Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: Leaves that are Green — Simon and Garfunkel

“I was 21 years when I wrote this song / I’m 22 now but I won’t be for long / Time hurries on, and the leaves that are green turn to brown / And they wither with the wind / And they crumble in your hand”

Honestly, this song encapsulates a lot of what I’ve been thinking about recently…and wow, how has it been this long since I was 22?

I had trouble sleeping last night — I think I didn’t eat enough for dinner, so was up in the middle of the night just feeling a bit….off. I struggled to fall back asleep, and then ended up oversleeping my alarm, waking up panicked a few minutes before 7. Marisa was already awake, commenting “well, that was a short night.” I couldn’t agree more. It was still not light as I quietly padded downstairs and outside of the former abbey to get my still-wet laundry. I was struck by early morning blue light, the stringy clouds clinging to the mountains, and the austere clock tower. It reminded me how unique this experiences is…it’s not every day that you wake up before dawn in a former monastery to a view like this.

I packed quickly and was the second out the door after Genji. I stopped in a bakery on the way out of town to buy a palmier and a “Valdostano” pastry to have just in case for lunch in my bag….though admittedly it did not look particularly appetizing. The fruit vendor next door kindly gifted me an apple and, buoyed, I started to make my way out of town along a road packed with commuters. I had a bit of a sore throat made worse by the acrid smell of car exhaust, so ended up stopping in a mini market to buy some cough drops. The owner there offers a pilgrim stamp — a beautiful, massive one that covers two squares — and said I was his first pilgrim. He recommended that I take the road after Monte Magno to avoid what he described as some “useless mountain walking.” I thanked him and decided to take it into consideration.

Soon I was off this busier road and on quieter streets, passing through fields and small collections of houses. It really felt like autumn today, with the misty light capturing a combination of green and brown leaves. I passed a church with two inviting benches outside, under the shade of a tree whose leaves had just begun to turn. But it was onward for me, up a street that began to take me uphill through olive trees. Then, off the road and onto a path that snaked steeply uphill through the groves. This culminated in a steep stony path that led to a staircase, where a bench had a view back over the hills to Camaiore, and beyond to the high peaks of the Apuan Alps. Evidently I had caught up to Genji, as I saw him lean over the railing to watch me struggle up the final path. I waved and he pulled out his camera to take a photo.

Up at the top, I dug into my apple, which evidently was some Italian variety. It was delicious — crunchy and sweet, not too sour. Genji continued on, and as I sat enjoying the view I was soon joined by Marisa, who said hello before going to get a coffee in a nearby bar.

It was time for me to get a move on, so I closed up my pack and started up another steep hill. I decided against the man’s advice of taking the road — it was quite busy and there was no good way to reconnect to the hiking trail for at least 2 hours. I said good morning to a man leaving his house who called out “this is the worst of the climb! It gets better just up there!” I made a noise of relief and was grateful to see he was right — the street curved into a gentle uphill that was much kinder on the calves. Reaching a small house at the top, I then diverted off the road and onto a small exposed hiking trail, which looped through olive trees and then along the hillside, with fantastic views to more lush, green mountains dotted with a few homes. I once again was surprised by just how lush and wild the area was — this was a side of Italy I was less familiar with.

While the views were stunning, one downside to the day was the frequent booms of shotguns that I heard continuously. Once again I assumed (prayed) that the VF planners would avoid hunting territory as much as possible, but…it’s hard to know. Soon after I was heading downhill on a road, looping onto a strada provinciale with limited traffic and then back into the woods. I caught up to and then passed Genji, walking through dark forest, over a bridge, and then on a lovely gradual uphill trail. That’s weird, I thought, I thought I needed to gain at least 100 meters of elevation here, but this is hardly any uphill at all! I soon discovered why this was the case as I was faced with a steep staircase and a sign: “Don’t worry — it’s only 128 stairs!” I counted — it’s actually 125. And they are steep — there were a few where I had to choke up halfway on my poles to be able to vault myself up. I took a quick break on stair 81 before pushing the remaining distance into the lovely stone down of Gualdo, where the path led me through deserted streets toward a fountain they have dedicated to pilgrims.

Here I realized that I had diverted from the app’s recommended path. Signs were trying to convince me to head uphill on a small hiking path — checking the map it seemed like this would summit a hill and take a long, meandering path down to the next town. Given the cracks of more gunshots, I figured it would be better to stick to the official trail, so I diverted back to a wider trail heading downhill into lush, damn woods. This section of the walk was fantastic — peaceful except for the occasional gunshot and the sounds of chestnuts falling from the trees. My mind wandered as I followed the trail gently up-and-down for almost an hour, before re-emerging in the town of Valpromaro.

It wasn’t quite lunchtime yet but I was hungry, so kept my eyes peeled for a bar of some sort. Instead, I stumbled upon the pilgrim hostel here, run by the same group that provides volunteers for the Vercelli hostel. I popped my head in to say hello and see if I could get a stamp for my credential. The extremely kind volunteers, Rita (from Ravenna) and Giorgio (from Calabria) brought me water and had me sit for awhile to rest, while they asked about the experience of walking from Canterbury. When I mentioned I was in search of lunch in town, they brought me a plate of bread, ham, and cheese. They were incredibly kind and welcoming — and to a pilgrim who wasn’t even staying the night! I thanked them both and left some cash in the donation box on my way out, stomach and heart full.

Pretty quickly out of town I caught up to Michelle and Peter, who (along with Genji) had passed by while I was chatting with Rita and Giorgio. We ended up walking together for awhile, chatting about the way and the need to purchase new boots (!) Michelle and I climbed up another steep hill together, and while she waited at the top for Peter, I decided to continue onward, wishing them both well.

I passed through another town, where I greeted a group sitting on a porch. One of the men said something to me that I didn’t quite hear so I smiled and continued on — only when I was just too far away to turn around did I finally process it and realize he had asked if I wanted to join them for a drink! Kicking myself for being rude, I rounded a corner and stumbled once again on Genji who had stopped to rest. I said hello and continued on, where once again the path signs and the app diverged. I decided again to follow the app, as the signs seemed to take pilgrims on a road that wound back and forth, adding significant distance. The app took a path straight down the hill that should save time.

Unfortuntaely, this discrepancy — I realized too late — meant that the app’s path doesn’t get cared for. It was a steep and slippery downhill I almost fell on a few times as I struggled for grip. And it was overgrown by a pointy evergreen I had never seen before, but which painfully stabbed and scraped me as I tried to move it out of the way with my poles. Wincing and stumbling, I made my way down and finally emerged on the road, regretting that choice.

Here I had a long walk on a strada provinciale to exit the valley and get to the next town on Lucca’s outskirts. I reflected on the walk so far, which had been beautiful with fantastic views and nice forest walking. The rest of the walk would not be nearly as inspiring.

My mind started to wander on this long, straight stretch in not particularly pleasant ways, so by the time I finally did reach the next town of San Macario in Piano, I knew I needed to do something to break myself out of it. I decided to divert off the path to the main road in search of something cold to drink. The only place open was a gelateria, so I happily took a large bottle of cold water and a small lemon sorbet, and sat for awhile on the terrace, listening to the Italian pop being blasted from the speaker.

The next hour or so dragged on with hot walking on the side of a busy road. As I entered into Lucca’s sprawling outskirts I was cognizant of two things — first, I was getting hungry and it was almost too late for lunch, and second, I wanted to stop somewhere to use the bathroom. Passing a restaurant that seemed to still be open, I made my way inside and realized it was a decent-looking sushi restaurant. Starving and looking to treat myself, I sat down and ordered more sushi and gyoza than one person can reasonably eat. Thus satisfied, I packed up and continued on.

Making my way into the centro storico of Lucca, through the city’s famous walls, I immediately realized that this was my first real taste of Tuscan tourism on the Via — and it won’t be my last. Sure, there have been some tourists elsewhere in Italy, particularly in Sarzana, but Lucca is a “Tuscan Jewel” and so the level of tourism is another thing completely. Of course, I recognize it from my time in Rome — the tour groups clogging up narrow streets, the crappy gelato shops full of mounds of neon-colored flavors, the rows of touristy shops selling trinkets…the American accents, everywhere. It was a bit like my experience of walking into Reims — a bit overwhelming, and not in a positive way. In Lucca’s defense, it did retain a good deal of charm, and it’s not the city’s fault that it’s full of Americans. I wanted to give it a better shot later, so headed to my Airbnb to decompress.

I decided I wanted to cook tonight — a luxury in a kitchen that was all mine, not shared with other hungry pilgrims. I actually haven’t done too much hostel cooking in Italy, since getting food out isn’t all that expensive, and I don’t want to always have to buy and carry pasta with me. So, I headed out in search of a fruttivendolo, which I couldn’t find (tourist cities…) and instead ended up at the Conad, where I bought the ingredients for pasta al pomodoro — my favorite pasta. In search of a bit of wine, I ended up finding a shop near my Airbnb that would have been a better option than Conad… oh, well. I picked up a bottle of cheap Chianti, a Tropea onion (not authentic for pasta al pomodoro, but one of my favorite ingredients), a bit of focaccia, and some beautifully aromatic basil before retreating back to the Airbnb for the night.

The window from my bedroom opens out over the red-tile rooftops of the city. I threw the windows open, poured myself a half-glass of wine, and vaulted myself onto the windowsill, where I sat watching the sunset and listening to live music echo out from one of the squares below. It was a beautiful, incredibly special moment. After awhile though, they windowsill was getting uncomfortable, so I reverted back to standing and leaning out the window as the last light faded from the horizon, and the mountains in the distance disappeared. I called my mom to talk for awhile and show her the view, which I thought might remind her of her time in Florence.

I haven’t actually spent all that much time in Tuscany in my time in Italy, for some of the things I initially reacted to in Lucca: I understood it to be a region where tourism seemed to erode local culture in many of these beautiful cities. Of course, I’ve seen places already where that has not been the case — and while the Via will take me further into the heart of Tuscan tourism, I hope there will be preserved local life in some of the places I visit as well. And from up here, away from the English being spoken down on the streets, I had to admit — there is something magical about the beauty of Tuscan cities.

I headed into the kitchen to whip up dinner while listening to music. It was everything I had hoped for, and I headed to bed happy.

Final mileage: 16.25 mi
Walking time: 7h 45m (incl. lunch stop)
Elevation gain: 2,106 ft

Accommodation: Airbnb