Day 62: Cassio to Passo della Cisa

Song of the Day: Ballad of Sir Frankie Crisp (Let it Roll) — George Harrison

“Let it roll across the floor / Through the hall and out the door / To the fountain of perpetual mirth / Let it roll for all it’s worth”

This may well be my favorite George Harrison song — it’s one I associate with many autumn hikes. And if “On the Road to Find Out” is, lyrically, the best pilgrimage song, then this is maybe second-best…in terms of vibes.

Everyone in our room had agreed last night on our wake-up time, so a chorus of alarms went off at 6:30. With series of groans the 5 of us arose and began packing. I ventured a peek outside — it was still dark, the street lit by moonlight, and thick mist had settled over the mountains. Downstairs, we dug into our packed breakfasts — I was grateful for the banana but didn’t have much of the remaining items which were a bit too sweet for me. I also had woken up in the middle of an unpleasant dream, so was still shaking a bit anxiety from my head as I ate.

I headed upstairs to finish packing and put on my shoes, and was the first one out the door. I emerged into the mist, which had not subsided, though it was slightly brighter now. A few cars flew by on the main road, and I stopped to put on my hi-vis before continuing on — I could hear the cars coming, but the road was windy and visibility was probably only at 15 or 20 meters, so better safe than sorry. Soon enough the VF cut off the road onto a narrow path. I chugged along in the clouds, singing to myself as I heard gunshots in the distance.

As I rejoined the road, I stopped to tie my shoe and realized another hiker had materialized from the mist behind me. As we’ve already established, I don’t like having men walking so close behind me, so I stopped and waited for him to pass. I realized he was a young guy, younger than me. “Where are you from?” He asked. When I responded in Italian, we switched to Italian, and got to chatting. His name is Mattia, he is 21 years old and from Sicily, and he is (like Giulia) a scout. I recalled seeing a few campers last night with the scout’s handkerchief. He explained to me that there was a group of scouts walking this section of the VF. When they get to the day’s destination, they all disperse to stealth camp or see if someone will take them in. Very different from American Boy and Girl Scouts, which (to my knowledge) normally would stay in established campsites all together.

Mattia was very interested in my journey and asked me to share some stories of the people I’ve met — I talked about some of my hosts in France. He was very kind and great company. We walked together on the road with another Scout emerging behind us. Here the VF departed for a woodland path — Mattia and I followed the signs, and the other Scout continued on the road.

The mist was still pretty dense, though in the forest the effect was not as bad as on the road. We began picking our way up a very steep and rocky section, and the conversation slowed to a stop as we both focused on getting up the hill. Eventually I decided I needed a break, so I stopped to de-layer while he continued onward. I thanked him for the company and we wished each other well on our walks.

After catching my breath I continued on alone, huffing and puffing up the steep hill. Having gained some altitude over the last few days, it was cooler, finally (though the humidity meant I was still sweaty from the exertion) and autumn seemed to be slowly taking hold up here. The mist, the falling leaves, and the dew-dappled spiderwebs in the forest were all a bit spooky — I was glad it finally felt like October!

Soon enough I arrived in the charming town of Castellonchio, centered around a street of medieval stone houses. Making my way downhill I noticed a sign on a corner offering a stamp, which I gladly accepted. I detoured quickly to visit the church and found two Scouts sitting in the garden outside, reading scripture. I’m sure on a clear day the view from here would be spectacular — today, all I could see was endless white.

I continued on, the path undulating up and down before another steep climb which took me to the top of Monte Marino. I could see the sun starting to pierce through the mist, but otherwise I was properly in the clouds. Too bad as I bet the view here was great. The mountaintop was covered in long grass of high pastures. Anyway, what can you do — I headed downward, through a few gates, on a narrow path lined with barbed wire (a bit too close for comfort — I almost grazed my arm a few times.) I had a view down to the road, where I saw a few more Scouts, faintly through the mist.

The sun was finally starting to work its magic as I eventually re-emerged onto the Strada Statale, with another gaggle of Scouts ahead and some behind me — I could hear their whoops and chatter. Beyond, the faint outlines of mountains began to reveal themselves. I was starting to get hungry — I had stupidly figured that the 10k would take me 2 hours, not 3, even though I knew I was gaining another 1000 meters or so of elevation. I eventually saw a sign claiming it was 15 minutes to Berceto…maybe if you have knees of steel! I began the descent slowly, stopping to take photos of signs making the distance to Rome and Canterbury and enjoying the views.

Berceto itself was absolutely lovely. I arrived at about 10:30am and was immediately smitten with the place. It has a well-preserved centro storico with more stone houses, a large church, and a lovely piazza with a fountain, covered by trees whose leaves were starting to turn. A gaggle of Scouts sat against the church walls chatting. I found a cafe recommended by the YouTuber and his friends and sat for a cappuccino and a focaccia barese (with tomato and onion). Afterwards, I headed to a local tabaccheria that advertised its Via Francigena stamp, where I ran into Alain and Monique, who were headed out shortly. After a quick pass through the church (with more Scouts), I headed downhill to the town’s market. I love market day so this was a fantastic coincidence — and finally, signs of autumn were showing up. One vendor had two baskets full of gorgeous zucchini blossoms — I stopped and stared, desperately wishing I could take some with me. Elsewhere, dried porcini mushrooms were sold out of 5-gallon buckets, and cheesemongers advertised truffle cheese. I breathed deeply, content.

Lunch was more rotisserie chicken and fries, which I brought back to the main piazza to eat. I ran into an American couple (James and Angela), from Utah, who run an app that lets people experience the Camino de Santiago virtually. They developed it during the pandemic to help raise money for albergues, and now were expanding to other pilgrimages including the Via Francigena. They asked if they could interview me and I agreed, even though I am somewhat camera shy. If only I had thought to fix my hair before they started filming…. Anyway, they asked where I started and where I was going, and asked me to share any special experiences. I spoke a bit about the hospitality I’ve received across all 3 countries (sorry, England — forgot about my 2 days in Kent). They then asked if I’ve learned anything about myself or had any spiritual experiences. I hesitated — despite writing this blog, I didn’t really want to share my truly inner thoughts with the world — and ended up talking about how the act of walking has taught me perseverance, and made me realize that I can do a lot more than I think.

After an hour and a half it was time to leave lovely Berceto. The noon bells tolled as I made my way down a cobblestone street out of town, where the path rambled along next to a park before rejoining an uphill gravel track. For awhile this cut through forest and then emerged to some rolling green pastures, with views to the mountains beyond. If this wasn’t clear from the elevation gain yesterday, even though the Apennines (Appennini in Italian) have a diminutive suffix, they aren’t small. While the Jura are like the Appalachians, low-slung and rolling, the Apennines do cut an imposing figure on the horizon. They run down the spine of Italy, so pilgrims to Rome must cross them somewhere — and in medieval times this walk to the Cisa Pass was still a dangerous one, if not as treacherous as the walk to Saint Bernard.

Soon I was back in the forest. It was warmer now but still pleasant, and I was very happy to be walking (especially with George Harrison in my ear). Yes, the trail was steep, but it was wide and firm underfoot, and carpeted in freshly-fallen leaves. The air smelled like fall and sunlight streamed down through the brownish leaves still on the trees. I put my phone away and tried to not focus on how much uphill was left when — for the first time in awhile — coming close to the end I was sad that the walking for the day was over. Even on good days where the walking is lovely, usually I’m excited to sit down, take a shower, and take off my shoes. And today was by no means easy, but felt much less challenging in the end than I had expected. But I guess you could say that about a lot of this journey — these things seem difficult, near impossible, on paper, but if you lace up your shoes every morning you can accomplish them. I reflected on how nervous I had been for my first day in France — 13 miles of flat! And how impossible the idea of averaging 15 miles a day seemed. Now, 12 miles and thousands of feet of elevation? Walk in the park (literally), with time for a long lunch. Not to sound too impressed with myself or anything, but it was crazy to think of how much my body has adapted to this challenge.

Another reason I was in a good mood is that I am seeing Nathan tomorrow!! He was able to come to Italy for the long weekend to walk with me, and was eating a massive steak in Florence as I was finishing my walk. Tomorrow morning he’ll take a taxi up to the hostel and we will walk to the Cisa Pass together. Knowing that this time tomorrow I would be doing my pilgrim chores with him certainly made my pack feel lighter and the hills feel less steep.

I came to a fork in the road, with a path directing me to the Ostello della Cisa. I followed this path over grassy fields, still wet from the morning mist, and then down a steep and rutted forest path, my knees crying out for help. I’ll have to remember to wear my brace and tape tomorrow for the real descent! Eventually I emerged onto the road and made my way the last hundred meters or so, where I saw Alain and Monique approaching from the other direction (they have a trolley, so walk on the road). The hostel was locked when we arrived, and there was no service at all to call the listed number. Ever the problem solver, I wandered along the (empty!) road, and managed to get a bit of signal if I stretched my arm up high. I called the number on speaker with my hand in the air and managed to get the instructions to get the keys and let us in.

After all the normal things — shower, wash, nap — Giordana and Corrado arrived. With our group reunited, we sat outside and enjoyed the view in the warm afternoon sun. It’s a really lovely place — tranquil and isolated, backing onto views of the mountains. Corrado said that in the mountains, there used to be red houses like this one every 10 kilometers. they were owned by the state but it would house a family, whose job was to maintain the roads nearby.

Shortly after 5 the proprietor arrived to take our payments and start making dinner (no microwaves involved, which Corrado was quick to confirm), and we arranged to have an aperitivo at 6:30 before dinner! The other big news is that I have filled my first pilgrim credential — 78 stamps (80 spots, but two big stamps took up 2 spaces) between Canterbury and Passo della Cisa. Tomorrow I will enter Tuscany with a fresh start!

Final mileage: 11.88mi
Walking time: 4h 32m (excluding 1.5 hour break in Berceto)
Elevation gain: 2,493 ft

Accommodation: Ostello della Cisa. While it’s a bit difficult to get in touch with them (you have to email the Tourism Berceto address), I think it is well worth a stay. A pilgrim dinner up in the mountains is very memorable.