I checked out and was on the road early this morning. No breakfast, but a double espresso. It was sunny, but extremely windy. At the first service station with a café, I fished the nylon shell trousers out of my pack and ‎pulled them on. I’d hoped to get something to eat at the same time, but had to settle for another coffee. This set the pattern for the rest of the day, right down to the details of speaking English with kids and not being allowed to pay for my coffee.

Well, that’s not quite true. In the town of Pajove, I saw food on display through the steamed-up window of the café, so I did get my first taste of the Albanian version of a triangular flaky pastry with nuts soaked in sugar. It’s called “trigone.” I chatted with some of the young people in the café for a good 20 minutes, and when I went to pay I was told that one of them was the proprietor and he would not take my money.

By noon, I was starting to feel it. I spotted a Bar/Kafe/Restorant ahead, but they only had beverages. I ordered a coffee and pulled out my little bag of snack food — which has been supplemented several times by road-side vendors who wave me over, ask me where I’m from, and give me oranges.‎ Some leftover cheese I’d bought in Rome, some leftover panettone I’d bought in Durrës, a few bites of chocolate, and an orange. When I’d finished and went to pay for my coffee, my money was refused. Albanians rightly pride themselves on their hospitality. (It may also help that I greet people in Albanian, order coffee with a “ju lutem” and “falemenderet,” and apologise for not speaking Albanian – in Albanian. {The latter piece of dialogue brought giggles to a school kid yesterday.})

At any rate, the puddles remained frozen all day, although it wasn’t cold enough to freeze the running water.‎ The wind, though! Once again, I disregarded the beautifully written and researched guidebook to avoid fording those icy cold streams. I missed out on some glorious views, but I had the chance to meet some wonderful and warm people. And drink coffee. (Not many cafés on those mountain trails.) Another benefit is that the 39 kms of trail walking is only 33 kms by road.

I didn’t make it all the way into Elbasan, though. I’d had it in my sight for over three hours, once the road had rounded a ridge and the valley opened up before me. The city is nestled at far edge of the valley, at the foot of a series of snowcapped mountains. Very beautiful scenery, but the headwind was even more fierce. (My phone was swaddled several windproof layers deep, so there are no photos.) The road followed the contour of the surrounding hills, so it was a little maddening to see my destination just… over… there… and see the road wind its way along.

I was still 4.5 kms away from the heart of the city when, with daylight rapidly fading and the temperature dropping, I saw a sign. It said HOTEL. Tomorrow I’ll sleep in, walk an hour into town, and find a place to stay for New Year’s Eve. I’m pretty sure there’s an Orthodox Church in town, so I may even get to Liturgy on January 1 and start the new year off well.

And before I venture into the mountains, I’ll be buying a proper pair of gloves. My light touch-screen gloves sheathed in yellow rubber gloves are fine for wind and rain, but just aren’t adequate for below freezing temperatures.

The name of this town is pronounced “Pecheen” in Albanian. I’ve learned that the accent typically goes on the last syllable, and I’ve started to decipher the consonants. 

c = ts

ç = ch

dh = th (like this and that, not like thick or thin)

j = y (as in you, never as in sky)

q = ch (only it’s a harder sound than ç)

x = j… 

There are a few other cases, but that’s enough. When I see the word “pice” on a sign, I know it says “pizza.”

When I woke up this morning, I was in pain. Yesterday afternoon I had only just noticed the lack of handrails on the rain-covered marble staircase when down I went. Those three or four steps on my tailbone hurt‎! By the time I went to bed last night, it felt like there was some swelling in the area, although it’s kinda hard to tell. It was certainly tender. I stretched as best I could, and got an early night.

Over coffee this morning, I was reminded again about the party at the reception hall this evening, but I decided to head on out rather than spend all day sitting. The hotel in Shtodhër is a few hundred metres from a highway service centre, and there are farmhouses edging the highway, but that’s about it. I thought it would be better for my aching butt to walk than to sit. It’s awkward and a little painful to bend at the hips, which makes sitting down or reaching for something on the floor a rather deliberate manoeuvre, but walking with my pack was pain free.

It was chilly as I began walking, but once the sun cleared the bank of ‎clouds on the horizon it warmed up nicely. I knew that up north and in the mountains, the heavy rains of yesterday had come down as snow. As I’ve said before, given a choice of walking through snow at -5 Celsius or rain at +5, I’ll take the snow every time. Naturally, the only way I can realistically make that “choice” is by selecting my route.

Ever since I arrived in Durrës, I’ve had people telling me that it’s “very cold” in the mountains in the direction I’ll be heading, but nobody has been able to quantify that.‎ This morning at my first coffee break, I saw a weather forecast, and now I finally have some numbers. By the end of the week, the country will be mountainous enough for the highs to be around -5, while the overnight lows will be in the (negative) low teens.

That suits me just fine! I didn’t do nearly enough walking at home to train for this pilgrimage, but I did get out on some of the bitterly cold days we had last winter to check my layering. As long as I have shelter by sundown, there won’t be any problems, and since I no longer face the deadline of a visa restriction, I can afford to take it easy.

I could reach Elbasan tomorrow, although I may break the 39 kms up near the halfway mark. My guidebook, published just this spring, indicates‎ that there’s a family in Broshkë which is happy to have overnight guests on their farm. I missed the local weather forecast, so I don’t know what I’ll be walking through come morning. Either way, it’s time for me to pop online and post this, and then get to sleep. (No WiFi here, and data costs!)

I had decided to sleep in Tuesday morning in Bari since, apart from visiting St. Nicholas and buying a ticket for the ferry to Durrës, I had nothing planned. I was awake, although lounging in bed, when I heard the first of the very strenuous (and loud) rattlings of a nearby door. It was loud enough, and went on long enough, that I finally pulled on my clothes and went to investigate. 

My fellow guest from the night before had managed to lock herself out of her room, and the hostel was currently unstaffed. I tried to help her, with no success. (I don’t like those skeleton keys, and usually just leave my room unlocked. The poor man laughs at thieves.) She roused another guest, who was similarly unsuccessful. I tried to find a contact phone number that we could call, to no avail. At this point, the poor woman broke down and started sobbing quietly, but with great force. The other guest re-emerged from his room, and this time managed to unlock the door. The sobbing continued for several minutes, but at least she was back in the privacy of her own room. I finished my breakfast and packed quickly. As I left my room, I saw that my neighbour was seated at the table eating breakfast. I caught her attention and wished her “Auguri.” 

 It was a bright clear morning, and I walked briskly down the broad sidewalk towards the old part of Bari which I’d inadvertently explored the evening before. The hostel where I’d spent the night included “breakfast” but didn’t provide any form of caffeine. Highly irregular, especially in Italy! I was caffeinated a few short moments after leaving the hostel behind. 

 It was a few minutes past 9:00 when I entered the Basilica of San Nicholas in Bari for the first time. This large church was built in the 11th century to house the relics of St Nicholas of Myra (in Lycia – modern day Turkey) which were stolen from the cathedral there by 62 sailors from Venice. They made landfall in Bari, and I’m sure their names are recorded somewhere. (“Thief! Baggins! We hates him!”) As I entered, I noted the sign requesting silence posted on the doors was printed in three languages: Italian, English, and Russian. 

 I won’t bother with a description of the church. It was impressively big, with some 15th century arches spanning the nave to provide support for the walls, and there were some very nice 14th century icons, but none of that was why I had chosen to come to Bari instead of leaving Italy from Brindisi. I had come to venerate the relics of St. Nicholas. 

Coming from the crypt, I could hear the sounds of the assembled faithful at prayer, so I decided to look around the church until Mass was over. Once people began coming up from the crypt and entering the nave, I headed down. 

 My timing couldn’t have been better. The altar area in the crypt is surrounded by an impressive iron cage, but the gate in front of the altar table containing the relics of the saint was open, and people were approaching to venerate the tomb. I gratefully got in line. All the relics in Rome were safely locked away from pilgrims, tourists, and would-be thieves, so this was a unique opportunity for me. 

 A similar gift was given to me in Santiago de Compostela in 2010. My last day in the city, I’d walked the few kilometres to the cathedral from my hostel with my backpack and walking stick, and headed down to the crypt to say a final farewell. It was early enough in the morning that I knew there would be no crowds, so I was very surprised to discover I’d blundered into the midst of a Mass being celebrated on the crypt altar. As silently as I could, I placed my pack on the floor, and remained kneeling outside the sanctuary. (There were only half a dozen people inside, plus the priest.) When the Mass concluded, everyone present venerated the relics, and I was invited to do likewise. Then the gates were locked up against the flow of people soon to come. 

 Shortly after I’d had my turn with the relics of St Nicholas, the priest closed the gate, and that small window of opportunity for other pilgrims along with it. After spending a few more minutes in silence, I headed back upstairs, collected my backpack from the pew where I’d left it, and started off to the port to see about buying passage to Albania. All I knew about the schedule was that there are two companies offering passenger service from Bari to Durrës, and they each run two ferries per day during the work week. A few minutes and €79 later, I had my ticket for the 11:00 PM ferry. 

 With thirteen hours to kill, I sat at a café and had a coffee and foccacia. I also found WiFi, so I posted a few random thoughts to Twitter. Thus fortified, I returned to the basilica, and this time I took pictures. While sitting in the crypt, I also took the time to pray for all the Nicholases and Nicoles that I know (that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding, right?) and bought and lit a bunch of candles. 

 After leaving the church, I headed over to the sun-soaked sea shore. The old city of Bari juts into the Adriatic, with the port on the north side. I basked in the sun for a bit, and then headed back to the basilica. By this time, the sun had come around enough for me to get a decent photo of the facade. After clicking away, I wound up at a café with free WiFi, where I ate lunch and uploaded some photos. 

After wandering a bit and meeting up with an Italian man I’d spoken with earlier in the basilica, I paid a whopping €3 admission to the “Castello Svebe.” The original fortifications on the site are credited to Roger II, the King of Sicily. He was the second generation of Normans to come rampaging through southern Italy, and he succeeded in conquering not only Sicily, but all of southern Italy right up to the border of the Papal States. (His heirs were not able to hold their patrimony.) 

 After wandering through the site, I headed to the port, checked in six hours in advance, and proceeded to wait. Boarding began at 7:30, but it was 9:00 before I got on board. Since I hadn’t paid for a cabin, I was left to find a place in one of the lounges. I wound up unfolding my sleeping met and using it for its intended purpose for the fourth time on this pilgrimage. I wish I could say that I slept well, but the lounge got very warm very quickly, and there was a very convivial and loud group of Albanians nearby who didn’t bother sleeping during the overnight passage. 

 Once I cleared customs, I went looking for a place to stay. I walked in a rather large circuit before arriving at a hotel about 15 minutes from the port. It was also a ten minute walk from the Cathedral of St Paul and St Astius, the Orthodox cathedral in Durrës. After checking in, I went to find out what time the Christmas Liturgy would be celebrated. (6:00 AM Christmas morning.) 

 I went to bed early, and was at church by 5:50 AM. By the end of the services, I was able to recognise certain key liturgical phrases. After Liturgy, I introduced myself to the head priest, and he in turn invited me to a reception in th church hall for the local politicians. After this, I headed back to the hotel, and typed up one of my overdue updates. 

 On December 26, I arrived at church an hour late. (I’d misunderstood the time the previous day.) Once Liturgy was over, arrangements were made for me to visit the Monastery of Shen Vlash. This was reestablished on the site of the former monastery following the collapse of Enver Hoxha’s communist regime in 1991. The monastery now hosts an orphanage and the Theological Academy of the Resurrection of Christ. 

 I’d arrived to see the monastery and get a blessing from the bishop (and a stamp for my pilgrimage book). I was served coffee, and then appetisers arrived. After I’d finished those and was preparing to leave, I was told, “Lunch is ready. Won’t you join us?” Albanians rightly pride themselves on their culture of hospitality. 

 Afterwards, I headed back to the hotel and checked in for one more night. It had started to rain heavily by this time, so I was glad of a familiar place of refuge. I ventured out to see whether the Archeological Museum was open (it wasn’t), and got dinner on my way back. I tapped out more of my Rome update, and got an early night. 

 My summary for December 27 adequately covers the next day. 

 I woke up today to the sound of a ferocious wind rattling the windows of my hotel room in Kavajë. I knew that the forecast called for lots of rain, but the wind was a surprise. Nevertheless, I geared up and headed out for Peqin. An hour later, I stopped for a break at a service station a few kilometres out of town. My body was warm and dry, but my knees were damp and chilled because of the strong wind and the cold rain. 

 The first person I greeted in the café offered to buy me a coffee. We chatted a bit in Italian, and he told me there was a hotel just a few hundred metres ahead. Since I’m no longer racing the Schengen Area visa deadline, I checked in. 

 After chatting with the men in the café downstairs for a bit, I headed up to my room. I surprised myself by falling asleep for an hour and a half. When I came back downstairs, I was just in time for lunch. Fresh stewed beef, two kinds of cheese, Albanian corn bread, olives, and oranges grown by the proprietor. 

He owns a reception hall next door to the hotel, and invited me to come with him to a wedding reception that was ongoing. The music was loud, the spirits were high, and there was WiFi. 😉 As it was winding down, I eased out the side door and headed back to my room. 

 The forecast for tomorrow looks good for walking, although i’ve been invited to a party with (what I’m told) is the best live band in Albania tomorrow evening here on the outskirts of Kavajë. I’ll see how I feel in the morning.

On my last day in Rome, I slept in and then had breakfast with Frere Bernard in the chapter house. My French is better than his English, so we communicated in scrambled French and Italian, aided by copious amounts of good will and humour. I’m sure the strong coffee also helped. 

 Since my train to Bari was scheduled for a 6:00 PM departure, I had decided to do as much as I could and then head back to pack and say a final farewell to my hosts by 4:00.

 My first visit was to the archaeological site of Ostia Antica. Originally this coastal settlement was simply known as Ostia, which is derived from the Latin for “mouth, ” since it was located at the mouth of the Tiber River. This port was Rome’s gateway to the Mediterranean for centuries, but eventually it was abandoned. The harbour had been gradually filling in with silt, and then a large earthquake shifted the course of the Tiber away from the infrastructure that had been built up in the town. By this time, a second larger harbour had been constructed a few kilometres north of Ostia, which connected to the Tiber through a series of canals. The 50 hectare site is one of the best preserved Roman cities extant, rivalling Pompeii, but without the sudden fiery death associated with that site. It took me 90 minutes to reach the site, located some 30 kms southwest of Rome. A subway ride connected to a regional light rail line, which took me to within a few hundred metres of the entrance to the site. And since it was a Monday, the site was closed. (Shoulda planned that one better!) Their English language website has a lot of information (and photos!), so if you’d like to learn more, I encourage you to browse on over to http://www.ostiaantica.beniculturali.it/en/la-storia.php I was a little disappointed, not only at not getting to visit the site, but also at the lost time it represented. Still, it was a beautiful sunny day, and at least I hadn’t walked there! I was glad I’d spent the money on the Roma Pass, if only for the unlimited use of public transit it allowed me. 

 So, back on the LRT to the Metro and my next stop of the day. This was the Basilica of San Pietro in Vincoli (St Peter in Chains). This church was consecrated in 439 as a place to house the chains from which St Peter had been freed in Jerusalem. (See Acts 12:3-19.) These chains had been given to the mother of the wife of an emperor by the bishop of Jerusalem, and the emperor’s wife in turn gave them to the Pope Leo I. There are actually two sets of chains displayed in the reliquary below the main altar. The second set are said to be the chains which bound St Peter while he was a prisoner in Rome. Apparently, these two sets of chains were miraculously fused together to form one long chain when they were laid side by side for comparison by Pope Leo. Here’s a description of the Feast of the Veneration of the Precious Chains of the Holy and All-Glorious Apostle Peter, commemorated on January 16. http://oca.org/saints/lives/2014/01/16/100202-veneration-of-the-precious-chains-of-the-holy-and-all-glorious-a

 Of more interest to me was the statue of Moses, completed in 1515 by Michelangelo. That was cool to see in person. For only €1 deposited in a slot, I could turn on a set of lights which illuminate the statue. I’d noticed this set up in other churches, but it was the only time I was even vaguely tempted. Other visitors were quite happy to provide illumination for the rest of us. The lighting conditions proved to be too much for the camera in my smartphone, but a quick online search for Michelangelo Moses will provide much better images than I managed to capture. The Wikipedia article provides an amusing discussion of the horns of Moses. 

 From there, it was a relatively short walk along the Via Cavour to the Basilica of St Maria Maggiore. Unfortunately, I had walked the wrong way (downhill), and only realised my mistake when the road ended at the Forum. I could have turned around and trudged back up the hill, but with a transit pass in my pocket I decided to extend my experience of Rome’s public transportation system by taking a bus. I’d almost certainly have arrived sooner if I’d walked, but at least now I’d travelled by subway, tram, LRT, and bus. The horse-drawn carriages and rickshaws weren’t part of the Roma Pass deal, so I simply watched as they passed me by. I did qualify for a 10% discount on a Segway rental. Maybe some other time – if I return to Rome with a travelling companion, that would totally be worth it! 

 When I (eventually) arrived at St Maria Maggiore, my first impression was of the sheer size of the 18th century structure. The original church on the site was consecrated in 350, but all traces of that are long gone. In a previous post, I’d mentioned my dislike of Baroque architecture. At St Mary’s, this general bias of mine was overcome – not because of the ornately beautiful decoration, but because this church felt like an actual parish church, where people were praying and using the confessional booths. Yes, there were tourists (and I guess I was one of them), but this did not feel like a museum or art gallery. It seemed like a place of community. I have no idea why I formed this notion, nor how much my feelings are to be trusted, but I left the basilica feeling uplifted. 

 From St Mary’s, it was a short walk to the church of Santa Prudenziana. This is a small church, slightly off the tourist track, and my guidebook had warned that these smaller churches were often closed for several hours after lunch. Sadly, I’d forgotten this warning, and when I arrived at 12:45, it was to find a locked gate and a sign that said it would be open again at 3:00. I met three Americans at the gate, and one of them told me that St Prudenziana is the patron saint of the Philippines, so this is where all the Filipinos in Rome attend Mass on Sunday. 

 With slightly more than two hours before the church reopened, I decided to head to the catacombs. This involved a ride on the Metro followed by a short bus ride. (Both the bus and the trip were short.) I arrived at the 17th century church of San Sebastiano, which was built on the site of the original 4th century church. This is another church built outside the walls of Rome over a cemetery. Roman civil law prohibited burials within the city walls. (Pretty smart, from a public health perspective.) This is why so many of the ancient churches are to be found on the outskirts of Rome – as devotion to a particular saint entombed in the catacombs grew, their grave was excavated and a shrine built around it, with a church above ground. St Sebastian was martyred in the 3rd century. And the church was closed. There was a separate entrance for the catacombs, and a sign there announced they were closed for the month of December. I simply laughed out loud, and decided to head back to Santa Prudenziana. It had taken slightly over an hour to get to San Sebastiano, so I figured S. Prudenziana would be open by the time I got back. 

 As I was heading back towards the bus stop, I met up with another family of Americans. We commiserated over the closures, and then the wife mentioned that the catacombs of San Callisto just down the road were open. That was actually my intended destination, per Fr. David’s recommendations, but I reached San Sebastiano first. On I went. 

 The guided tours of the catacombs at San Callisto ran every half hour, and they had tour groups for speakers of Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, French, German, English, and Dutch. They may have had even more languages available, but those were the people waiting for the 2:30 tour. 

 The catacombs of San Callisto extend over 20 kms. Originally there were four separate areas, but connecting passages had been cut into the tufa rock in the 4th or 5th century. This was the first cemetery in Rome exclusively for Christian burials, whereas at Santa Agnese pagans and Christians were laid to rest together. Another difference between these two catacombs is that the passages at S. Agnese were low and narrow and claustrophobic, but at S. Callisto they were much broader, and the roofs of the passages were 10 m high in places. The explanation for that was simple. They were originally cut to allow people to walk through. As the available space in the walls were filled with grave slots, the floors were cut lower to allow more layers of graves to be added on either side. Over the centuries, the passages acquired their current spacious dimensions. That also means that the oldest graves are the ones closest to the surface. 

The professional “grave diggers” (excavators?) weren’t necessarily Christian, but they were paid by the Christian community for their work. Richer families would often pay to have private family rooms carved out, and some of these were also used as chapels. (Richer families also subsidised the costs for those who could not afford to pay for a tomb for their departed.) In the years of persecution, the state allowed Christians to bury their dead – this particular cemetery was built alongside the major Roman road leading to the south of Italy, the Via Appia. What was forbidden was Christian worship, so prayers in these chapels was illegal. One chapel is still used to celebrate Mass to this day. Several of these family rooms still have frescos on the plastered walls which date to as early as the 4th century. There are depictions of Christ as the Good Shepherd, scenes of baptism and the general resurrection, as well as various Christian symbols such as the Chi-Rho monogram and the fish. (The Greek word for “fish” is ΙΧΘΎΣ , which is an anagram for Ιησούς Χριστός Θεού Υιός Σοτερ – Jesus Christ, God’s Son, Saviour.) 

 By the time we climbed back up to the surface, it was 3:00. I’d given myself a 4:00 deadline to return to my room and pack up, but I thought that I might still be able to squeeze in a visit to S. Prudenziana. Great plan, except that buses don’t run as frequently in the outskirts as they do in the city. It was ten to four by the time I got back to the Metro, so I will have to visit S. Prudenziana the next time I’m in Rome. 

 I packed up, and realised it felt gooood to be walking with my pack again. Instead of taking the Metro to the train station, I walked. I still got there an hour early, so I waited for my train to appear on the departure board so I’d know which of the 30 tracks I should board from. When I’d bought my ticket the previous day, the noon train was completely sold out, and judging by what I saw once I was aboard, the evening train had sold out to. Thankfully, it was assigned seating, although there was so much luggage stowed overhead I spent the first hour with my backpack jammed in the small space between my feet and the seat in front of me. Coulda been worse, I suppose. I’d thought I would use the four hour train ride to write an update, but I slept most of the way to Bari. That also meant that I missed the opportunity to register for the free onboard WiFi. It was only made available to passengers immediately after leaving Rome. When I tried to connect later, I was electronically informed that the WiFi connection my phone could see was unavailable. 

 I arrived in Bari shortly after 10:00. I hadn’t pre-booked accommodation, but I’d located a likely hostel while still in Rome. It was in the heart of the old city, a kilometre away from the train station. The streets in the new part of the city are laid out on a grid, but old Bari lanes and alleys resemble a plate of spaghetti. I did locate the Basilica of St Nicholas in my wanderings, and I made a mental note of its location for the morning. When I got to my destination, I discovered there’d been a change of ownership and the €16 per night hostel was now a €45 per night B&B. I headed back up towards the train station and found something a little more suitable. While I was registering, there was a slight delay while the desk clerk helped another guest with her room key. They were using skeleton keys for the rooms, and this poor woman could not get her door unlocked.