“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.
