Weekly Summary of my Big Fat Francigena

I have decided to rename my weekly summary to reflect the abundance of delicious food we are enjoying along the way.

A great second week. We left the rice fields of the valley for the gorgeous mountains of the Apennines. The CISA pass, a boogey man for us for some time, has been conquered. Now we walk through new landscapes: Roman pines, monumental cypresses, the glowering face of Carrara marble mountains, and the mediterranean sea on the horizon. We walk often in waste high wildflowers, walls of juniper and flagrant mentuccia.

We follow the signs for the Via Francigena, Edward verifying with a trusty app. In addition we use a guide book written by a retired American living in Lucca. His narrative can often be disturbing or alarming. For example: “relentless climb”. Or “Ignore the threatening signage posted by the deranged hermit living on the lane.” Or “harrowing road.” Or my favorite “This part will require physical and mental stamina.”

Our lunch is typically a panino on a log or park bench, with an orange that I anticipate and guard like Jo Marsh in little Women. The other day we took refuge from the rain under a train overpass, found a discarded cushion and ate apricots.

We meet very few people walking the VF. Recently, during several days of downpours, we crossed paths with 2 American women who are walking the Parma to Lucca segment. We saw them at the CISA pass, following a particularly grueling and mud-up-to-your-ankles trek. One of the women was wearing a black sleeveless jersey dress, under which, she shared she was wearing a pair of bicycle shorts. A lovely pair of earrings dangled from her ears and a straw half visor completed her outfit. But here is the kicker, her footwear resembled those once popular black cloth Mary Jane slippers. She looked like a woman searching for her car in the Bloomingdales parking lot. There was no mud on her, she was spotless. Edward and I looked like we had been through a mud treatment at the spa. I could barely raise my foot from the weight of the mud caked under my shoes. I asked how she managed to remain so spotless through the mud drenched trails? She confided “in an earlier life I was a gymnast, I am light on my feet.” I think she’s a strega.