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. 

- l a k e • b o l s e n a

“There is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon , for each day to have a new and different sun.” - Jon Krakauer

Today’s walk to Bolsena started and ended later than usual, I took one night outside of the familiar pilgrim dormitory and seemed to lose the habit of beginning to walk at 5AM.

I felt a devotion to this ritual. Like doing things in this way - was 100% correct, and without this ritual I would perish in the sun, but actually the day was just fresh and as wonderful starting to walk at 8:30AM after breakfast.

I met other pilgrims from Milan at breakfast. They were also marathon runners walking the  Via Francigena. I took heart in their perspective - even if you have run marathons, walking uses very different muscles and the soreness can take you by surprise!

I caught up to them after the first stop, and we shared the rest of the road to Bolsena.

The air had a breeze in it from the lake, and the path was flat, so even though I started much later walking in the sun this day was a pleasure. Lunch came on the road. The blackberry brambles growing everywhere have almost become a staple of my diet on the Via Francigena in Italy, but today they were especially ripe near the waters of the volcanic Lake Bolsena.

Just before jumping in the lake, I made a friend by land. A new dream flashed through my mind- if I travel the Via Francigena from Canterbury to Rome encore it could be on a horse (or donkey).

- a c q u a p e n d e n t e

 I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don't care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity. 

Émile Zola

•• 

Yesterday saw a 25 km stage to leave Tuscany and enter Lazio, very few photos in the sun and struggle, and a huge portion of pilgrim menu pasta for energy.

•• 

“Meno di quattro giorni” was the good word a long table of sweaty travelers raised their glasses to. I spent the next twenty minutes asking for an explanation of this meant. 

Literally- “less than four days“.

Meaning less than four days to Rome. 

How? 

How is it possible is that the other two Canterbury pilgrims leading the group plan to leave their backpacks in Viterbo and begin walking twice the recommendation - about 40km by day for 3 days - to arrive in Rome earlier and beat the holy days crowd at the Vatican. The last stage through the suburbs of Rome involves taking a bus per the overwhelming local recomendation. An ironic way to end a journey of thousands of kilometers on foot.

And what all this means I guess- the rythmn I have carried from Aulla is changing again, the group, the province, the landscape.

When we arrived in Acquapendente, the city structure was noticeably different than it had been in Toscana. The city hall was massive and for the first time we walked up a great staircase to get our pilgrim stamp from a very beaurocratic looking office of sport.

I took very few pictures or cultural education notes when I arrived in the city. In these final stages, the first thing to see in a town is more often the grocery store or pharmacy than the duomo. 

Somehow, the beauty of the sweaty climbs and early mornings is enough to feed the soul until Rome. 

- r a d i c o f a n i

“Nothing is worth more than this day” - Goethe

 ••

Today saw 25 km from San Querico to Radicofini. I woke up early, in a dorm of 20 pilgrims it was easy. 

Luckily there was coffee at 5AM and we shared some traditional Tuscan cake for breakfast. 

The sunrise was beautiful in a way that could not be captured by the camera, so I tried some and then just enjoyed the glow over the Tuscan countryside. 

The first stop of the day was not cappuccino and brioche per routine. The path winded around a pool of thermal water. Everyone paused to take pictures, but I started taking off my socks. Soon it was a party of 8 pilgrims in a new element and the best moment of the day.

Luckily the hotel had a sense of humor about it, and a nice cafe attached for cappuccino brioche. We walked on, everyone was recharged by the break and felt they had experienced something unique before 8AM.

I had so much energy walking for no reason at all. I saluted a braying donkey and speared out from the group with a long stride. Just as the heat of the day was beating down and the hill to Radicofini began climbing around 12pm, a couple from Bologna pulled aside and offered me a ride up the hill. They had done this stage of the Via Francigena three years ago.  

They dropped me off at the church where I would stay for the night, and reunite with many friends. Before dinner, we received a very special benediction for pilgrims, the ceremonial washing of the feet.

I was absolutely humbled and a bit culture shocked, they prayed for us by name, rinsed and kissed one foot of each pilgrim. 

But I felt so much the power of the ritual, and understood a tiny bit of the Italian - “ a Roma”. 

- s a n • q u i r i c o

​“Don’t be afraid. If you are afraid, you can’t move forward” 

- Malala Yousafzai​

​••

Today saw 25km if walking to San Quirico, 3 pilgrim goodbyes, some new friends, and a some kind of breakthrough with the aches and pains I have been experiencing on the trail.​

We started from Ponte D’Arba in the dark on a long trail, with no coffee at the hostel and the promise of a cappuccino ​/ brioche seeming to be faraway.

But we came to the smart town of Buonconvent at last. It was literally bittersweet because the chocolate brioches was fresh and warm, but our friends following the Assisi trail had to go a separate way. 

After many hugs and pictures, we found the trail again. I found a lot of energy in the sun, and it seemed with my new sneakers I could walk forever.  There were few stops on the way, so we improved with big round haybales. I stretched backwards on one like i had been dreaming of.

We passed some unique trees and I realized I was only nine days from Rome. Suddenly I just wasn’t worried about my back. I felt it was getting better every day, like my bugbites were almost healed, and I had a surge of faith I was going to make it in my own way.

I walked quickly when the sun got hot, and was one of the first to reach the city. I put my legs up on the hard cot in a stretch and closed my eyes. I knew the drill by now, and could already imagine the pain of these long walks, hard beds, and sweaty nights, dark mornings and mosquito bites transforming into a sweet memory, but not yet. I took a breath and felt the peace of the moment.