Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: Age of Consent — New Order

“And I’m not the kind that likes to tell you / Just what I want to do / I’m not the kind that needs to tell you / Just want you want me to”

Hadn’t listened to this song in awhile, but it could stuck in my head this morning as I was trying to outrun a rainstorm.

I stepped out of the abbey this morning and quickly realized that it was chillier than I had anticipated. I immediately put my pack down and swapped layers for my fleece, as gusts of wind sent my hair flying in front of my face. In the distance I could see Monteriggioni, a crown sitting atop a hill. Behind me, a thick wall of grey clouds. I didn’t have much service in the abbey, so only now pulled out my phone to see rain in the forecast. Better get a move on.

So, to the sounds of indie rock and wind whistling past my ears, I set off at a trot over the flat fields in the direction of the hilltop town. Then, huffing and puffing up the steep ascent, I made my way through the gates into the perfectly-preserved medeival center. This town had once been a fortress caught in the midst of battles between Florence and Siena. Now, during the day, it was the destination for busloads of day trippers. In the early morning, it was nearly deserted.

Luckily, one of the restaurants was open early and serving coffee. I had a cappuccino inside and, as a precaution, put my rain fly on my pack. I didn’t want to actually put on my raincoat till it started raining, since it gets so hot despite the allegedly breathable Goretex membrane. With the threatening pitter-patter of light rain, I paid, threw my back over my back, and made my way out of the opposing gate, stopping only briefly to admire the vista of olive trees and forests beyond. I headed down a hill, across the Via Cassia — the highway following the ancient Roman road that eventually will bring me into Rome — and then up another hill into forests. The sounds of more gunshots in the surrounding woods had me once again singing, though my heart wasn’t really in it. My head felt cloudy and full and I struggled to focus on the walk, my mind more focused on the news. Trying to stay focused as more gunshots ran out, I continued plodding on and uphill, finally emerging from the trees. I was faced with rolling hills of fields, punctuated here and there with small castles. The drizzle that had started in Monteriggioni had been merely a threat, and for now it was grey but dry.

Continuing along I suddenly came face-to-face with a farmhouse covered in Via Francigena signs. This was the famous “La Villa” rest point that I had heard about from the pilgrim facebook groups — it’s like an oasis on a stage that otherwise has literally nowhere to stop for food, water, or a bathroom between here and Siena. I meandered into the garden and soon the proprietor, Marcello, came out to greet me, offering food. He made me a tomato bruschetta and a coffee, and had me treat myself to orange juice and cake that was laid out as part of a lovely breakfast spread. He stamped my credential and had me take a selfie with him — he takes photos with all the pilgrims doing longer journeys (this was said with maybe just a hint of disdain for those only doing the 7-day scenic tour from Lucca to Siena). We chatted for awhile, and then a wave of other pilgrims started to arrive: one British man, then 3 more Brits, then a group of 5 Italians. It had just started to drizzle and I had sat for at least half an hour, so figured I would be on my way. I dropped a donation in Marcello’s jar, thanked him profusely, and continued into the rain.

I’ve been extraordinarily lucky, weather-wise, with this pilgrimage to date. Other than my first day, which was walked almost entirely in the rain, I’ve only had small spots of weather. Today was the day my luck would change. The light drizzle turned into a more persistent rain as I made my way down a ridge of a hill, turning onto a road. After about an hour I was still walking on the road, passing a group that had retreated for cover under a tree, and noticed my raincoat was starting to “wet out,” i.e., water was no longer beading it and rolling off. This is especially annoying as I re-waterproofed it in June and have only worn it a few times! I periodically paused to check my phone to confirm I still was meant to be walking on the road, as cars whizzed by. Finally I came to my turn-off, which led me to a gravel track surrounded by trees. These offered lovely autumn ambience but, unfortunately, no protection from the rain.

Rain was rolling off of my raincoat hood in front of my eyes, and eventually I decided to just pull off the hood and accept my fate. As I did this, a car pulled up and stopped next to me. A father and son wanted to hear about my journey — normally I would be happy to chat, but this was really not the time (though they did not seem to pick up on my cues as I tried to cut the conversation short). They did offer me a ride but I declined — I felt I was making good time and I figured it was only another 2 hours or so to Siena.

As they pulled away, I turned off the gravel road into a very pretty, autumnal forested section. It would be a lovely place for a stroll on any other day, but the rain had made the path completely slick. The soil here had changed from the sandy soils near San Gimignano to the red clay that shares the name of its color with my destination. Lovely to look at but impossible to get a foothold on. Feet sliding, I skidded up and down hills, trying my best not to fall. My jacket was now completely soaked through and I could feel the moisture building up in my arms. My shorts, too, were completely drenched. The Goretex in my shoes, so far, seemed to be holding out.

Another issue was that it was getting close to lunchtime, and I was getting hungry. As mentioned, there are literally no restaurants or bars or anything on this strip after Monteriggioni. I had planned to have a sandwich, but there was nothing less appealing at the moment than stopping and opening up my pack. No way. I planned to push on and eat a (warm) meal in Siena.

Finally, after passing a lying sign that claimed 2kms to Siena (it was too wet to pull out my phone and figure out how much of a lie this was) I reached a crossroads. To my left was the official VF path, to the right was the way that Marcello recommended. As I reached the decision point, the rain turned into a complete deluge. Rivers ran across the asphalt of the road and over my shoes. Any waterproofing that had been holding out gave way at this point — if I had thought I could not get anymore drenched before, I could now be sure this was the case. Given the deluge, I didn’t want to have to pull out my phone to check the directions — so, I figured I should follow the signposted route. Marcella’s route offered a panoramic view of the town, but with rain clouds enveloping the scenery, that wasn’t going to do much for me now.

The barrage continued, as cars flew by me with no regard for their spray, which I could only to do much to avoid. I laughed at my own misfortune, and yelled out in the vague direction of the heavens, “Fuck! This….kinda sucks!” But with nothing else to do, I headed uphill, through a small town, then downhill, singing Beatles songs to try and pass the time. Unfortunately my AirPods had broken, as this would have been a great time to have some music or a podcast… I had no idea how far it was or how far I had to go, as I was trying to keep my phone safe and dry in my pocket. Finally after 30 minutes or so I crossed an underpass below a highway, and stopped to take stock of my situation. I figured I had to be almost there, as suburban sprawl had started to appear.

But then, google maps loaded and informed me I had another 58 minutes until Siena’s proper city center. While the deluge had lightened, the rain continued, not that it really mattered one way or another at this point. Everything I was wearing was soaked through. I gave a howl of anguish at the realization that not only did I still have many more wet miles to go, but I would get into town as all food places were closing. My warm meal was feeling further and further away.

Frustrated, I continued onwards, trying to think of the most efficient way to make the 58 minutes pass. I started by trying to sing Alice’s Restaurant (3 rounds of the song would get me there) but ran out of breath on a steep uphill bounded by high walls, where I was on high alert for speeding cars. Eventually I turned onto a street with a proper sidewalk, and at a certain point went into sort of a meditative state. This brought me properly into the city outskirts, where a few blocks from the main gate I passed an open osteria that seemed to be serving decent food. I stepped inside and the owner came to greet me — he took one look at me and turned me away with a half-heartened “sorry.”

Disheartened and now completely starving, I pushed onward. The rain by now had lightened to a drizzle, but again at this point it didn’t really matter one way or the other. Just as I was giving up hope, I passed another osteria with a bucket outside for umbrellas. I dumped my poles and stepped inside, where I was ushered to a counter seat where I could safely stow my pack and my drenched raincoat.

To be honest, I felt bad — and probably looked worse. My wet hair was glued to my head, giving me a sort of drowned-rat-chic appearance. Large wet patches covered almost the entirely of my shirt, with dry stripes where my pack’s waist strap sat. My shorts squelched as I sat down, and I think a pool of water had gathered inside my boots. “Good afternoon” my neighbor at the counter said — he was clearly a local, and possibly drunk. “Ehhh…” I countered, taking some issue with the descriptor “good.” He suggested I might try standing under the hand dryer in the bathroom to dry off, but it was a lost cause.

The waiters did not seem off put by my appearance, thankfully. I ordered a quartino of Rosso di Montalicino — I’ll be walking through Brunello vineyards in a few days — and a wild boar ragu which was served with fantastic papardelle. I was scolded by the waiter for asking for cheese — I know the no cheese and seafood rule, but he told me that no parmigiano is allowed on ragu either as it covers the taste of the meat. Good to know! Still hungry after my meal — which, again, was fantastic — I asked for a dessert and discovered that every single option was something dipped in vin santo. So, I opted for the classic cantucci, which were also very good. I would highly recommend Osteria il Vinaio, and saved the name for any potential future visits.

Unfortunately, the end of lunch meant it was time to head back outside. I winced and grimaced as I had to pull on my still-soaking, now-cold raincoat. With many more thank yous, my pack was on my back and I was walking the 11 minutes to the hotel. I was still completely drenched but now was chilly, having lost any trapped body heat from walking. I started to shiver uncontrollably and my teeth chattered as I speedwalked through the streets of Siena, down a hill — gingerly, given the wet slippery stone — and to the B&B where I am staying, where I promptly showered, changed into dry clothes, and passed out.

The rest of the evening was a quiet one. By the time I got to the hotel the rain had died down, so I went for a walk around town, visiting the famous Piazza del Campo where the Palio is held, meandering past the spectacular marble-clad Duomo, and exploring the city streets. I was tired early and retired back to the B&B, where dinner was the remnants of the food in my pack: the salami and cheese I had purchased in San Gimignano. I ate on the hotel’s terrace, with a spectacular view of the Duomo, and dragged myself to bed, hoping my things would dry by morning.

Final mileage: 15.17 mi
Walking time: 7h 09m (incl. lunch stop)
Elevation gain: 1,811 ft

Accommodation: Albergo Bernini, a classic family-run pensione. Reasonably priced (though, frustratingly, I have to share an external bathroom — which I knew when I booked). But what makes it worth it is the absolutely spectacular terrace with a view of the Duomo.