Category: Diary

This World is Not Conclusion: Viterbo to Rome

The End.

This blog post has taken me a long time to write. I’m back in Newcastle and have been for a week. I have been sitting here and doing next to nothing.

I arrived in Rome and the necessary efficiency of my pilgrim-lifestyle evaporated. Like a corset bursting, a laziness immediately sagged to my sides. I had time to waste and waste it I will.

But I have reached the end before I have written it. So I shall return to Viterbo, which is where I left the last blog post. It is quite a large town but feels very much within the gravitational pull of Rome. There were road signs that pointed to my ultimate destination.

Continue reading “This World is Not Conclusion: Viterbo to Rome”

I was sharing a room with Jörg. We had agreed on an early start to try and see the sunrise and make it to San Quirico d’Orcia before it got too hot. We left the hostel quickly and quietly, not wanting to disturb the other pilgrims who had declined our invitation of rising at 5am.

The air was perfectly cool as we left. Sunrise was due for 5:40 and I had spied a spot on the map that looked like it might be a good vantage point. We walked on, trying to make it round the corners and up the hill in time for the show.

We stood on the ridge amongst a set of hills. To either side of us were wheat fields. There was thick cloud that allowed about an inch of clean air between it and the horizon. All around us, farmland rolled peacefully. Small puddles of mist dusted the land.

The sun crept up and we stopped to watch it for a while. Soon, it had a few moments of naked glory before it disappeared behind the clouds, casting dramatic colours in the sky.

Continue reading “Unto this Last: Ponte d’Arbia to Viterbo”

I left Altopascio the next morning. I hadn’t taken a day off in quite a while and I was reluctant to leave crisp white sheets. My proverbial feet were dragged. I had hoped to leave early but reluctance had delayed me. As I was leaving, the manager told me he had googled where Newcastle was. “You’re a long way from home.” I suppose I am.

Altopascio has a small but pretty historic centre. I passed under an old red brick archway and trekked through suburbia for a while. There was low density sprawl for about forty-five minutes, at which point, the path led into a kind of nature reserve. The trees weren’t high but they offered shade from the morning sun. The path wove around various flora and the ground was a dark red-orange.

I spent an hour or so turning small corners in that park. The way remained obscure beyond the next bend but the signs remained reliable.

On leaving the park, the route intersected with an old cobbled road. There was an information board informing me that it was part of the original Via Francigena. It was, certainly, an old road.

Continue reading “Warmth: Altopascio to Ponte d’Arbia”

Cloud had descended on Mount Valoria but I was determined to rest on the mountain. I tucked myself into my bivvy bag and tried to sleep. I had been too hot for days but that night I needed all four seasons of my sleeping bag certification.

Light rain fell on my cheeks in the night. I pulled the waterproofing over my face and persisted in trying to sleep. I heard some faint bells from what I assumed to be nearby cows. There is some bravery in the persistence of drowsiness.

Dawn arrived and I woke with it. The fog remained thick but began to slowly trickle off the mountain. The cows were actually horses and seemed a little surprised by my presence amongst them. It was cold and I wore the most clothes since the first day back in Kent.

Continue reading “Thorned diversions: Mount Valoria to Altopascio”

I woke in Pavia having not slept well. Perhaps I had become accustomed to beds and my sleeping mat no longer felt comfortable. I spent the morning blog-writing and then caught a bus back into the city.

Pavia is beautiful. It is effortless in a very Italian way. I did a few circles around it, visiting as many of its churches as I could manage in an afternoon. I visited San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro which I had no idea housed the tombs of both St Augustine and Boethius: both worthy of their own pilgrimage.

Continue reading “Feathered Hope: Pavia to Mount Valoria”

I stayed in Aosta to rest for the day and explore a little. Laundry, however, was higher on my priorities than the considerable range of Roman ruins. I went into a laundrette. It was the sort with big machines: too big for my small shopping bag of dirty socks. The proprietor walked me outside and directed me to a self-service place then patted me on the cheek with a rough hand. Pity the alien.

Laundry washed and mostly dry I returned to town to visit the city. The morning had been sunny and full of colour but by the early afternoon clouds had made their appearance. It was still warm but covered by a pervasive greyness.

The city, Aosta, was established as a gateway to the Roman Empire after the Emperor Augustus had taken the St Bernard Pass from Gallic tribes. It’s name is a contraction of his. There are ruins of an enormous gate, a theatre, a vast forum that is now totally underground, a bridge.

Continue reading “Dissolved Frescoes and Mosquito Smears: Aosta to Pavia”

I woke up to a glittering Lausanne. The sun was shining and I relaxed. I was ahead of my planned itinerary and felt no sense of rush. Laundry done and blog updated, I took a stroll around the lake in search of a sailing club that I had walked past the previous day.

I was too early for opening and so ambled round the outskirts of the city, walking through a university campus to find a supermarket for lunch. Everything felt civic and metropolitan. I was annoyed to be in walking gear amongst fashionable students.

When I returned to the sailing club I rented a small dinghy for an hour and found myself quite rusty at preparing its rigging. On the water, there was barely a hint of wind. I gently drifted out a few metres but was crawling along. I made slow tacks for the hour, a little bit frustrated at my speed, but enjoying the sun.

Continue reading “Around the Lake: Lausanne to Martigny”

I had succumbed to something of a malaise in Besançon. I was tired, the skies were relentlessly grey and the bed I was in squeaked and was more uncomfortable than my sleeping mat. I imprudently spent my time and had drunk too much red wine on my first night. I did not feel hugely rejuvenated and was ready to depart the grey city.

My route took me back through the centre of town. I was early enough to join binmen and morning commuters on the streets. I felt like I was sneaking out of the city before it had properly woken and  could catch me. On the route out, I passed under a magnificent Roman arch. I had seen it yesterday. I had even walked under it yesterday. But this time, with my boots and backpack, it felt like more of a crossing. I was using the archway as an archway: passing through.

Continue reading “Water, many ways: Besançon to Lausanne”

I woke up in the pilgrim flat in Chateauvillain a little drowzy from having stayed up typing my diary the night before. The flat is quite a big place with a balcony that lets sunlight stream in. I hadn’t shut the curtains. My itinerary had sketched a rest day but inertia and a slight lack of facilities made me keen to stay on the road.

The next town on the route was Langres, a two day walk away. There were a few villages on the way that had a couple of accommodation options but they were quite limited. I wanted to buy provisions for a worst-case scenario so headed a half kilometre out of town to an Intermarché. It didn’t open until nine o’clock so I waited on a concrete bench.

A woman came up to me and asked if I had slept well. I was a bit confused. I said that I had and explained that I was walking to Rome. She said she knew. She had seen me at the window of the flat. She lives just opposite. She told me about the other pilgrims she had seen at the window, passing through. She told me it was going to be hot and that I should get a hat.

Continue reading “Mercury Skies: Chateauvillain to Besançon”