Distance Walked: 1071 miles
Current No. Blisters: Maybe 2? Not sure!
I didn’t notice until sitting down to write this entry that I’d crossed the 1000 mile marker, probably somewhere after the Abbey of Saint Albino, and mostly likely at five or six in the morning. But in any case, it’s something to celebrate; i.e. it perfectly post-rationalises an 11:50 am aperol spritz, which is currently going down very well on my day off, in Piacenza.
I started last Saturday in Santhià, at some unholy hour (I can’t quite remember the time, but it was not pleasant). All I do remember from that day, aside from plodding around seemingly endless rice fields under a vengeful sun, was that I was beaten to Vercelli by the other British pilgrim, who started well after me, and from further behind!
As there is not much to say about the scenery (if you’ve seen one picture, you’ve seen them all), I think a comment or two on the pilgrim infrastructure and hospitality would be wise. Both continue to surprise in Italy – the latter in both a positive and negative manner. In Santhià, I stayed in a wonderful Albergo opposite the cathedral, with full facilities and a wonderful host (Mario). The next day, an even better experience with the Friends of the Via Francigena in Vercelli, where there was even a wonderful pasta dinner shared with the other pilgrims (a Frenchman, four Italians and the Brit who had beaten me there!). I, apparently over-exercising my limited Italian, was eventually told to “Zitto!” and eat!
Monday was quite a surprise, of another sort. It was yet another tough day of rice fields, sun and serious heat, all with not an okta of cloud coverage. I sweated my way through litres of water, and arrived at the Abbizzio di Saint Albino after a good 36 km. A dragon of a lady directed me to a large, open communal room, the walls lined with beds, and then instructed me to put down my details in her book. I accidentally put my phone number in the passport number box.
After she’d left, and I’d breathed a sight of relief, I got cracking with the usual post-walk routine, in this house in the middle of nowhere. I plugged the electronics in to charge, and got to work. Apparently I’d forgotten that after about 35 km of walking, I’m in full Mr Bean mode, and it takes a good few hours to recover from that.
It turns out that I’d unplugged the security camera feed when plugging in my phone. This, as it happens, was probably for the best, given I had moved on to flooding the bathroom at that point. The shower drain was completely clogged, and I (oblivious to the rising water, given I was standing on a little plinth in the shower, with glasses off) merrily showered away as the water rose, and flooded over down the corridor. While I was enjoying pressure washing myself (not the finest shower I’ve ever used), the dragon returned, to restore the security feed, and she was rather unimpressed (by the accounts of the other pilgrims). I rushed to try and clean up the water, and then returned to the communal room to find my phone vanished, and my bag, shoes and walking stick moved to the “correct” position. Later, the dragon was heard talking in strong Italian tones to someone outside about “Alexander”.
So, we unhappy few sat on our wafer thin mattresses, in that dark room, slowly starving (having already nibbled on what few morsels remained from the days march) waiting for the assigned dinner time of seven o’clock. Perhaps the most distressing wine experience of the pilgrimage followed; I imagine the salad vinegar might have made for a better drink. Anyhow, after that, we all headed to bed.
I woke at five, all ready to go, to get cracking with the walk. I was walking further than the others that day, and the only one up. After closing the door on the house, and setting off into the night, a glance back revealed the door drifting open again. I returned to close it properly, and subsequently jumped out of my skin when the dragon leaped around the side, with a collosal “CIAO!”. Despite that, I felt there was a degree of reconciliation in her getting up so early, to see me off.
45 km later, I was limping into Pavia. I must return at some point – it’s the sort of place that I could spend hours idly wandering the streets, and nipping into interesting buildings. Sadly, I arrived at six in the evening, and left twelve hours later, which left only time to see the Cathedral. According to Wikipedia, construction started in 1488, and the dome was only finished in 1885. I’ve always found engineering projects like this incredible; it’s inconceivable in the modern world to begin construction of a building, while knowing that with present technology it is impossible to finish. The faith that the original Renaissance engineers had in progress, or in providence, and their willingness to bet on this faith, is as stunning as the dome itself.
The next day was 30 km of rice and corn fields (and even a bit of soy!). And the following day, a brutal 42 km of the same, into Piacenza, in ever more scorching heat. And so, I decided to take a day off in Piacenza, not least because I had a good sleep-in after a few litres of beer the evening before, very kindly paid for by some wonderful Italians with whom I talked for a few hours. And so today, I’ve been ambling around the old town in the centre of Piacenza, popping in and out of the churches, cafés and bars – not walking anywhere in particular, but just enjoying the architecture, and the different liquids I can find to drink.
Ahead, there are two more days of flat walking along the Po Valley (I crossed the Po just before arriving in Piacenza). But already, the Appenines are often visible on the horizon, through the haze. But they’re a problem for later. For the moment, I’m content sitting in the shade, reading some Tennyson. A Homage to Virgil seems a particularly fitting read, for a country so defined by his civilisation. Sitting a few miles from the site of the infamous Battle of Trebia, and drinking an Aperol Spritz in a Roman Colony, meters from an ancient Roman Road, the following lines, though written of Virgil, also ring particularly true for what remains here of Ancient Rome itself:
Light among the vanish'd ages;
star that gildest yet this phantom shore;
Golden branch amid the shadows,
kings and realms that pass to rise no more;
Now thy Forum roars no longer,
fallen every purple Cæsar's dome—
Tho' thine ocean-roll of rhythm
Sound forever of Imperial Rome—