Our accommodation this evening is a small B&B run by the accommodating Manuela.
We start the climb over the Appenines, the mountain range that bisects the Italian Peninsula form the Ligurian sea to its southern tip. This first leg takes us only to 1650 ft but as we leave the flat plain behind we can feel the cooler air as it sweeps down from the surrounding hills. The afternoon rain does not bother us
For dinner we are joined by a couple from Milan, he the head of the AI lab at the Milan Polytechnic, she a biomedical professor at the same institution. We got to discussing AI. His take is that AI will make it harder to know the truth. After 3000 years we are back to the fundamental epistemological question . Somehow that is comforting
Tomorrow onto Cassio. No photos tonight, signal too weak
Today’s walk was easier from a distance perspective but demanding because of the heat under the relentless sun. Tree cover is rare over the endless corn, wheat and alfalfa fields. The only respite came as we visited the Cistercian monastery at Chiaravalle della Colomba, an impressive structure that still houses 12 monks.
Italy celebrates June 2 as Day of the Republic, the date in 1946 when Italy ceased being a monarchy and became a republic. It’s a young state. We arrive in Fidenza as it celebrated with flags, music, dancing (a break dancing competition) and overflowing cafes. Fidenza is, like so many others strung along the flat plain, a charming, well laid-out oasis of civilization. Its Cathedral is a 12th century Romanesque building which aside from communicating a somber Lombard look also houses the remnants of Saint Dannino in whose name the church was built. Legend has it St Dannino, a soldier in the Emperor’s service, was beheaded in 299 CE when he converted to Christianity, but he was able to overcome that slight, stood up, picked up his head and placed it where the church now stands. His skeletal remains in the crypt dutifully show him holding his head. Tomorrow Fornovo di Taro
The sequins are all gone except for a few hiding between the couch cushions or under a rug pad. Those memories linger but the sack cloth walks on.
As we stepped back. onto the Via Francigena a voice in my head screamed: “Oh, we are doing this again?” It was particularly weird because this question, in my mind, was posed in a British accent, a cross between Alistair Cooke and Stewie from the Family Guy, with just the right mix of rhetorical skepticism and condescension. Edward recounted that the night before leaving for Italy I woke him shouting “What the F&%$” in my sleep.
I may have had some insecurities about the walk that I needed to resolve, but I can tell you after one week walking in the Po valley: we are good. The routine is reassuringly similar to Phase 1. We wake early. Getting dressed is simpler: the grey or tan shorts, the white shirt or the other white shirt. I usually go white on grey. We have drastically reduced our wardrobe from our last trip. However we have also eliminated rest days from our schedule which means no romantic trips to the laundromat. We wash out our clothes each evening and hang them out of our window to dry. We are keeping it classy. But I digress.
Once dressed, I turn my attention to my feet. The Sonny Liston analogy still holds: they are a crime scene without the yellow tape. However, each morning I take great care to lather and slather, carefully ministering to the sick. This process reminds me of Kamala Harris as she explains her brining and buttering technique for the thanksgiving turkey. First goes on the cream, then the lambs wool and then the cotton tape. By the way, lambs wool in Italian is sweater. It is not sold for foot care. At this point my feet look like the hands of a prize fighter and at the end of the day I am like Bruce Willis in Pulp Fiction, frantically unbinding his fists.
Then we start walking. Like an orchestra warming up for a performance, each instrument plays its own notes until they merge to create music. Each body part has a comment until we all agree to set a pace. Edward and I are like a Zebra and a Wildebeest the ultimate reciprocal relationship. I am looking down observing life around us at ground level, while Edward looks ahead. So I am saying “Oh wow, is that a spider?”; and “How is that poppy growing through the asphalt?”; “what are these ants?”; “is that beetle dead?” While Edward is saying “There is a truck coming.” A recent example: Edward went into a church and I decided to walk around the outside. Without my Wildebeest I actually walked into a Via Francigena signpost. A bystander asked if I needed help.
We walk on through the day reminding ourselves of the importance of the journey versus the destination. As the hours go by, our pace slows and our gait resembles drunk walking. I hope I am not destroying your fantasy that we are somehow traveling along on a magic carpet propelled by spiritual rapture. By the end of the day I feel like a chicken from Gary Larson’s boneless chicken farm cartoon but then a passing car slows and the driver shouts “Buon Cammino!” and everything is good.
The stretch of the Via Francigena from Piacenza to Fiorenzuola runs along a heavily trafficked truck route with no shoulder on the side of the road. It isn’t really walkable without endangering life and limb. I imagine Segeric, who in 990 CE traveled from Canterbury to Rome to collect his Pallium, did not encounter such a challenge. In fact, by all accounts, he rode a horse accompanied by an entourage of 100 acolytes, armed escorts and spiritual support staff whose job was to make his journey pleasant. Paula and I, on the other hand, have each other, the VF guidebook and MapOut GPS. So, we hitched a ride for the first 8 km to where the route veers off the main highway onto tertiary roads and gravel pathways.
It was still a grueling 24 km, under the hot sun without tree cover, but we were absorbed by listening to various podcasts including Brooke Gladstone’s fascinating On The Media report on the writers strike, the state of digital media and artificial intelligence as well as a 5 part series on the Digital Divide, about the rise and dominance of conservative talk radio. When we finally arrived at Fiorenzuola we were treated to, I kid you not, one of the best meals of our trip, prepared by Claudio and served by his brother Marco. We are sated, satisfied and sleepy. Tomorrow Fidenza.
In order to get back on the Via Francigena we walked the Camino di San Colombo, the 6th century Irish monk we talked about yesterday. The path took us along the river Ambro, a beautiful walk under the trees, to its juncture with the Po river, that broad expanse of grey flowing south east atop northern Italy to the Adriatic. Danielo runs a ferry taxi service that will take you across the river and 3.7 km downstream. We made the reservation to meet him at 11:30 at a makeshift dock along the shore. How we found it is a mystery. The “ferry” was a 12 ft aluminum skiff but it ably carried us downstream and across the river to Danielo’s house where we were treated us to his PHD in Segeric lore.
The rest of the day was mostly in the sun along trafficked roadways. We prefer the quiet countryside where our thoughts can go beyond worrying about the next eighteen wheeler careening around the curve. We often have to hop into sandy corn fields to avoid premature trip suspension. We finally arrived at Piacenza another Po Valley jewel, this one, it proclaims, dedicated to children and peace. What more could we want?
We left Pavia reluctantly If we were starting our life again settling in Pavia would be an attractive option Centrally located near world class urban areas but an island of civilization and culture As we walk each day presents new opportunities to appreciate the world, we just don’t know what we will meet Today turned out to be a day of walking and not much else The rice fields are becoming more infrequent replaced with it corn and soy As we would would have it our accommodations are 4.5 km off the Via Francigena When Paula saw the heavily trafficked truck route we would have to walk she said “ #%¥* no we are not walking this” so we called the B&b who kindly came to pick us up. The San Colombano monastery, site of the town where our B&B sat, was founded by the Irish monk who founded dozens of other monasteries on his way from Ireland to Rome. We walked along the Via Colombano for a ways Tomorrow Piacenza
A bucolic walk along the Ticino, a river that flows from the alps to join the Po river just south of Pavia and eventually makes its way to the Adriatic . Just a few kilometers outside of Pavia we were greeted by a riverside trattoria where we enjoyed several fish dishes before crossing the Ticino on a covered bridge for the walk into the historic center What a town! One wonders why it isn’t a main touring destination And we had some pretty nice digs at the Arnaboldi Palace
We happened to pass the Duomo after dinner, hearing the angelic voices of a Gregorian chant we wandered in the packed cathedral to listen to a choir singing the kyrie eleison. The mass, celebrated every year (except the last 2) the Monday following Pentecostal Sunday observes the lowering the reliquary of three thorns from Christ’s crown of thorns that were discovered by St Helena, mother of Emperor Constantine, in 323 Tomorrow off to Miradolo Terme
We were treated to a Moroccan wedding last night complete with ululating and boyterous cheers The music was Arabic at times, with oud and derbeke, Italian techno at others but at 4:00 am the wedding party broke out with a clamorous rendition of Ciao Bella Ciao It reminded us of our wedding , next week 41 years ago, so we were tempted to join them but still hoped for some sleep They ran out of steam at 5:00
We stopped at the Abby of St Albino just outside of Mortara on the site of a battle between Charlemagne and the Lombards Charlemagne won so his spiritual counselor, Albino, built an Abby on top of a 3rd century church How Albino became a saint is related to a nun and a priest buried in different places whose clothes were found together some time later It had to be a miracle But the legend is lost in the myst of time
We have not seen many pilgrims We stopped in Tromello for lunch, learned that we are not far behind a couple from Virginia but otherwise the Francigena highway is ours We are off to Pavia tomorrow
Vercelli is a prosperous, charming, well laid-out town with broad pedestrian boulevards and upscale shops as befits the rice capital of the world. Rice brings it into contact with the globe. We had a pleasant meal, rice Vercellina, and a good night’s sleep.
On our way to Mortara we were met by a local farmer who insisted on talking to us for a half hour. She explained the problems of Italy – too may immigrants, people don’t want to work, climate change is threatening her livelihood. “If only things worked as they do in the America”, she said. We did not disabuse her. We needed to get on our way but she insisted on taking our picture. Not sure what the play was there, but we complied.
A grueling day across the swampy flats of Lombardi. After exhausting Egret jokes (why does the egret cross the road? because he has no regrets; and Paula’s: why did the egret cross the road? She was following an e-male chain) we settled into the zen state punctuated by the rhythmic crunch of stepping along the gravel pathway. To the north the horizon rises to the snow-capped peaks of the Alps, including a stunning view of mount Rosa.
We stop at Santa Maria della Via Francigena, think of a rest area for pilgrims that hasn’t been used for centuries, for lunch of sandwiches, cherries and apricots, we set off again toward Vercelli, the capital of the rice trade in Italy. At about the eighth hour our joints and muscles start whispering alarm “how much longer do you think you can keep this up?” By hour nine there is open rebellion, “not one step more” and “whose crazy idea was this?” All is forgotten as we reach our destination where we sit down for a fine meal and some wine Tomorrow off to Mortara.
Walking the Via Francigena 