Life on the Road

— Posted inUncategorized — 11 min read
The last time I posted a major update, I was in Aullo considering my options for the next day of walking. I’d arrived at the parish hostel by 6:00, but on the way there I had noticed a laundromat. After checking in and greeting my old friend Michael, I showered and changed into my “town clothes” and then walked the 500 metres back to the laundromat with my dirty laundry, stopping at a supermarket on the way to pick up supplies for dinner. (Michael had already eaten by the time I arrived.) 
I got back to the hostel by 9:00 with a sack full of clean clothes and a bag of groceries. Michael’s favourite radio programme had ended by then, and he retired shortly thereafter. I prepared and ate my dinner and cleaned up afterwards and then scrubbed the mud off my shoes (I was ankle deep at one point in the morning) and stuffed them with old newspapers to help them dry out. I also looked over the sections of the next day’s walk in my guidebook.
While I prefer trails to road walking, the first 18 kms looked to be fairly strenuous, including the necessity of fording two small streams. Although the forecast for the next day called for sunny skies and balmy temperatures, I knew that with all the rain we’ve had in the past few weeks, those trails would still be slick and muddy, and those streams would be swollen with the runoff from the winter rains flowing down from the higher peaks. Since the guide mentioned that following the road was an option when bad weather advised against the trail through the mountains, I decided to follow the road and keep Michael company for the first half of my walk. (He’d already announced his intention to stay at the parish accommodations at the next major town, halfway through my itinerary.)
I awoke Tuesday morning to find Michael up and packing. I lay in bed yawning and stretching while he finished up, and then got up, shook his hand, and wished him well. When he told me he was just 80 cents short of the price of a coffee, I gladly gave him a Euro and saw him to the door.‎ An hour later, I was on my way, too.
 I’d mentioned it was 9:00 before I got back to the hostel and set to my evening meal. It was almost 10:30 when I began writing Monday’s post, and well past midnight‎ by the time I hit Send. All these little end of day tasks make it difficult to keep my resolution to have an early night, sleep long, and spring out of bed ready for another full day. 
With only six hours of sleep, I was a little sluggish in the beginning, but the walk turned out to be very pleasant. The traffic on the first 8 kms of road was fairly light. I suspect the nearby motorway has siphoned off a lot of the flow. After arriving at the next town, there were either sidewalks or nice wide shoulders for me to walk on all the way to Sarzana‎. 
At that point, I decided to break from the official Via Francigena trail. My guidebook had indicated that it was possible to walk directly to the coast from Sarzana, although there were no trailmarkings. Rather than spending the rest of the afternoon climbing and then descending the foothills, I consulted my GPS and headed for the sea. The road had a bike and pedestrian lane on the shoulder the whole way, and I arrived at the beach in time to sit and watch the sun set. (I decided against going for a swim, since by then it had cooled down quite a bit.) I know that I walked at least an extra five kilometres, possible eight or nine, but it was worth it!
Once I’d let the rhythm of the waves crashing on the shore settle in, I decided it was time to find a place to sleep. I knew that I was in the general vicinity of the town of Avenza, so I found the nearest church, where they were just finishing evening Mass. I spoke to the priest and explained I was looking for the Church of St Peter in Avenza, and he got someone to draw a sketch map for me. He also asked if I needed any food. I thanked him, and assured him I was fully stocked. (These days I usually carry enough food for three small meals – one of the reasons my pack has been getting heavier.)
It took another hour and a half to reach my destination, but it was a very pleasant walk. The first 45 minutes or so was spent on a moonlit gravel footpath that was part of a network of recreational trails which I’d seen earlier in the day while making my way to the beach. I didn’t bother with my headlamp for this section, as the moon provided enough light for me to avoid the puddles and squidgy patches. Next I walked on a road through an extensive abandoned industrial neighbourhood, and here I was ready to switch on my light at the first sign of an approaching vehicle. I may not need it to see where I’m going, but the drivers certainly see me better when it’s on! Finally I reached the town itself, with streetlights and sidewalks.
I found the church easily enough, and the hostel was directly across from it on a large pedestrian square. I’d tried calling the various contact numbers ‎I had for the hostel several times earlier in the day without reaching anyone, but finally I spoke with someone. I’m still not sure who it was, but she told me I would have to wait for Don Merino (the priest), since we can’t do anything without his knowledge. That’s completely appropriate, so I set my pack down and started to wait. While I’m walking, I generate enough heat to be in my shirtsleeves when everyone around me is wearing their puffy down jackets. When I stop walking, though, I cool down quite rapidly. After waiting about 20 minutes, I began to feel rather chilled in spite of my extra layers. 
Eventually I was approached by a gentleman who also lives on the square. He had seen me waiting, and with my walking stick and backpack, it was clear to him that I was a pilgrim hoping for a place to stay. Paolo told me that Don Merino’s phone number was posted on the door of the office, and when he brought me over to see, he used my phone to make the call. Don Merino appeared less than five minutes later and showed me around the hostel. 
When I met Don Merino for coffee Wednesday morning, I forgot to ask him to tell me about Antonio Mazzi, after whom the hostel is named.‎ He was able to tell me that the parish hostel in Pietrasanta was open, but he wasn’t sure about the one in Camaiore. 
‎I looked over my tentative itinerary, and decided that since I’d planned a shorter day to Lucca for Thursday, I would just stop a few kilometres earlier on Wednesday and make the difference up the next day. Same distance, same number of days, just a switch of the long and the short days so I could arrive in each city without wondering whether I’d find something available for me. My guidebook said that the municipal hostel in Lucca should be contacted several days in advance, so I’d sent an email on Monday asking about lodging for Thursday. It has gone unanswered, as has the phone at the number provided to me at the parish hostel in Pietrasanta Wednesday evening. 
Still, Lucca is a city of some 80,000 inhabitants. If I couldn’t find a hostel, I could always just book into a cheap hotel. I’m trying to avoid that as much as possible because that gets very expensive over a period of six months, but having that option available does give me more flexibility in deciding how far to walk each day.
With that settled, I went out to find something for dinner in Pietrasanta. The gentleman in the office had told me there were no markets in the area, since this is the historic centre of town, but I managed to find one within 300 metres. I headed back, ate dinner, had a dismal lukewarm shower and washed my quick-drying clothes in the bathroom sink. (This was another parish hostel with no heat or toilet paper, but I guess sometimes you get what you pay for.)
I’d resolved to get an early start Thursday morning, but with all my little evening tasks, it was 11:00 by the time I got to bed. (I haven’t written in my Moleskine journal for several days now, and I haven’t spent any time aboard the Pequod with Ishmael and Queequeg and Ahab since leaving Orio Litta over a week ago!) When my alarm went in the morning, I promptly hit snooze. And again. And again. Finally dragging myself out of bed, I said my morning prayers, had breakfast, and went back to sleep for another hour and a half. 
Needless to say, this was the end of my grand plan of an early start to the day, but the walk to Lucca was still only 33 kms. Sure, I’d arrive after sundown, but as long as there’s no rain or oncoming traffic, I actually really enjoy walking into the evening darkness.‎ I still hadn’t received a reply to my email, and my phone calls were still going unanswered, but I knew there would be lodgings available – and a laundromat, too! Washing my clothes in the sink is fine, but it works much better when there’s HOT water.
Thursday’s route from Pietrasanta to Lucca was unavoidably one of multiple ascents and descents. According to my GPS app, walking across the foothills this way is actually 3 kms shorter than following the road route, and that road is extremely busy! No question of deviating from the official route for me today. As I reached landmark after landmark, I calculated the distance left versus hours of daylight, and by noon I realised I’d be hunting for a place to stay in a strange town after dark. If I wanted to do laundry (and oh yes, I wanted to!), that would take even more time.
So it was that, on approaching the entrance to the village of Valpromaro by midafternoon, I was strongly tempted by a large handwritten sign in both English and Italian posted beneath the town sign. The Ostello di Valpromaro has full kitchen facilities, a washing machine, free WiFi, and is run on a donativo basis (i.e. donate whatever you wish). After pausing for a coffee and asking the barista whether the hostel was actually open (so many are closed at this time of year!), I decided to at least have a look.
The heat works, the larder is stocked, the hot water is plentiful, the WiFi works as advertised (and a good thing, since this town is too remote for my phone to have any reception) and by staying here I know I’ll have an early night with all my routine domestic chores taken care of. After settling in, showering, and washing my clothes, I sat down with my guidebook and started reconfiguring my itinerary. Then I headed back to the café near the entrance to town, bought a coffee, and asked if I could use their phone to call the hostel in Altopascio. They were amenable to the idea, and in Altopascio they actually answered the phone! They’re expecting me tomorrow evening. 
However, it is a 40 km walk through the foothills to get there, so once I finish this paragraph I’ll send off this update, do the dishes, say my prayers, and (finally!) get an early night.‎ By morning, my clothes should be dry enough to pack away, and I bought a few things for breakfast from the only shop in town. I hope to be on the road again eleven hours from now, by 7:30 in the  morning.

‎

A Very Good Day

— Posted inUncategorized — 2 min read
This will be brief.
The weather was ideal for walking. Chilly and overcast to begin with, but walking steadily at a good clip meant I stayed toasty warm in just my merino t-shirt and a lightweight long-sleeved shirt. By the time I’d gone 6 kms, the clouds rolled away and I put on my shades. It stayed sunny and warm for the next three hours or so, long enough for me to reach the halfway mark for the day and have a leisurely lunch on a bench in the sun. It clouded over again shortly before I started walking again, but that just meant I could maintain a deliberate pace without overheating. By the time I reached the shore, there were some clouds, and a rainbow at the base of the mountains just to the south-east of me. ‎I’ve already posted a photo of the sunset to my blog. Tomorrow’s forecast looks like more of the same.
In the past three days, I’ve covered 98 kms, and plan to do another 32 tomorrow. I’ve been taking breaks when I feel like it, and my trip to the beach probably added five or six kilometres to my day, but it was just so wonderful to sit and watch the sunset while listening to the surf break on the shoreline. That was an hour very well spent. The key to covering long distances with a limited number of days is not necessarily “walk faster.” With my decent clip and more relaxed attitude, I simply keep walking longer. (Granted, that’s more fun when the weather cooperates.) Including ‎all my breaks and detours, I was on the road for eleven hours today, on six hours of sleep last night. (And that’s why I’ll be less long-winded than normal in tonight’s update.)
I just fell asleep over my keyboard – and it’s a smart phone. It was a very good day.

A Choice of Paths

— Posted inUncategorized — 4 min read
Contrary to my expectations, today saw me slogging through mud and underbrush, walking up and then down steep, slick, leaf-covered rocky paths, and also dodging traffic around hairpin turns. Not at all ideal.‎ The last six kilometres took me three hours, and it was all the more frustrating because I had already caught sight of the suburbs of the town I was aiming for.
The good news is, the forecast for tomorrow is sunshine most of the day. The bad news is, the off-road trails will still be as treacherous as they were today. The views from the ridges will be better, though. Shifting veils of mist, droplets of water shimmering on every branch and limb, and the muted sound of water dripping in a muted forest is wonderfully poetic imagery, and beautiful in its own way, but I’ve been moist for a week. Give me some of that famed Tuscan sunshine!
My goal for tomorrow is to reach Avenza and the sea. The first section of the walk presents me with a dilemma. Do I stick to the official Via Francigena trail, or chance the traffic on more sharp bends? The trail is 17.5 kms cross-country, and from the description in my guide, I expect it to take six hours. The road route (mentioned as an option in case of bad weather, with the appropriate caution about traffic) is only 14.5 kms, which I can do in three hours.
Another factor for me to consider is that, after having taken a wrong turn in the mountains two days ago, Michael is back on the road to Rome.‎ As I had suspected, his reluctance to do any strenuous off-road work had led him astray, and it was only after walking seven kilometres in the wrong direction that a kind-hearted local stopped and pointed him in the right direction.  He wound up staying two days in Berceto, so he would’ve been there when I walked through the town yesterday. Then today, since he doesn’t have the luxury of paying for his own lodging, he braved the rain and the traffic and ground out 49 kilometres along the main road. Since he had no money, he didn’t stop for coffee along the way, and he arrived at the parish hostel in Aullo a few hours before I did, in spite of having walked more than 1.5 times the distance. ‎ Mosquitoes may be annoying, but they are to be found anywhere on earth there is human civilisation. (Research stations in the Antarctic don’t qualify.)‎ Hardy and adaptable creatures they are.
I was VERY glad to see that he had not wandered off the edge of a cliff in the dark two nights ago‎, but I was also rather surprised. Wasn’t he headed to Parma to stay with friends? Well, he’d changed his mind. Fair enough.
Although I do love mountain vistas, I think I will take to the road in the morning. After today’s trek, Michael (who is already snoring gently) only intends to walk the 14.5 kms to the next available parish accommodations. By noon at the latest, I’ll buy him one last coffee (maybe?) and then continue on my way.
After parting company in Sarzana, I can choose to follow the waymarked trail back up into the hills and pass, among other sites, the marble quarries of Carrera, or I can find my own way down and along the coast. Tomorrow’s high is forecast to be in the upper teens – maybe I’ll go swimming!
So, lots of options for tomorrow. I wonder if Michael would be offended if I started calling him Smeagol –  it’s a compliment, of sorts.

A Parting of Ways

— Posted inUncategorized — 10 min read

Knowing that today’s walk would be challenging, last night I told Michael I’d like to leave by 7:30. It’s only 31 km from Fornovo di Taro to Berceto, but the last two-thirds of that are very arduous, so I wanted to get an early start.
He was ready to go by 7:10. It took me another 15 minutes to get myself together. When I emerged from my room, I put‎ my pack down in the entryway and asked Michael to sit down with me for a moment. He was already standing in the doorway, but when I took a seat on one of the couches he came over and sat facing me.
Yesterday afternoon after I’d discovered how close Cassio actually was, I was pretty upset. Remaining in Fornovo di Taro after covering only 9 kms had been presented as a fait accompli. (That may have been a misunderstanding on my part.) While Michael snoozed the afternoon away, I had composed a brief letter and used my phone to translate it into Italian. Basically I said that we are on two different pilgrimages, and I wished him well on his, but said that I had to start following the path I need to take.
We were face to face and he could see there was no rancour in me when I told him that from now on, I would stop when I want to stop, and go when I want to go. He has said that he hopes to reach Rome in time to celebrate Christmas with his family. I had already told him I need to be there a week earlier, which means averaging 30 kms per day. (See my last update.)‎ He said, okay, he wouldn’t stop so much at churches, maybe only once a day to get money for food. I repeated that his system is good for him, but I had to follow my own way. We shook hands, locked the door behind us, and went for a quick coffee.
Leaving Fornovo di Taro, there are two options for pilgrims to follow, one of which is waymarked, the other not. The unmarked way mentioned in my guidebook stays on what passes for a main road around here and skirts a small peak. The marked trail shaves a few kilometres off the other path, but it’s fairly steep in both directions. This morning, we followed the marked trail.
It took us a little under an hour and a half to get to Sivizzano, a journey of 9 kms if we’d been following the road.‎ This is the town where I’d hoped to stay last night in order to get a jump on the grueling trek today. The priest in Fornovo di Taro had told Michael that the hostel was closed here, which is why he was so eager to stop walking at noon yesterday where he had been offered a free meal and accommodation. 
The thing is, when Michael has these little conversations with the parish priests, he always makes a point of telling them he has no money. (He’s compared himself to Francis of Assissi in travelling this way.) What he neglects to mention is that the Anglophone pilgrim who’s waiting outside in the rain *does* have money – and a credit card. Almost immediately after entering Sivizzano, I was hailed by a woman leaning out the window of her B&B. (sigh)‎ I could have slept in a place that didn’t require people to provide their own toilet paper if I’d just walked another 90 minutes yesterday. (And yes, I do have a roll of tp stashed safely away in my backpack.)
Roughly half an hour before this, having covered a 250 m ascent and descent before returning to the road, Michael announced that he thought he would take a bus to Parma and stay with friends there. Could I give him €5 or €10 for the bus fare? Looking back on it, it seems either laughable or shockingly audacious, but at the time all I felt was pity as I told him no. (I’d decided yesterday that I would pay for his coffee this morning as a gesture of good will, but that would be the formal end of our association.) As I’d been suspecting for a few days, his talk of walking to Rome on a pilgrimage was talk and nothing more.
So it was that when he saw an older gentleman doing some yard work as we approached Sivizzano, he stopped to ask whether there was a bus to Parma that stopped in town. Maybe it was harsh of me, but when he stopped, I didn’t. Nor did I say goodbye. I. Just. Kept. Walking. I’d said everything I needed to say in the letter and to his face this morning.
As I approached the edge of town, I spotted a small shop. As I crossed the road, I saw Michael walking about 20 m behind me. ‎Neither of us said anything. 
That’s the last I’ve seen of him. I hope he found a ride to a town that does have inter-city bus service. For that it’s either back to Fornovo di Torno or on to Berceto, and the priest in FdT is unlikely to provide charity to the same person two days running. I know that if he tried walking to Berceto, he’s now hopelessly off course.‎ 
I know this because, having stopped at the shop I lingered a good half hour before continuing on my way. After reaching Terenzo, the marked trail veers off the very minor road it follows to that point. The narrow rocky path had rivulets of water streaming down, and further up the slope, several large patches of mud. ‎I did not see his footprints anywhere, and if he followed the trail, leaving at least some tracks would have been impossible to avoid. 
The previous few days have shown conclusively that ignoring the Via Francigena trailmarkings and sticking to the road can lead, not only to added distance, but also to lots of fast-moving‎ oncoming traffic with no shoulder to walk on. Yesterday and this morning demonstrated that sticking to the marked VF trail can lead through some very unpleasant walking conditions in late November. What I’m afraid Michael might have done is follow the VF markings as far as the village of Terenzo, look at the steep, rocky, watery track, and then decide to keep following the road. Since he has no maps or guides or GPS, he has no way of knowing that this particular course will take him 56 kms the long way around a mountain and across to the wrong side of the valley before eventually leading him to Berceto. If you are so inclined, please pray for the servant of God Michael. He’s intelligent and capable, but that doesn’t do much when stranded in the cold foggy dark of the mountains on a minor road at night, hours away from the nearest hamlet.
As for me, I arrived in Cassio by mid-afternoon, having had a leisurely lunch along the way, and even needing my sunglasses! (For about ten minutes, until the fog rolled in again.) I’m above the range of deciduous trees, and it was wonderful walking on pine needles and breathing the pine-scented mountain air!
I stopped for a coffee in Cassio, and discovered that my phone was picking up a signal again. Yesterday I’d contacted one of the two hostels in Berceto by email, and received the disappointing (if not unexpected) news that they were closed for the season. I’d written back last evening, thanking them for the reply, and asking if they knew of anything within 10 kms that was open. I’d heard nothing last night, and there was still no reply when I checked again this afternoon. After preparing my short list of Italian phrases, I called the number of the other hostel listed in my guidebook. No answer. The guidebook was published in January 2014, and besides ‎these two hostels, it indicates that there are no other overnight lodgings available.
Not knowing whether I’d have a place to stay when I arrived after sunset (4:37 today), I opted to make it (another!) short day‎. The person running the café told me there’s a hostel that’s open in Cassio, and if I wanted, he could call the person responsible and let him know there’s a Canadian pilgrim seeking shelter. (And yes,‎ the guy behind the counter was speaking fluent English – always a bonus for this linguistically challenged pilgrim!) 
Five minutes later, I was being shown around the digs. Andrea (Andrew) turned the heat on in the men’s dorm room as we walked through to the bathroom. Bath sheets! Hot water galore! A sink to wash my clothes in, and actual laundry detergent! 😀
There was a huge pot of homemade minestrone soup simmering on the stove, the fridge was fully stocked with eggs, milk, juice, yoghurt, wine, and various kinds of meat. The breakfast nook had three kinds of cereal, multiple types of sliced bread, plastic-wrapped brioche (meh), teas, instant coffee mixes of various descriptions, jams and preserves, a toaster, a toaster oven, a juicer – no Nutella in sight, though. The main dining room had fresh fruit and vegetables on display for the taking, as well as an impressive selection of wines, cheeses, and cured meats. (This Nativity Fast, I’m abstaining from meat and eggs, but when walking as much as I am {or ought to be} on a daily basis, I am eating fish, oil, and dairy. God knows, and so does my confessor.)‎ The bar has a dozen different liquors (including some homemade ones), and there are more bottles of Moretti beer than one person could safely drink in three days. And all of this luxury was mine for the taking for the princely sum of €16.
Best. Hostel. Ever.
No WiFi, but hey, that’s why I bought the Vodafone SIM!
The hills won’t be as intense tomorrow as they‎ were today. I’m currently at 813 m above sea level and the high point tomorrow is only 1041. The road does dip down a bit, but I’m hoping to cover the 37 kms to Pontremoli in about nine hours, allowing for food and rest breaks. 
That may be overly ambitious, but I don’t think it will be too difficult. In the flat stretches of the Po valley, I was maintaining speeds of 6 km/h even with my foot problems. Today I was travelling much more slowly than that – that steep gravel trail I mentioned earlier rose 500 m in 1.5 km. A grade of 30% may sound dismally low in an academic context, but walking up a slope with uneven footing and mud and water on that sort of incline is TOUGH! ‎If you can find a treadmill that allows for a 30% slope, strap on a 25 pound backpack and give it a whirl.
Anyway, my belly is full, my clothes are sorta clean and drying by the radiator, and I do not have an Italian radio talk show blaring away at me. Michael has a battery powered radio, which is turned on the instant he sets his pack down in a hostel‎. His favourite evening programme is called Zanzara – that’s the Italian word for mosquito.  If you’ve ever been in an enclosed space with one, you’ll know how irritating that can be. I really do wish him well, but it is a relief to have silence as a rule rather than an exception.