Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song: Groovin’ — The Young Rascals

“Groovin’ on a Sunday afternoon / Really couldn’t get away too soon…”

This song came up on shuffle as I was making my way on the last stint of my relatively short day. It’s a song I love but wasn’t on my walking playlist — but walk a good song to carry me home to my destination.

I was up in the middle of the night last night, still feeling nauseous (still do…) and kept up by the noise of the TV, which I think my Airbnb host had fallen asleep in front of. But eventually, around 2:30am I fell back asleep, and didn’t wake up again until my 7:15 alarm. I was exhausted (fair enough, I did walk 18 miles in the heat), so needed the extra sleep. I packed and left the house at 8am, with no sign of my host. The dog, Zelda, was snoring on the couch.

I stopped on my way into town at a newstand to ask for a stamp in my credential, which the owner gladly gave me after a quick chat about my journey. Then I ventured into a bar across the street, where I sat at a table next two two priests and two “civilian” women. “Look, a pilgrim” one of the priests commented as I sat down. I turned to wave but they ignored me and continued to talk about how crazy pilgrims are to walk the Via Francigena, very much in earshot. Okay.

I had my cornetto and a latte macchiato (a large cup of warm milk, macchiato — marked — by a shot of espresso). When I went up to pay I ended up chatting with the barmen about the Via Francigena for awhile, and about one of their daughters, who lives in Rome. When I went to pay, they comped my breakfast and handed me a cold bottle of water for the road — a really kind gesture that I very much appreciated.

The road out of town was easy, a bike path alongside a state road. To my left I had a view of the hills of the San Colombo DOC, covered in vines. I passed through the small village of Comporinaldo, crossed the highway, and then was on gravel tracks through fields. I heard the loud revving of an engine, and looking up realized I was just outside a Motocross course. I could just see the rides as they caught air on a massive jump — so cool.

The walk here was relatively uneventful, so I decided to listen to Olivia Rodrigo’s new album, GUTS, which has been on my list. All in all, I thought it was a solid follow-up to her debut. I felt it was best when leaning into the pop-punk inspiration she also drew on in her first album (“All-American Bitch,” “Bad Idea Right,” “Get Him Back!
”), and not taking herself too seriously (a line from “Ballad of a Homeschool Girl”: Everything I do is tragic / Every boy I like is gay). The ballads were not really my speed, personally, and I hope she moves more in the punk / rock direction in future albums.

Anyway, the album got me into Chignolo Po, a small village with a huge castle that I could see on the horizon as I approached. I walked around to what I thought was the front — the whole thing was enclosed by a massive wall — but unfortunately it was locked. I did manage to get a photo through the fence. From here it was a straight shot on roads to Lambrina, where I was looking for a bathroom and a place to sit and rest, as my blistered heel was really starting to hurt. I was directed to a bar (not on Google maps, so glad I asked for directions), where I had a clementine soda. I ended up chatting with the proprietor for awhile, as she came out from behind the bar to ask me about the experience of walking the Via alone. As I packed up to go, she wrapped up a piece of her berry tart and handed it to me — another gift for the road.

I thanked her and made my way out of town, across a bridge where, thankfully, a small footpath allowed me to stay safe from the high-speed traffic. I crossed from the province of Milan, which I didn’t realize I had been in, to the province of Lodi. And the signage here for the Via was strong: a number of large signs announced the “Transitum Padum” — though I won’t cross the Po until tomorrow.

I walked in the hot sun on another elevated gravel track above fields, with Orio Litta’s bell tower rising in the distance. It was extremely hot by the time I made my way into the town, stopping at the hostel for a stamp. I was then directed to a bar where I was given a paltry sandwich for my lunch. As I sat the church bells began tolling, and a woman at the next table leaned past her husband to inform me they were death tolls. I nodded, not sure how to respond.

Leaving the bar, a man stopped me to give me directions for the final few kilometers. I’ve been very lucky today with “trail angels” willing to help me out with food, water, or directions. The sun was burning bright and I stopped to wet my bandana in a fountain, admiring Orio Litta’s large 17th-century villa before cutting over to the strada statale that would take me out of town. At this point I was mostly focusing on getting to my destination, getting out of the heat, and getting out of my boots. I listened to music (thank you to everyone who has recommended songs to me, as I made my way through my list of recommendations) and paused every time I hit shade.

Finally, I arrived in the hamlet of Corte Sant’Andrea. I say hamlet, but maybe even that is a strong word — there are 10 inhabitants. But historically, this place was much more significant. For centuries it (apparently) was the only place in the area suitable for crossing the Po. So, certainly, it was where Sigeric crossed in 990, and where thousands of other medieval pilgrims also crossed — and even going back to Roman times was an important location.

I called the hostel proprietor, who simply said that the hostel was open before hanging up. I walked in and found myself the only one in an old church building. I took of my shoes, stamped my credential, and picked a bed upstairs. After waiting awhile it seemed clear no one was coming to sign me in, so I took a shower and started my laundry in the machine in the garden. I inspected the ground floor: two common rooms that seemed infrequently used, and a kitchen fully stocked with food to cook for dinner — very generous of the hospitaleros. I noticed a figure outside and realized it was Daniel, so went to wave him in.

A few minutes later, a woman walked in and began speaking to us in rapidfire Italian. Head spinning as I tried to keep up, I explained I had been here awhile, had already paid, and was all set. She handed me a set of linens and showed Daniel around, before departing as quickly as she arrived, asking us to be the hospitaleros for the next pilgrims to arrive. Luckily, these were the familiar faces of Joanne and Mariella. The four of us caught up on our last few days (Joanne and Mariella slept last night in Pavia, and Daniel slept in his hammock in a forest near Santa Cristina) and our plans for tomorrow.

After hours of lounging around, we had a homemade pilgrim dinner: Joanne made zucchini pasta, and we had yogurt and the bar owner’s tart for dessert. Daniel had two beers from an earlier shopping trip which were divided between the four of us. We chatted in Italian about family and all sorts of things. It was a lovely meal.

Final mileage: 10.26mi
Walking time: 4h 42m
Elevation gain:118 ft