Distance Walked: 1281 miles
Current No. Blisters: 2
I woke up in the castle in Pontremoli last Sunday morning, and rather fancied the slices of the pizza I’d saved for breakfast from the previous night. To my dismay, I opened the box to discover that the ants had beaten me to it. And there were thousands of them. Well, at least a few hundred. The pizza went right in the bin, and I settled for the usual two croissants, and a cappuccino at a cafe in the town, where they were setting up the Sunday market.
It was a rather slow and sticky day’s walk to Sarzana, climbing over a final rocky and forested Appenine ridge or two, to avoid the great curves in the Magra river basin. A morning dream-mist hung in the valleys, in front of challenging-looking distant peaks of bare Apennine rock. On the descent, I was pulled over by an old Italian lady, who invited me into her front garden. My Italian is still fairly terrible, and her English understandably non-existent, and so it took me a while to work out that she was offering me some (homemade?) goats cheese. I sat down and ate with her, my conversational skills mostly devoted to working out which animal the cheese came from. It was rather refreshing in the heat actually, and not at all overpowering. After that I ambled down into the town, and found a beer to coincide with the arrival of my university results (good news).
To celebrate the end of that five year journey, and perhaps mostly because the opportunity presented itself, I spent the afternoon a short bus ride from the beach. In theory I hadn’t walked all the way to the Mediterranean (that last bus ride ruined it!) but it felt like it, and actually the next day I did walk to the sea again. After drinking healthy amounts of the available alcohol, and enjoying snacks and gelato (I know!) we headed back to the ostello, and to bed. The showers were quite comical, and not far off a pipe coming straight out the wall. Only a thin shower curtain separated the shower from the main communal sleeping chamber. That night we had at least ten pilgrims, perhaps the most in one place since setting off from Canterbury, for me.
I made my own route to Massa, intentionally avoiding the mountain climbs, and making for the sea (indeed indulging in a mid-walk swim) the next day. The views of the pale marble mines, cutting into the rock of the opposing mountains were quite striking. Even the rivers flowing down towards the Mediterranean cascaded over beds of pale white pebbles.
It took another two days to reach Lucca, where I managed to arrive and get my shoes resoled (the heels were rather worn) all before lunch. I enjoyed a pizza, and some time looking around the town, before running back to the Ostello for a foot washing ceremony. We pilgrims sat in a circle, and one by one offered a foot for washing, drying and indeed kissing… It was quite a special moment, and preceeded a fantastic, shared dinner, supported by lashings of Tuscan wine.
Just before arriving in Lucca, the weather turned from bright, to an ominous, veiled and humid heat. Since then, except on the odd evening, grey clouds have obscured the sun and sky, and turned distant mountains to shaded greyscale.
Friday was another day of this weather, spent mostly escaping the city sprawl of Lucca, and pressing on towards the crossing of the Arno (on its path from Florence in the east, down the Pisa at the coast). I had to walk at a considerable pace to make it to the night’s accommodation – one I was rather keen on staying in. I worked out 1.6 meters a second was needed for the final two hours, with only pauses to empty the (painful) gravel from my boots, when I eventually decided that the stones-in-boots situation was getting ridiculous (usually after at least half an hour of trying to move the stones to the tip of the boot, or under the arch of my foot, whilst walking). I arrived at the Ostello, with minutes to spare. But I was instantly compensated by the place itself. I can’t recall ever sleeping on a bridge before, not least in one built by Cosimo I de Medici. Some rather fancy glass panes provided views through the old stonework, down into the river below. Oh, and there was a good shower.
And so, the week has taken me from the Appenines, down towards the heart of Tuscany, with a crossing of the river Arno (on its route from Florence to Pisa) almost in sight. From here, the route to Rome is hopefully not much more than two weeks.
I must also thank everyone who has contributed to the Just Giving page, for St Wilfrid’s Vestry Project. The response has definitely been both wonderful and humbling. Thank you for your contributions – they are very much appreciated by the church. Thanks for reading. I’ll leave you with a picture of my present situation, wild camping in Tuscany.
