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.
“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.
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.
“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.
“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 .
“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 .
“Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one” - Dr. Seuss
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!
“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.
“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.
“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.
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.
"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!
“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.
“Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world” - John Muir
I am writing now from Orsières, which, I’m told is just thirty minutes to the Italian border by car and definitely a new world for me.
Yesterday saw 26km. It was the most challenging terrain so far, but the mountains gave me so much energy I didn’t want the trail to end.
I started at midday, anticipating a short distance. The sun was hot. It felt good to sweat sunscreen and huff and puff and carefully fit the rubber tracts of my shoes into roots and rocks.
As I passed the towns on the winding trail, I realized the distance was longer than my short estimate, but I was enjoying every moment.
I refilled my water bottle in public fountains that are aesthetic and practical. The water tasted so fresh.
I started listening to music. At first the songs that came on randomly, until I heard “Reckless Love” by Cory Asbury. I listened to this for almost the whole climb, and when my battery ran low, I sang the simple words as I walked.
I stopped in one town with the remote charm of a mountain village. A brother and sister made up a game in the narrow street I took to walk out of town. Their words echoed through the street, pure nonsense to my ears, but I imagined what it would be like to grow up in this part of the world.
A fork came in the road, and I took the lower path to trace in peace the steps of Napoleon his army.
I found a cool mountain stream soon into this road and imagined Napoleon’s horse stopping to drink.
I saw a very attentive black bull with white horns and stopped taking pictures when it pawed the ground without breaking eye contact.
Orsières came into sight from the road, but I continued to follow the winding trails.
A gospel story was carved in wood over 10 panels spread along the last part of the trail instead of the usual red and white markers. Each panel had a roof designed for snow like the houses here.
At last, the trail emptied into the town. I carefully zig-zagged down the last steep road. The sun was almost setting, but the life of the village was apparent in the soccer game happening in the stadium of mountains.
I crossed a bridge with vibrant flower boxes on either side.
I found the pilgrim accommodation at the parish behind the church, simply decorated with quotes from the saints on construction paper, designs by volunteers, and a photo of Mother Theresa at age 8.
I decided to eat quickly before the cafe closed. I felt a little lonely eating by myself. I used my chair to twist and stretch. I felt a prick on my finger that stung like a splinter. I looked for a shard of fiberglass in my skin or rough edge of the chair in explanation, before realizing I had put my hand on a wasp!
I explained with my hands to man tending the restaurant. Soon a conversation opened between everyone. Between German, Portueguese, Spanish and English and French, no one shared a wide vocabulary with each other. But we all saw the wasp buzzing around and understood.
It turned out everyone sitting there was a foreigner or traveler of sorts, wanting to communicate, however clumsily, and relate. So between google translate, zero regard for grammar, and attempt in five languages at a time, we made small talk for thirty minutes. It was awkward and wonderful.
I realized brushing my teeth this morning, I said about as much in that conversation as any small talk conversation about the weather or traffic I’ve had English/English. Maybe you say nothing so profound or poetic or important, but you give people the light of your attention for a moment, and it’s a really nice thing.
“If I’m free, it’s because I’m always running” Jimi Hendrix
Yesterday saw 32km along the Rhone river from Aigle to Martigny.
The walk was 30km with the Alps in view at all times.
I found a resting place along the way on a vine covered wall.
I finally caught a lizard after thousands of attempts on the trail.
I stopped for a snack in Bex and chatted with the owner there who completed the Via Francigena by bike last year from Aosta to Rome.
I saw a group of hikers pass while I sat there. I thought I would not catch up to them, but the owner of the cafe pointed out a shortcut and a friendly Bonjour revealed they were English speakers and pilgrims too from England and New Zealand.
At lunch, we parted, but exchanged contact to maybe pass the mountains together.
I saw a baby sheep in the field. It looked nervously at me but waited for it’s mother’s signal to run.
I saw airplanes doing acrobatics between the mountain peaks.
I met some dogs that lived near Martigny and walked with their owners approaching the city.
I snacked on apricots from a tree by the trail.
I thought of the Great Saint Bernard Passage to come and how far it had been already, but mostly thought, I can’t believe that everywhere you look are these mountains and I am walking through the Alps right now.
The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.
W.B. Yeats
yesterday saw a very rainy walk from villeneuve to aigle.
After almost an entire summer without rain, it was a change to walk in heavy downpours, puddles, wet socks and leggings, but beautiful nonetheless. I thought of all the days I was dry inside, I’ve never been happier.
I walked past wet garbage at a recycling center.
And drops of rain hanging from Queen Ann’a lace.
I found a snail.
And an Art Deco church among the vineyards.
I stopped in Aigle to watch France defeat Uruguay.
It was a good day.
"Be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play” - Alan Watts
Yesterday saw a short walk full of good things from mount pèlerin to villeneuve.
There was rain for the flowers.
A boat passed 3,4, 5 times on the walk by the lake, called Italie with flags for France and Switzerland on either side.
Coming around the corner on Le Quai de Fluers, Jazz sounds floated over the water. The Montreaux Jazz festival was in full swing!
It happened to pass right over no. 70 Suisse - the via Francigena route!
We listened to Kora music from Senegal.
And then I heard an American girl playing on guitar one of my favorite songs to sing walking - “Riptide” by Vance Joy.
My favorite part to belt out walking through cornfields and trees for hours alone has been “All my friends are turning green”.
The water along the lake was so beautiful after the rain, I jumped in to swim again before reaching the end of the lake at Villeneuve.
From my friend I learned the English words for the sign with the duck cartoon along the lake - “I would like to swim in happiness”.
“As you start to walk out on the way, the way appears“ - Rumi
I woke up to the cheep cheeping of birds signaling morning in the pitch black church basement.
Where was I again?
I walked into the welcoming suburban streets of Lausanne for a coffee and a croissant.
I shook my head at the front page of the journaux. A soccer player in red hanging his head - Eliminée!
I took a shower and put on the same clothes. I started walking towards the city center. I saw just a glimpse of mountains and water, and it was this I followed for a change, instead of signs for the cathedral or tourist office.
Lausanne
I was thrilled to be in a city again, with skateboarders and sushi and street musicians everywhere.
In little patches of internet I caught up with my friends- from home, from Canterbury, from Reims, from Gy, from the road!
My plans were in motion. I held on and enjoyed the city while I figured them out. A visit to the tourist office yielded a golden print out of pilgrim accommodations in Vevey; nothing confirmed, but a good start.
Ouchy
I found the lake in Ouchy, breathed in all the air and took two hours for lunch. After walking it off, I found a small pier to lay my backpack on and go for a swim. What a feeling! I dried off with some sun salutations in the pier and continued east.
Pully - Lutry
It’s slow going when you stop for a closer look at every rustling lizard, ice cream, baby duckling and panoramic photo opportunity.
Villette
Around 5PM, the walking path left the immediate lakeside and I wondered who on the list of pilgrim places would still be answering their phone. I needed help to make a phone call, but there wasn’t too much around when I decided this- just a train station, some houses for sale, and oh! a Swisscom payphone booth.
Jokes aside, I stepped into that cobwebbed, brutally hot glass box, and it worked!
There were about 12 adresses to choose from on the list, but only one jumped out at me- a Tibetan monastery on Mt. Pèlerin.
It took me two attempts to get the area code right, but someone on the other end picked up and all in french while the meter ran up a small bill, I made a plan. Be at Mt. Pèlerin by 6:30 with 25 Francs and there is a room.
I consulted the first person I saw to learn the fastest option was to walk back west 500 meters and wait an hour for the next train to Vevey than walk to then Mt Pèlerin funicular. I didn’t have all that time, and I didn’t have a bone in my body that wanted to turn around even 500 meters, so I just stubbornly said thanks and kept going in my direction.
I tried to run, I kept my eyes open for alternatives. I may not have made it far, but I was officially out of the city. I didn’t see anything until I reached another train station with people milling on the eastbound platform.
Cully
Try!
So I ran around from the road to train station, an awfully long way when you think you’re about to miss the train. Across the tracks, a small crowd pointed me to the footbridge. I still missed the train.
No one among the crowd of commuters seemed clamoring to let me use their cell phone to call the monks and tell them I wasn’t going to make it. But I had to try something and I saw there was an office open at the edge of the train station. It looked open.
I paused, but gave it a shot. I just needed a little bit of help to call the monks before 6:30.
“Je suis de perdu. Je suis de New York et I need to call the Tibetan monastery to tell them I’m not going to make it!”
They were colleagues in a design studio having wine at the end of the work day, and luckily they had a sense of humour because they thought this was great, and before I could finish offered me a glass of white and a cordless phone.
“New York! Trump!”
I made the call. I guess the 6:30PM check in wasn’t as strict as it sounded at first, because the monastery said this time it was cool if I got there when I got there.
Solid! I already had a ticket so I could just take the next train and be there in an hour and a half. And I could hang out and have a glass of wine while I waited!
The designers gave me a poster of all their work and the program for the jazz festival, I showed them pictures of my trip, with the nuns, and they showed me the “Dominique Anique Anique Anique” video on YouTube and explained the joke. Also apparently Iggy Pop is still kicking and lost his tooth today at the Cully Jazz Festival! The world changes so fast.
Anyway, this was seriously the best thing that could have happened. It was the perfect end to a “day off” walking along the lake by hanging out with this interesting group of people without stressing about the next place.
They printed me a map of how to walk from the train to the funicular, and it was really good, they had super nice printers in their studio! But then, even though I still had my train ticket, they were like, well if you want we’ll just drop you off at the funicular station.
So that was that! A girl speaking English helped me find my way 8 minutes from the funnicular to the monastery.
Mt. Pèlerin
The place was nothing like I had pictured. From the road it looked like a big modern apartment building. From the street, I waved at a woman with a shaved head in an orange robe on the balcony. I entered the gift shop first, paid up for the night ($45 for a dorm for the night, dinner and breakfast) then the woman from the balcony led me through a massive dining hall, a temple, and gleaming dorms with a laundry room and big shower.
Best of all though, was the chair in the grass looking the mountains where I sat and watched the sun set.
“Meditate in the temple after you eat” the nun had told me “You will feel very happy!”
“Your days are numbered. Use them to throw open the windows of your soul to the sun”.
- Marcus Aurelius
This is a short post because I got the hook up booking the church basement in Lausanne but couldn’t figure out the WiFi! Maybe a reminder to stay in the present moment...
I feel pretty hyped after today, the first full day of walking in Switzerland, over 30km, with energy to keep going! I went to sleep with a head full of worries about my aching back, but I woke up in the morning with a song in my head - “arise and walk on through, the world outside that door is calling out to you”. I listened to this song, “Yes I’m Changing” by Tame Impala, while I cut the weight of my backpack again.
Once I got going again I was good! And even better, after such a hard time yesterday, walking comfortably today, even for 7 hours, felt great!
I think it will take just a week or so to reach the Great St. Bernand Pass, following the footsteps of the Saints and Napoleon and Hannibal and all those elephants.
In the mean time, I am enjoying Switzerland! My walk was mostly flat and varied. There are plenty of places to walk and run between the Via Francigena and all the pedestrian paths you find getting lost! It’s also very easy to find coffee and things to eat everywhere, although the bread in France is truly in a class of its own!
I passed through Chavornay, Etagnieres, Morrens and Cugny, before finding the parish where I stayed just before central Lausanne, in the Bellevaux suburb.
In a fun twist, I found a tiny patch of WiFi at a bus stop and saw on google maps a hotel/restaurant was 30 minutes away from my location in Cugny at about 5:00PM. During this WiFi break, I also saw a reminder from my dad to watch the Switzerland/Sweden match.
By this time I had walked almost 30km and was ready to quit for the day and find my accommodation, so I walked the remaining 30 minutes the hotel on the map. When I got there, it was not only open, but so packed with people watching the soccer match I couldn’t get through to see the front desk. So I gave up the intention that brought me there, sat down and watched the rest of the game like my Dad suggested.
The mood was tense, even the children with Swiss flags painted on their cheeks were wincing, and the adults with beer were explaining the score to me like I understood any of it.
At the sobering conclusion, the crowd cleared and I got to the bar to ask about a hotel room.
« finished » the bartender told me, with the curt tone of any Swiss person who had just watched the game.
There was no hotel after all, it had closed and the hotel/restaurant was now just a restaurant, just a good spot in the area to watch a game.
So I found a place to call the number of the church parish I had on a post-it note, not a sure thing, but worth a try. It required a good bit of back and forth on the phone with the church secretary (who spoke a French from Togo to my American version), bus directions, and asking to use other people’s phones, but it worked! The tiny room in the church basement was free for the night, and for the modest sum of 5 Swiss Francs left in a church envelope in the mailbox this morning, I had a place to stay.
I was very grateful!
“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can” - Arthur Ashe
•••
I am writing this from Orbe, Switzerland, where it is 7PM and it has been a day!
As the the frankenstein plug I’m using to charge my phone while I write this faithfully records, now this Via Francigena has spanned three countries; England (in one long day), France (the love I’ve left behind) and Switzerland (the unknown!).
I woke up early, but struggled to get out the door early this morning before 9PM.
“La direction Suisse” Madame Godart said,
After preparing for an all day affair with a sandwich from the patisserie, I set off.
The maps posted behind the post office showed the way. I took a picture with my phone, a new strategy for orienting myself while following trail markings. I started walking.
“OUCH!!” I took short steps. My right hamstring was short and tight and spasmed with every downhill step. I unfastened the strap that put the weight of my backpack in my legs. I hugged the straps close to my chest to let my shoulders do the work.
It made a difference. The posted plaque estimated 7 and a half hours to Orbes. Maybe I will just make it to the border, I thought, and walked to the “frontier”. Although I didn’t know it. When I neared the border, the gallant Swiss flag on a pole above the gorgeous mountains that I thought marked the “border control” was actually adjacent to a trampoline.
I had my passport ready but no one was there to greet me but Italian builders. They let me fill my water bottle at the construction site hose.
“Gratzi”
Almost into the first town of Ballaigues, the trail markings became confused. The retired french couple that had been just a few paces behind me all morning and I stood their for a moment trying to find the way. I saw a bike path and a lot of cars turning to civilization. Every time I stopped and started my leg tensed up again, so that was good enough. I kept moving.
I ended up on a municipal pedestrian path, but the signs confirmed it would get the job done to Orbe. There were no cars, no cyclists, no other hikers, just cows, donkeys and sheep on the parts of the trail that cut through their fields.
Above us, trucks passed on a highway supported by tall concrete beams that shot up from the fields.
In a few painful spots, I lost the way and had to return a kilometer or two to pick it back up. A step forward, a step back.
Maybe I was enticed to the wrong direction for the chance to be in the middle of a flock of wooly gray white sheep. They seemed to be led by one vocal sheep, who belted out a warning when I neared, and so they stampeded out of sight.
The donkeys I met inspired me too. They seemed to be led by a massive grey one, possibly a mule, with an even bigger face, curious, ugly, cute. I felt a huge affinity for this animal. I felt sad for the patch of flies near his eye, when he shook his head I saw the insects were congregating around a raw pink sore.
I reached another small town where the only refuge for travelers, an old hotel was closed. I knew then I had to make it two more hours to Orbe. I tried everything. Down a grassy hill, I threw off my backpack and kicked it to let gravity loosen my load, for the feeling of being free from it, to move my legs in a new way.
I reached the gorges of Orbe and enjoyed the shady path. It felt familiar, like Connecticut. I hardly explored angles with my camera or fussed with my bag to get it for fear of losing the rythmn that would take me to all the way.
I occupied my brain by remembering every person I had met so far in every city, in order. I remember a lot of people whose names I will never know.
When I felt pain in a step, I started counting to take a clinical approach to it. I made it by 6PM and finished by very carefully climbing one last hill from the river to the city.
I chose the first hotel sign I saw, I think it was the only one in town, and for once, the hotel from the itinerary I left America with.
