I am going to make the scarpetta.

 http://www.italymagazine.com/news/italian-ritual-fare-la-scarpetta

The path today went along the lake and then into a wide trail far from the road. It was lovely. In the hot, sunny hours of the late morning, it was still possible to cool a bit near the water. A cloud cover moved in as the trail portion began. There were woods, and farms, and fields of olive trees.

I also found some signs on the path in a style I adore.

To end, the views of the city of Montefiascone were really spectacular. Because there were very few stops along the wooded trail, the first place to stop in for a Coca Cola was a huge treat.

I arrived in the hour between 2 and 4PM when most everything was closed. When the town reopened, live music was starting in the streets of the small city center for a wine festival.

I took a Campari soda so I could partake in the varied aperitif buffet for dinner. There’s a word for this I learned it Italian... I learned it when we made sandwiches for lunch at a breakfast buffet. I can’t the word now though  so I’ll just leave it here for any linguists to help if they’re reading...  

I watched a bit of music mystery documentary to fall asleep - “Searching for Sugar Man” and played with a Google Earth to find the most dangerous road I walked on so far on the way to Rome. I fell asleep and dreamed I had to go directly from lunch at my hometown hamburger place on Route 123 in Connecticut to Rome. I woke up 100 km away.