Walking the Via Francigena

We did not roll into Lucca until after 7 pm so we had just a brief rest there. We will return

A mild day along flat terrain. We are so far from all the goings on in the world that the passing of Berlusconi only brought to minds my elderly aunt’s joke that when he was seen with a head scarf after hair implants people concluded he had been circumcised. But he was an important figure in the politics of Italy for the last half century, though his impact will likely be lost to the mysts of time

For the first time we took the wrong turn and it was a doozy. Not just more kms and altitude gain, but walking across the face of a mountain that 2 years ago suffered a devastating fire. Stepping through the remaining detritus was apocalyptic, nightmarish. Deep rivulets were carved into the path exposing slippery rocks and muddy terrain. But we made it to Lucca to rest in this truly lovely town. And, of course, had a fabulous meal.

Yesterday on our way from Massa to Camaiore we were overcome by four Italians, Paula thinks they were firemen, who were marching at the pace of Roman legionnaires, Chum Chum Chum Chum on the gravel path. “Salve!” they shouted gleefully, “Dove andate?” In short order, as we were walking, we learned that one of them trained at Camp LeJune, North Carolina, Paula’s birthplace. “Buona passeggiata!” they shouted joyfuylly as they sped on under the hot sun. We also ran into a trio of Americans who, looking at us with what we took for condescension, greeted us with “Oh, you are luggage forwarding. ” Competitive pilgrimaging has come to the Via 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.

Much of the day walking above the Ligurian coastline through charming towns, notably Pietrasanta, a remarkable medieval village brimming with sculpture, much of it marble but some bronze such as the Centurion by Botero. We lingered in Pietrasanta for lunch, in front of its large Duomo, a marble palace, before walking the last 10 km to our hotel, perhaps not the brightest strategy but sometimes goals compete with aesthetics. But Carrara marble is omnipresent here, even the curbs are made of marble. We are at the half mark of our journey. Tomorrow Lucca, pine trees and cypresses.

Catching up on 2 very similar stages along the Ligurian coast.

Aulla to Sarzana was short but included 2 very steep ascents and even steeper descents. It was all worth while when we arrived at the surprisingly captivating Sarzana, a small but meticulously well preserved medieval town where good living is practiced 24×7. The Duomo houses an 11th century multi media depiction of the crucifixion by Master Guglielmo and reputed to have drops of Christs blood.

Sarzana to Massa offered the first views of the Ligurian sea and of the ghostly white peaks of Carrara marble mountains. We are on the shore, the waves almost audible. Dinner at da Ricca where Domenico, the owner, informed that he did the walk from Massa to Rome and became quite emotional when describing how beautiful it was.

We are clocking Kms and taking hills with some ease. The last 2 weeks were good training. We run or walk into some difficult predicaments but somehow things work out. As Domenico said tonight: “Just let it happen.”

Don Lorenzo was sitting, pensively, on a cement bench outside the doors to the unassuming Chiesa della Santissima Annnunziata on the outskirts of Pontremoli. “Can we get our pilgrim passports stamped here?” “Yes, but we have a problem”, he answered, “we have a pigeon in the church.” And so began an hour dissertation on the history of the church and the iconography of medieval art, especially the Annunciation. Don Lorenzo first led us to the sacristy for our stamp remarking that the Rafaello hanging over the 17th century engraved, wooden choir stalls was a fake. The original was stolen in the 1970s. In the hallway a false wall hides the well were partisans hid when Nazi’s came looking for them. He then showed us a 13th century fresco, which he said was along the original VF, that depicted the madonna in receiving mode, a Penelope’s thread and needle on the table representing the stitching of a new world. The fresco was the cause of several miracles, an octagonal domed structure, 8 signifying eternity, now enshrines the fresco which, I kid you not, one must kneel to view. But we weren’t done. He then led us up to the altar, 14 steps to signify the “Via Crucis”, through a series of hidden, narrow hallways to a door which opened into the columnated loggia and courtyard of the Benedictine monastery which was in use until Napoleon emptied it. And then, Don Lorenzo opened a door and we said goodby. We walked a while along a narrow, dark path between high stone walls until we spilled onto the Via Francigena. When we looked back we could not see traces of the door or narrow path. We went on for our pleasant walk to Aulla.

We made it across the Apennines! This is the third mountain range we cross on the VF, the others being the Jura mountains in France and the Alps. We walked through the CISA pass, a modest 4,000 ft, buoyed by some of the most spectacular scenery of the whole trip. The whole trek today was stunningly beautiful, from the panoramic views of mountains and valleys to the hushed walk on leaf covered paths under towering deciduous trees. We arrive at Pontremoli elated even though in a drenching rain. Days like today make every effort worth while. Great way to celebrate our 41st wedding anniversary.

I would like to offer my evaluation/observation on yesterdays’s mud bath, photo was included. I rarely use the word epoch unless lunch with Hugh and Sineade. However, yesterday was EPOCH, the rain was absolutely biblical coming in all directions and unrelenting. We, at one point, sought refuge in a roadside shrine. We opened the small door, moved the floral arrangement to the side so we could both sit inside. We remained protected from the water apocalypse for about 20 minutes. Concluding the rain wasn’t going to stop or slow we moved on. Drenched but not broken, a single hill sat between us and our destination. It was a rather large hill. My Wildebeest takes it. Me , the Zebra, galloped forward but mid hill becomes a bit distracted perhaps by the incredible composition of the mud. As we have all been taught, an object in motion should remain in motion. It was at this point that I became a human toboggan hurling belly down the hill. It occurred to me that neither faith nor budget is commanding or directing this journey. Enjoy the ride, the Camino will provide.

Our accommodations for the night were at the Cassio hostel which was empty except for one other pilgrim, and stout Dutch lady who commented on the terrible weather, appropriate for someone from Amsterdam. The hostel was austere but comfortable. Felt like a college dormitory

Out trek today is short but with very steep climbs and descents. Driving rain most of the day, cloud cover shrouded what were to be spectacular views in misty gray. We had several challenges, including clawing our way up a particularly muddy and slippery slope.

But we made it safely to Berceto, a small town clothed in medieval stone. The somber Romanesque cathedral is named after St Moderanno whose claim to fame was to lose the relics of another saint he was carrying to Rome as he gazed upon the breathtaking views of the CISA pass.

We feel like we were just put through a car wash

Tomorrow Pontremoli. Volendo

We are in or on the Apennines. Stunning panoramas on all sides if only it weren’t cloudy and by afternoon foggy and rainy and by later in the afternoon muddy and slippery. We trudge on encouraged by a chorus of encouraging words. Me: how you doin? Paula: STRONG! Paula: How are you doing? Me: STRONG! That carries us for at least 5 km

We walked through Svizzano, a very small town with a Cistercian monastery dating to the 11th century. The local historian and would be toothless mayor gave us a short history of the monastery, pointing out the age of individual stones and the various capstones that were evidence of its history. In 1998 the town had a year long celebration of the 1000 years during which the monastery was the heart of the community. I dipped into the abutting church, it being 11 am on a Sunday mass was just starting. A dozen women and one couple with a teenage girl in attendance, and yet the choir, two women in the slo-go years of life, sang a most beautiful hallelujah . Back in the rain we made our way to Ostelleria di Cassio.

Tomorrow Bercello.