I’ve been planning this pilgrimage ‎for four years, and making serious preparations for the last two. I use everything in my pack, if not on a daily basis, then at least weekly. I’ve even been able to help some of my fellow pilgrims out with one or two things along the way. My pack is too heavy to qualify me as an “ultra-lite” hiker, but when I take short breaks, I don’t feel compelled to remove it at every opportunity. 

Michael’s pilgrimage is quite different from mine.  He is walking in the spirit of “Give us this day our daily bread” so in every village, he stops at the parish church and asks the priest for assistance. Since most parishes we’ve come across have a Caritas ministry, he’s received changes of clothing, food, or sometimes €10 or more in an envelope.  More importantly, he’s also received assistance in finding nightly accommodations for us. Several times, the priest has phoned ahead to our intended destination and arranged for us to stay in the local hostel.

Although my smartphone has a GPS app and a Via Francigena guide loaded on it, over the past few days, I have allowed my travelling companion to do the navigation.‎  He’s Italian, and so he’s able to ask directions from the locals we come across, whereas I’ve been relying on my guidebook. These two days have highlighted the difference between local knowledge and the knowledge of a specialist.

On Wednesday, we ignored the Via Francigena signs because someone had told him that following the Via Emilia is more direct.  (This road has a fascinating history –

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Via_Aemilia). While it is certainly a more direct route from Montale (a suburb of Piacenza) to Fidenza, it also meant facing traffic travelling at least the posted maximum of 90 km/h, and very often faster. This, on a road with no more margin than the width of the white painted strip on the road, in the rain‎. After taking a lunch break that lasted over an hour, we began walking again at 3:00. 

Shortly afterwards, Michael announced he was going to take a bus to our destination, and would meet me there. By the time I arrived, I’d been walking alone in the cold and the dark and the rain for two hours, with imminent death scant inches away. I was not impressed, but I let it slide. (And then the Capuchin monastery he’d been talking up offered us scant and grudging hospitality.)

As we were leaving the vicinity of the monastery Thursday morning, I paused under some shelter to consult my guidebook and GPS. While I was doing this, Michael again stopped someone on the street and asked for directions to our next destination. And here is where the difference between local and specialised knowledge became apparent to me. 

The old guys who pointed out the way to him have lived in Fidenza their whole lives. They’ve probably made the drive to Medesano ‎hundreds of times, but the directions they gave proved to me that they have never walked there. Instead of following the Via Francigena cross country along the hypotenuse of a right angled triangle, we wound up grinding it out in the rain along another set of roads with no margin. The first eight kilometres weren’t too busy, but once we turned the corner, we encountered heavy traffic, with more trucks than cars. And as anyone who remembers their geometry will know, we walked farther this way than if we’d followed the VF trail.

Today I told Michael, in no uncertain terms, that I would not be doing any more road walking unless the marked Via Francigena called for it. (The trail was laid out by people who have actually walked the route, so they only put people on the road if there’s a good sidewalk or absolutely no other option.)‎ It’s unsafe, the paved surface jars knees and hips and oh-so-tender feet, and there is no way to relax and enjoy the act of walking or the natural world when heavy metal death is hurtling towards us through the rain.

We only had 17 kms to do today, prior to the ascent into the Appenines. The author of my guide book wrote that the following 23 kms is one of the most arduous‎ in the Italian section of the Via Francigena, so I thought it wise to break after four hours so we’d be well-rested for the next stretch. The guidebook also indicated that this upcoming 23 kms will take much longer than experienced walkers would normally expect.

Since we only had 17 kms to cover, I agreed to a later start this morning. It was probably 9:30 by the time we finished our morning coffee and set out, following the Via Francigena. For the first few kilometres we had a broad sidewalk with a crash barrier separating us from traffic. Then we branched off on a minor road with very little traffic, and then the trail led to a pedestrian walkway under the highway. And that’s where the reality of November rain started to sink in.

The underpass was flooded. The next hundred metres or so we could see of the trail was flooded. At this point, we had no choice but to plunge forward. The water was over my ankles most of the way, so my new shoes have now been properly baptised. My old shoes were a good enough fit for Michael to discard the canvas sneakers he’d been given at a church a week ago, so he also had some good footwear for trail work.

The next half hour was mostly gravel, with some mud and water thrown into the mix. We also had to ford a small creek. After I’d made the crossing safely, I tossed my walking stick back for Michael to use. After finishing this stretch, the next town came into view and Michael scurried off to the church to talk to the priest.

He came back with the news that the hostel in the town we were headed for was closed – in fact, everything was closed until Cassio. The good news was, we could stay in the parish accommodations in Fornovo di Taro ‎tonight, and have a hot dinner for free!

That all sounded good, but we’d only covered 9 kms and it was barely noon at this point. (These little parish visits of Michael’s tend to lengthen our time on the road considerably.)‎ Still, my shoes were squelching and the rain showed no sign of letting up. It’s one thing to venture into the elements with a specific destination in mind, it’s quite another to walk blindly, not knowing where or when you’ll find shelter.

We were shown to the apartment set aside for pilgrims, and I wasted no time unpacking and changing into dry clothes. After lunch, I consulted my guidebook and discovered that Cassio was only 20 kms away. If we’d simply pressed on at noon, we’d have been there before nightfall, with the first third of the tough bit behind us. 

I was sorely tempted to pack up and head out again, leaving Michael asleep in his room, but by this time my walking clothes were no longer permeated with the warmth from my body, and enough time had elapsed that I’d wind up walking into town after dark again. I’ve done it before, andlikely will again, but steep ascents in the rain are best done in the daylight.

This decision has been days in the making, but tomorrow I will tell Michael that although we’re walking in the same direction, we’re clearly on different pilgrimages. If he manages to adjust himself to my rhythm, well and good. But I need to average 30 kms per day, every day from here to Rome if I want to spend any time at all in Greece. 

In the towns along the main Camino route‎ in Spain, there are pilgrim hostels in each and every one. Even walking in January, as I did in 2010, very few places were closed, and those that were had closed in order to renovate for the huge flood of pilgrims expected later that Jubilee Year. By way of contrast, very few of the villages I’ve walked through in northern Italy have overnight accommodations of any sort. If you’re not staying with family, you’re not staying. (Or you’re sleeping on the street, which Michael has done several times.)‎ 

This means it’s not simply a matter of walking 30 kms and stopping at the next village. I’ve spent several hours looking ahead through my guidebook, identifying which towns have lodgings available, and then trying to work out reasonable daily distances for me to cover. That’s why I had planned to do 17 kms today, although if I’d learned about the distance to Cassio sooner, I’d have gladly done the 29 to get a jump on the next day.

The other factor in my calculations for the next few days of walking is the weather forecast. Saturday is the best it’s going to get in this area until the middle of next week. I’ll take a 20% chance of 3 mm worth of rain when attempting a mountain crossing, thank you very much!

As it is, tomorrow I’ll do the eight kilometres left over from today, and then start the long hard climb up to Berceto. Still, it’s only a 650 m rise in elevation over a 23 km distance. Compared to what I faced over a month ago in Switzerland, it should be relatively easy, especially since I’ve lost weight and my cardio fitness has improved.

One positive aspect to my unexpected halt is that it was in a town large enough to have a laundromat. My clothes are now clean and stink-free — well, except for what I was wearing. Shoulda brought a blanket to change into, I guess!

Tuesday evening over dinner, Michael and I had  negotiated a nine o’clock start time. It was half past when we closed the door of the pilgrim’s hostel in Piacenza behind us and got underway. Well actually, we walked about 50 m back the way we’d come the evening before so that Michael could have a look at the sports‎ section of the morning paper while we both drank our morning coffee. Call it 9:45 then, when we set out for Fidenza, some 32 kms away.

The rain that had been forecast turned out to be drizzle for the first few hours, with a steady breeze coming in from the left. ‎I kept my poncho on, since even a drizzle can soak a person to the skin if the exposure is long enough, and I knew that in our case it would be. The thing that amazed me is that Michael had no hat, hood, or scarf. He was walking through the blowing damp with his head fully exposed. Small wonder he doesn’t want to walk in the rain!  (We stopped by a parish church later in the morning, and he was given a change of clothing, including two hats.)

There were numerous stops today, so in spite of our fairly constant pace of 6 km/h, we had only covered 15 kms by the time our lunch break ended at 3:00. With half the distance left to cover and his inflamed shoulder causing great distress, Michael opted to catch a bus to Fidenza and meet me at the Cappuchin monastery there. 

(We had tried calling them several times earlier in the day to give them a heads-up and confirm that we’d be able to find shelter with them for the night, but one of the numbers simply rang out, while the other resulted in a “Call Failed” notification.)

I arrived just as the evening Mass was ending‎. One of the departing worshippers took notice of me, dripping water on the floor, draped in a bright yellow poncho, with the bulge of my backpack beneath said poncho giving me a striking resemblance to Quasimodo. When I explained I was looking for a place to stay the night, she led me back to the sacristy where the celebrant was removing his vestments.

As I’m sure some of you have already guessed, their hospitality to pilgrims is not on offer year-round, coming to an end in October. The priest suggested that I find a hotel for the night.‎ I could certainly have done so, but I hadn’t seen Michael anywhere, and he should surely have arrived long before I did.

I’d spotted a café in one of the buildings of the monastic complex, so when the parishioner asked what I was going to do I told her I’d get a coffee and warm up a bit.‎ As we were leaving the church, she pulled out her wallet and attempted to give me some money. As graciously as I could manage, I thanked her and explained that I have money. She was insistent on doing something, so I agreed to let her buy my coffee. 

As we were walking towards the café, Michael spotted me from the sheltered corner where he had spread out his bedroll. He joined us in the warmth and light of the café, which sadly was set to close in less than half an hour. Our kindly host seemed quite shocked at the notion that he was resigned to sleeping outside on the doorstep of the monastery. (Remember the weather forecast I mentioned yesterday? Yup, rainy overnight, temperatures hovering around 7 Celsius.) 

After paying for our coffee, she pressed the €15 she got in change on me, and this time I felt I had to accept it.‎ As we left the café, I asked Luciana (Lucy in French – we’d been speaking together in a language foreign to both of us) to pray for us as we continue our pilgrimage. She promised to do so, and likewise asked for our prayers.

Not ten minutes after returning to the corner of the  roofed walkway, the priest with whom I’d spoken earlier walked up and told Michael and I that we could sleep on the floor ‎in a room in a wing currently housing several Chinese refugees. Apparently shame is a more powerful motivator than mercy for some folks. 

Once he’d shown us to our room, so to speak, I pulled out the letter of introduction my parish priest had provided me so many weeks ago. The Cappuchin monk read it through and then asked it he could take it and photocopy it. (?) I wasn’t about to say no, and when he returned, he handed my letter back saying (in the English he’d claimed earlier he couldn’t speak), “This is most important.” Strange.

Unlike the past few (open) parish accommodations we’ve stayed in, the heat is on in this building. There’s a toilet and sink next door, but both my clothes and I will have to do without a proper washing until later. (Tomorrow? That would be nice!‎) My accordion-style foam sleeping pad has seen regular use as a seat cushion while walking, but tonight will only be the third time I’ve actually slept on it. My clothing bag (half full) will serve as a rather rank-smelling pillow.

For tomorrow, my guidebook lists two towns as having any parish accommodations for pilgrims: Medesano is 21 kms distant, while Fornovo di Taro is 30. Both have phone numbers listed, we’ll be trying them both tomorrow, well before arriving. I suspect that we will be shown the door as soon as daybreaks tomorrow morning (i.e. 7:30 or thereabouts), so if we stop off in Medesano I could even sink-wash some clothes and still have time for them to dry overnight. We’ll see what tomorrow brings!

To date, all but two of the pilgrims I’ve spoken with have been foreigners: Germans, Swiss, and English. (Well, there were six Italian women I met on the street, but our conversation lasted all of a minute.) The thing which I find most peculiar is that these two Italian pilgrims will not walk when it’s raining unless circumstances compel them.

On the one hand, I suppose that’s not surprising. After years of doing deliveries through all sorts of weather, I can say quite clearly that my least favourite weather condition is rainy with the temperature in the single digits Celsius. (Wind adds to the misery, but is not an essential component.) It’s not weather fit for anything other than watching through a window, sipping hot chocolate while seated in a comfy chair next to a good fire. (Other types of weather are also good for this!)  Since neither of these two inclementally dis-inclined pilgrims face any sort of time pressure, ‎there’s no good reason for them to expose themselves to the cold raw nastiness if they have the option to stay put and wait it out.

On the other hand, it’s late November in northern Italy! What were they‎ expecting?!? The one pilgrim has a K-Way rain jacket and pant set, the other has a mini-umbrella and a lined three seasons jacket over a light leather jacket and no rain cover for his backpack. “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only inadequate clothing.” And yes, I know that I cut my first day back on the road short last week due to the rain, but that was because I had forgotten how to properly layer my gear for this particular type of misery.

This morning, my travelling companion had a quick look at the newspaper in a café. Later on, he mentioned it was supposed to rain tomorrow, so he would ask at the hostel tonight if we could stay one extra day. I don’t *think* I looked at him as though he were daft, but that was certainly my internal reaction. I also knew that the weather app on my phone was forecasting a greater than 50%‎ chance of rain each day for the next six days.

When the subject came up again a little later, he mentioned that maybe we could start a little later than usual and hope to avoid the worst of it. That sounded better to me, but I’m hoping to make it to Fidenza tomorrow and take refuge with the Capuchins, which is at least 30 kms. There is another option some 5 km closer if we find ourselves benighted in the cold dark rain, but I rather fancy enjoying monastic hospitality again. (Plus, I still have that timer ticking away – averaging 30 kms per day gets me to Rome four days earlier than if we log 25 kms per day.)

Today, we took nine hours to cover 25 kms. Well, 29 kms, except that four of those were sitting in a power boat cruising down the River Po.‎ We’d set out at 8:45, having booked a 10:00 river taxi ride with the most memorable Danilo Parisi. Pilgrims on the Via Francigena who have met him have nothing but good things to say about this kind and generous man, and Michael and I are the latest.

After completing the 4 km passage, Danilo invited us to his home for coffee. We signed his impressively large pilgrim’s logbook, and got our pilgrim’s credentials stamped.‎ After chatting for a bit, he left us for a moment and came back with an immense loaf of fresh bread, some homemade cheese, and a good sized chunk of salami for Michael. He also gave us pretty good directions for the rest of the day’s walk, and a few pointers for tomorrow. It was 11:30 by the time we took our leave, having covered 7 kms in three hours. Most of that time was spent sitting and drinking coffee. 🙂

Michael and I powered through the next few towns pretty quickly, pausing for a brief lunch break about 5 kms outside the Piacenza city limits. Things slowed down considerably after that. Each subsequent time ‎Michael suggested a coffee break, I was all too willing to oblige, even though it takes me longer to get back up to speed the later it gets.

Eventually the sporting goods store that Danilo had told us about came into view, and we knew the parish office was only a few hundred metres beyond that. I looked at a few different shoes, and eventually settled on a pair that seemed like a good fit. I knew that I’d be replacing my footwear at least once this trip, but I thought it would be due to wearing out my shoes rather than the shoes wearing out my feet. Now all I can do is hope that the new shoes ‎work out better for me than the last pair did. I certainly won’t be taking them back to the store for a refund!

After easing my feet into their new armor, we proceeded to the church office of San Lazzaro to sign in, get our credenziales stamped, and get directions to our night’s lodging. The parish of San Lazzaro is responsible for ‎the pilgrim’s hostel attached to the Church of St Peter the Apostle just a few kilometres distant. In the Middle Ages, San Lazzaro hosted a leprosarium on the church property. While that aspect of their service has been handed over to the state, they still maintain an active Caritas programme, providing food and clothing to the needy, as well as the regular activities of a large and thriving urban parish.

I’m not sure why the Church of St Peter the Apostle no longer has an active parish, but the adjoining hostel was housing pilgrims since at least the 11th century, when it was run by the Templars.‎ The Knights of Malta eventually assumed that responsibility in addition to their more martial duty of keeping the Roman bridge over the River Nure. According to my guidebook, part of that bridge can still be seen near the modern one. 

I don’t know whether this building has been in continuous use as a hostel for the past millenium. I rather doubt it, but it’s wonderful to see it returned to its original use. It was completely renovated in 2000 as part of the Year of Jubilee, and Pope John Paul II was present for its (re?)dedication.

And so tomorrow evening I hope to be in Fidenza‎, although it may be a late arrival. As I write this, Michael is looking rather the worse for wear, and asked if I could wait for him in the morning, “Maybe ten, maybe noon.” Although he’s a little on the chatty side for an extreme introvert such as myself, he’s not bad company. Perhaps in the morning I’ll suggest that he meet me at the Capuchin monastery, and let him decide for himself when he’ll arrive. (sigh)

‎Today Michael and I decided to save about 5 kms of walking by following a rural road directly from Santa Cristina to our next destination, Orio Litta. Because we started early on a Sunday morning, we met very little traffic on the way. We had wondered what we would do about dinner, not knowing whether there would be anything open in a small town in northern Italy ‎on a Sunday.

We needn’t have worried. About 4 kms from our destination, we spotted a supermarket on the side of the road, located between two villages. As we approached, we were delighted to see vehicles turning into the parking lot. This may have been the only store in a 20 km radius that was open today – certainly it was the only one we saw. If we’d followed the marked trail for the Via Francigena, we’d have missed it entirely. 

After roaming the aisles for a few minutes, we’d each selected what we thought would do for our next few meals. It’s amazing how well one can eat on €5 a day!‎ And that will do for our meals tomorrow, as well.

We were in no great rush, since last evening, the priest in Santa Cristina had called ahead to Orio Litta on our behalf. The pilgrims’ hostel in this town is run by the municipality rather than the church, but we were assured that our lodging would cost no more than Saturday’s, i.e. nothing at all.

It turns out that our contact person in Orio Litta was none other than the mayor of the village. Pier Luigi Cappelletti unlocked the hostel for us and showed us around the retro-fitted medieval tower and hall, and then literally presented us with the keys to the city hostel.

On our arrival, Michael had mentioned I was having some issues with my foot, so the town doctor made a house call later in the afternoon. I knew that my blistered right foot had not been improving over the last few days of walking, but after having a look at it and then dressing my poor abused flesh, Luciana told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to walk for at least a day.

Pier Luigi stopped by to check in on us while Luciana was finishing ‎up, and he assured us there was no problem at all for us to stay as long as necessary. The pilgrim facilities in Orio Litta are wonderful, so staying here an extra day is no great hardship for us! He also mentioned that perhaps a journalist would stop by for an interview tomorrow. They’ve seen pilgrims a-plenty in this town located near the traditional crossing point of the Po River, but I gathered he’d never met one bound for Jerusalem before.

I hadn’t reall‎y considered my trek of folly newsworthy. I’m not averse to sitting down (!) and speaking with someone. Having lost some weight over the past seven weeks, I’m certainly more photogenic than I was when I left home and took up the life of an itinerant. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

What it will bring is a follow-up house call to check on my foot, and hopefully give me a clean bill of health to continue walking. Once I arrive in Piacenza, my first order of business will be replacing my footwear and buying new socks!

This evening I finished reading The Canterbury Tales, and began reading Moby Dick. (Both in the public domain and available as a free download through Amazon‎.)  I don’t expect to finish reading it any time soon (barring any further medical exigencies), but it’s good to have something on the go. And now, to curl up under the covers with Herman!

‎The past few walking days have seen me cover a lot of distance. Tomorrow instead of pressing on directly to Piacenza from Santa Cristina (about 40 kms), Michael and I will be stopping halfway at the parish accommodations in Orio Litto.‎ While we have both done 35+ km days, that would mean arriving in Piacenza footsore and exhausted. Instead, we should arrive by early afternoon Monday, with several hours of daylight left to see the town, and in my case, do some shopping.

With my on-going foot problems, I’ve decided it’s time to change my shoes. I’d been planning to do this in Pavia, but was in no shape to do so once we arrived shortly before sunset on Friday. I’ll also be looking for some new socks. The hydrocolloidal bandages I’ve been using to patch my feet are great for the fragile skin ‎covering a blister, but they tend to merge with the fibres of my socks, making removing said socks a delicate process and leaving a real mess embedded in them. (Washing them at a laundromat didn’t help a bit, never mind by hand in a sink.)

I’m also hoping to visit some of the churches in Piacenza. One of the drawbacks to this type of trip is that I simply cannot see everything worth seeing. I need to keep moving on down the line. I’d really hoped to visit the Church of San Pietro Ciel d’Oro in Pavia, which houses the tomb of St Augustine of Hippo. One of the items in the museum in the archbishop’s palace ‎in Vercelli is the oldest extant book in Anglo-Saxon. That would’ve been cool to see, but so it goes.

My halting progress through northern Italy has provided me with some new experiences. On Tuesday as I was walking through the countryside, I passed a farm which had several emus stalking about a large enclosure. Those are some impressive birds! 

Today ‎while we were approaching a hamlet, Michael stopped excitedly at a tree alongside the trail, which was bearing pumpkin-shaped fruit slightly larger than an apple. I used my walking stick to knock several of them out of the tree for him to catch. I’d seen groves of these in the Aosta Valley and Piemonte, but they were always on private property.‎ The cachi fruit were sweet, soft, and utterly delicious. On arriving at the hostel this evening, I went online and learned that they are persimmons. I’ll be having one for breakfast tomorrow. 

This evening, Don Antonio ‎(the parish priest and our host in Santa Cristina) called the hostel in Orio Litto on our behalf, so we’re expected there tomorrow. I’m not sure where we’ll stay in Piacenza, but having an Italian as a travelling companion has made my nightly accommodation much, much cheaper (read, often free). 

Michael went to Mass this evening before settling down to watch the Juventus match with the priest and a whole passle of youth, and there’s no Orthodox Church within walking distance, so we’ll set out again by 8:00 tomorrow morning. That being said, I’d best post this update and settle in for a well-deserved rest.