- g a m b a s s i

 “the future starts today, not tomorrow” - karol wojtyla

 ••

yesterday’s stage reached gambassi therme, a tiny ancient town about 30 km closer to rome, named for its thermal springs.  

​a very special part of the trail was finding ancient shells from when the area was under the ocean 5 million years ago.

although one other treat of the day was supposed to be a swim in the thermal pools the town is named for, it was really gelato the second the “oasis di pellegrino” bar was reached on the trail.

the pilgrim accomodation was not much further, and a wonderful historic church grounds to wash clothes by hand and eat a pasta dinner.  

the spectacular sunset created a perfect light to look at every olive tree and oddity in the yard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stepped carefully and with my camera pointed.

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

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

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

“Connet- i - gut”

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

“You were born in Connet-i-gut”.

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

At least, I remembered

“Gian-carl-ooooooo!”

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

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

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

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

a o s t a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name caught my eye for some reason.

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

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

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

- m o u n t • p e l e r í n

 “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!”

— v u i l l a f a n s

“When the rhythm changes, so does the dance” - African Proverb 

 •••

I woke up early yesteday, had breakfast, and walked around the city of Besançon like I had nowhere to be.

I walked around an outdoor market.

I noticed new details I had missed looking around at sunset.

I walked up the river. 

Past people walking their dogs, learning to parallel park, architecture, cars and boats. 

(Facing North towards the city of Besançon)

(Facing south towards Lausanne) 

I replaced my trail shoes at a helpful running store and stocked up on electrolyte tablets. 

I ran up to find panoramic views of the city, the citadel, and birds.  

I shared the trail with a horse and his rider. 

The trail emptied and I found my way with the a road map through some small towns.  

After 15km running, I was struggling in the hot sun. A girl named Kelly pulls over, hikes down the road to meet me, and offers to take me down the road. She just received her diploma to become a special education teacher so we celebrate!

I walk across a little bridge to find the accueil de pèlerin in Vuillafans where I am staying for the night.  

They are surprised I am far earlier than the 10pm estimated arrival time given this morning, but welcome me with lemonade and cookies in their backyard. I have time to wash my clothes. 

I take a nap and then have dinner with Solange. She has done the Camino in Spain and will do the Via Francigena with her husband later this year.

She says « On marche avec la tête ». I agree. 

d a m p i e r r e - g y

If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.

- Henry David Thoreau

Yesterday saw 43,000 steps from Dampierre-Sur-Salon to Gy. I look at the map now, of all the towns this road passed through. I made the list to tick them off on my way to Gy, but I now I  realize every little town was a destination. 

Savoyeaux

I asked to refill my water bottle in the first village headed south. That’s how I met Frederique, a kind woman who seemed interested in the pilgramage. I shared with her all I had - the link to my blog! She shared with me that right next to her house was a photo-worthy spot, a castle where she would take my picture! Le Savoyeaux Chateau.  I continued down the path with “Savoy Truffle” stuck in my head. 

Motey-Sur-Saone

I continued and crossed the bridge into Motey-Sur-Saone. I pasued to eat some fruit and rinsed my hands in the water of the Saone river.

I entered the woods of Saint Reine, and sat on a neat pile of wood to smell the pine in the air.  I began reading signs for the Cathedral in Igny, the next town down the road.

Igny

I found the cathedral in the town center and looked inside to see it was a sky blue and white and gold sanctuary built in 1920 like I hadn’t seen before.

Aigney

I hitched a ride 2km with a two seater hay tractor. I learned from the farmer that there was a John Deere tractor factory 10km away.

Citey  

Almost into Gy, I meet a group of friendly goats who pose for pictures.

Gy

I arrive at my destination and walk up the hill to find the tourist office. The door is locked, but I pause outside to use the WiFi! After five minutes lost in my phone screen,  a woman comes by the office. She says, are you looking for a hotel? They are all booked, but follow me. She unlocks the door to the tourism office, stamps my pilgramage crudential and makes a phone call. She smiles and lets me know she found a place and drops me at the gite of her friend, Claudine, who like me, communicates in English and photography, as evident in the camera hanging from her neck! She shows me to a very welcoming room and introuduces me to the other guests; a retired Flemish and English speaking Belgian couple.  

At 7PM, Claudine takes us all for a tour of the place, the gite where we are staying. On the property is  a small musuem with artifacts of the former Le Charmeur cheese factory owned by her Father, animals, a beautiful river, and her house where we share dinner.

a souvenir torn from the last roll of gold paper used to package the cheese

labels taken from the factory demolition to Claudine’s Lavender garden by the wind

cheese ration stamps from WWII

Bella

We share dinner and afterwards, Claudine shows me her photos from her daughter’s wedding last week. There are many beautiful pictures, but a the bride hiking her white dress to pas through the narrow opening of a barbed wire fence on the farm is a highlight. Claudine assures me the dress was not harmed in the moment. 

At the end of dinner, Claudine asks what we would like for breakfast- coffee, tea, hot chocolate, bread, nutella. I make a special request for eggs. Claudine says she used the eggs all the eggs she had has cooking dinner, but if I am lucky the chickens will make a new one for my breakfast. 

••• 

l a • l i e z - l e f f o n d

“Life gives you plenty of time to do whatever you want to do if you stay in the present moment” - Deepak Chopra

Yesterday saw 33km of walking from Lac  Liez to Lefford, with most of the distance covered in the trails along the lake!

Before going to sleep, I had looked online to estimate 6 hours along a country road for the trip to Leffond, 8 hours outside Champlittle. When I woke up, the sun shining, a good breakfast, and a nice conversation with the new owner of the hotel, I decided to reroute.

“Oh, today would be lovely to walk the trail along the lake!”  she said.

So that’s what I did! 

As the trip goes on, I find I’m taking more and more of what I’ve learned from each place and person I encounter with me. 

In Chateauvillian, the home of a historic site related to Simone De Beavouir, I was inspired to read about her 12 hour treks alone through the alps in espadrilles. In Langres, The friend from Germany said that she listens to the birds and the wind when she walks instead of playing music, which I thought was so beautiful! And this morning, taking a point in a good direction from the young owner of the hotel instead of using google maps gave me a chance to philosophize and listen on a lovely trail as I felt inspired.

What I found was magic.

And a new bit of confidence, I was getting on just fine finding and reading the trail markings. When I woke up from this dream around 4pm, despite attacking the hotel breakfast with an appetite the size of my backpack that morning, I was famished.

I found myself, grumpily, in a town with only a post office and shuttered boulangerie. I asked the post office for a stamp and to refill my water bottle for a tiny boost before hiking west 2 km to the grocery store in the next town.

After finding food, the drive to make it to my place for the night set in. I felt anxiety about walking west to this new town just for the grocery store, about spending the daylight and my energy on the indirect but beautiful trail. But louder than this was the voice that said, just keep walking, keep trying, it will all work out. 

So I asked for directions. The woman who helped me gave good ones, I only needed to find one road and take it “Tout droix, tout droix, tout droix”, an arm churning forward, 15km.

This I could do.  

Before leaving town I found one open place- a bar- to refill my water bottle, got some wrong directions, but quickly realized and found my road.

It was taking forever, but I was on my way. My 42k to Langres emboldened me that I could make a very long distance if needed. I trusted the pilgrim host would not turn me away if I took all the daylight of the long summer day to make it to their door. I was, however, running out of water.

I asked the only person on the street, a painter unpacking his tools for the day, for help finding a place to refill my bottle. Instead, he gave me all he had left from his lunchbox, a fresh liter of Perrier, a cookie, a bag of walnuts and hot chocolate and sent me on my way, arms loaded with treats.

It was so kind. I felt in my mouth I had started to become dehydrated and in that moment I would have taken a liter of Perrier over a million dollars.

The mental boost of this unexpected blessing would have taken me the remaining 8 or 10 km. Instead, at the edge of the town, a smartly dressed woman about my mother’s age pulled her little hatchback to the side of the road, climbed out, and offered me a ride to Leffond, my stop for the night! She lived in Paris and was from Leffond, she knew the owners of the place I was staying and the way, and dropped me there in 10 minutes, though we both knew it would have been 10pm by foot.

I can’t a place more wonderful or welcoming to find after a long day than Le Moulin de la Paperterie. I could smell the fire cooking dinner and they had already made a place for me! What’s more, I learned my hosts literally wrote the guidebook for the Via Francigena in France!

I was on the last page of the book I have lived by since Reims, it ends here, in Champlittle. They gave me the new one to take me to Besançon.

c h a l o n s - c h a u s s é e - s u r - m a r n e

I woke up yesterday in Chalons en Champagne, in the first hotel reccomendation I’ve used from my original itinerary. Just by chance, but that it also had a bathtub- that was destiny!  I went to sleep in Chaussée-sur-Marne, on a bale of hay, listening to bleating  baby goats below me- just by chance I found a cheverie that accommodates pilgrims- that was destiny!

I had a sort of restless sleep at the hotel from eating dinner too late, so soon after opening my eyes I had my cofffee. I spent the morning writing and answering emails while I had good WiFi.

Around 9:30am, I dragged my feet to the tourist office to get a stamp and find where the Via Francigena trail connects to the city. Along the way I also found - some french soccer facepaint in a newsstand, and this awesome old Mini Cooper flagrantly parked in front of the cathedral. 

And I found the trail, it was really well marked for Francigena and Compostelle. As I passed bikers, joggers, and dog walkers, they shouted “Allez Les Bleus!” which was fun- I guess people really do respond to you differently when you put on make up!

Even though I knew I was on the right path, and it was marked well everywhere, when I got about 2km in and the frequency of french football fans died down, I felt a little uneasy. I barely saw anyone, literally just one other person and they were urinating off the trail. I was like 2km/25 in, and I also didn’t see a lot of outlets if I wanted to get off the trail at some later point. So I decided to reroute. And, I wanted to watch the World Cup for real and it was almost noon!. 

So I had made 5k circle. I ate lunch and watched the match quietly before hitting the road. I was struggling to get going, but when I looked at the map it seemed that there was a road almost directly from the restaurant to the next town on the road to Rome, so I got on it. 

I had none of the anxiety I felt on the trail. I walked a suburban path and ticked off the cities on my map listening to music, checking messages, and wondering where my road would end without worrying about it at all.​ 

I saw a big hotel in ​La Chaussée-sur-Marne, one city before St. Amande, and thought, this must be the place! I looked around for a reception area, then just a person nearby. A woman jogging around the block confirmed the hotel had closed.  

“There’s another around the corner though!” 

So that’s where I went. It looked pretty nice, a restaurant with a patio, small garden, and buckets of champagne on ice. I felt a bit of premature happiness thinking about the shower I wanted to take, but also checked in with my legs to see if I could walk 7km to the next town if this didn’t work. 

The reception desk had a wall with just three clunky keys hanging behind it. ​That should have been my first clue.

“parlez-anglais?”

“We’re fully booked”​

​As I learned in 7th grade french and have yet to hear anyone say - “Zut! Alors...”

I actually didn’t react at all, I just asked if there were others, and it turns out there really weren’t, but the receptionist was kind enough to keep calling and searching for 20 minutes on a busy Saturday, until something worked. ​

I was sitting outside, searching with my phone too, to no avail. I finally decided to pack it in, thank the desk, and start walking again.​

“Merci beacoup, vraiment”-

“Wait!” He put the phone receiver on his shoulder. I think I have something, it’s an attic, no shower, just 500m down the road.

I pictured my grandmother’s ​attic and shrugged. 

“Perfect!”​

He wrote down the name “La Ferme Gourmande” and sent me on my way to arrive in 15 minutes. 

I now had a piece of paper, which​ I walked straight to the Pizza truck in the middle of town with. I placed an order cause I did not want to risk one driving away on me again by the time I checked into the BnB- and continued to the place. 

It looked like a restaurant and a young couple waiting for a table showed me it also had goats.

Eventually, I met the head of the whole show, the English speaking cheese maker, who introduced me to his whole family working Saturday night dinner at the restaurant, and finally showed me the attic room.

I followed the creaky stairs above the pens of goats to learn that “attic” was the direct translation from french for “hay loft”

“Do you have a - “

“Sleeping bag?” 

“Yes!”​

​And I guess I have been carrying it around all this time for this moment. 

I am the first person to admit, I’m scared of the dark, and I didn’t know how I would sleep in this massive hayloft by myself, listening to the goats knocking latches and stamping their feet all night. But I also knew it was the craziest hotel room I’ve ever seen, and if I could make it through the night it would be an experience for which I had no reference points.

“Awesome!” I said,  put my backpack down on a haybale and went to pick up the pizza.

w i s q u e - a r r a s

everyday on the via francigena is a different story, today was decidedly different from the rest, and maybe even controversial.

i am writing from a hotel in arras.  if you are familiar with the path, you can see right away that I traveled today what would take at least  2-3 days of solid effort walking.  what happened? 

well, this morning I woke up after sleeping about four hours at the abbey last night. it has been by far my favorite accommodation, but I could not fall asleep until 3 or 4. All okay though, there was strong strong coffee waiting at the breakfast table. all good. I set out at about 9:30 to my usual pace. Keep moving forward, no stopping except to maybe photo a cow or search for a stamp. 

I’m getting used to it, but it’s a lonely road. Today’s path was a little more industrialized, a touch of grey in my walking world which up until now has mostly been green. 

about 4 miles into the morning, with cars occasionally passing me on the country roads, a little Perrot honked its horn. 

Rosemary, a retired teacher from Paris who I met at the Abbey, was driving the two other pilgrims I had been traveling alongside since Licques, a mother and child, who did a combination each day of walking/driving each day meet their husband/Dad who was walking the whole way. I planned on walking the whole way too, but the good luck that their attempt to find a taxi in St. Omer failed, and then they took the wrong turn onto the country road to meet me, was too much to let go.

Sure, I’ll take a lift! I was very happy to see my friends and eat lunch with some company !

And we made the most of the little frite stand where we stopped, taking pictures, getting stamps, and generally merry making like any group on a bon adventure.

I thought I might continue on from there, but after lunch, I was less in the mood for the lonely road I chose, so stayed driving with Rosemary for a tour of the countryside, all in French.

l’abbeye at mount saint elois, a French lookout point destroyed during WWI, right outside Arras

In truth, it was a great gift, a friendship, and carried out in a second language for me, and practically, saving me 2 nights of my 90-day visa and 2 nights of hotels in the small cities we passed through, cities I would have to stop and stay in traveling on foot.

On the other hand, because of my marathon  background, where “course cutting” is the paramount dishonor, I felt guilty.

On the other other hand, in the spirit of traveling, friendship, and spontaneity, I was having a great time!

Maybe I even banked a day of rest for when I’m really going to need it. Maybe because of my restless sleep I needed it today. Part of traveling solo for me has been learning to accept help as well as give help when I can; kindness is an international currency. 

On the other hand, maybe I should try to press on past Rome to honor my promise of 1800 kilometers on foot, and I would have liked to thoroughly blogged about the cities we sped through. 

Would love to hear other’s thoughts on this issue, so feel free to comment below if you have an opinion on cars on the Via