Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: New Slang — The Shins

“I’m looking in on the good life / I might be doomed never to find / Without a trust , a flaming field / Am I too dumb to refine?”

Fitting for the rolling Tuscan hills, the moody weather, and the wind in my hair, this felt like a fitting choice.

It was muggy and surprisingly warm this morning as I left my B&B. I can’t say I was in the best of moods as I had slept weirdly last night and woke up with some pain in my neck. But, as I walked through the quiet streets of Siena, almost completely devoid of people, I could feel my mood start to change.

Piazza del Campo was basically empty as I stopped to admire the view one last time, and after a quick stop for coffee and a croissant I was heading out of town, through narrow streets and then suburban sprawl. Occasionally diving out of the way of speeding cars on the narrow road, I eventually found myself fully out in the country, walking along a ridge line. To either side were olive groves and fields, and behind me was a fantastic view back towards the Sienese skyline. Through the grey haze that hung over everything, I could just make out the towers of the Duomo and Piazza del Campo — their tops reaching the same height, to signify the balance of church and state.

Eventually the path took me downhill through an industrial zone full of strange smells: first, burnt sugar and roasted chestnuts, then herbs, then the more-expected general pollution. I walked for awhile past car dealerships and warehouses, paralleling a major road. Finally I came upon a bar, where I stopped in quickly for a slice of cake and a porchetta sandwich, wrapped to-go.

I continued on through the industrial center, before finally diverting toward the small town of Isola d’Arbia, through which cut the busy Via Cassia. As trucks thundered by, I clung to the narrow edge of the road. Coming upon a bar I found that some asshole had parked his car on the barely-existent sidewalk, and I couldn’t quite squeeze through the space between his passenger door and the large hedge. As I walked into the busy traffic to skirt his car, the guy came out — not to acknowledge this difficulty, of course, but to make sure I hadn’t touched the car. Annoyed by this interaction, and trying to make calls to ensure I had a place to sleep tomorrow night, I must have missed a sign announcing a turn-off of the Via Francigena. Instead, I followed a beautifully paved bike path that had magically appeared next to the Via Cassia, protecting me from traffic. As I was calling the San Quirico parish I thought to look at the map and realized for 20 minutes or so I had been walking further and further away from the VF. I cursed to myself (bad timing, as the woman from the parish had just picked up — only to tell me the hostel was closed). The bike path ended shortly thereafter and I once again had to inch along the walls of houses to avoid traffic until I could turn onto a side street that would rejoin the VF.

From here, I followed rolling hills, strade bianche lined with cypress trees, with expansive views of the Tuscan countryside. This section was endless brown until the hazy horizon, with hillsides that seemed to almost move like rippling fabric. But the endless brown of tilled fields and dead grass gave everything a desolate, almost surreal air. It was beautiful, but sort of unsettling almost. This was aided also by the clouds which gathered on the horizon and the wind which whooped up around me, sending my hair flying and also making me speed up to try and out-walk an incoming story. Up and down I went, seemingly the only person on the planet, until I turned around and spotted the silhouette of a pilgrim far behind me on the path.

As I prepared to enter the town of Quinciano, I passed a group headed the other way: Italian hospitaleros (from the same association that manages the Vercelli hostel) walking to Lucca. We chatted for a bit and I thanked them for their time and effort as volunteers — the pilgrim hostels are such an important part of the camino experience. They directed me to a bench and water fountain just a hundred meters up the road in town, where I sat to dig into my porchetta sandwich. An old man next door, harvesting olives from his trees, called out to me that the water was molto buono. I thanked him and filled up my bottle.

As I was packing up to go the pilgrim I had seen behind me re-appeared. We got to chatting, and I discovered he was walking the path to Assisi much like Monique and Alain (he was also French). We talked a bit about the experience of these long walks, meeting other pilgrims, etc. before splitting off. From here, I had about an hour’s left to Ponte d’Arbia, technically the recommended end of today’s stage. It was still extremely muggy and had gotten quite hot — high 70s — even with the sun behind the clouds. And the wind had gotten even stronger — at times I had to double over, concerned it was going to knock me over. The walking at least was easy and flat, parallel to the railroad tracks. A single-car train chugged past and honked a hello at me: I recognized the old regionale fleet from my Umbrian summer. Those were the best because you could open the windows, and the curtains (actual curtains!) would flap around in the wind.

With the wind in my face and the occasional raindrop threatening, I made my way into Ponte d’Arbia and parked myself at a bar for a ginger beer and Gatorade. But the weather was starting to look worse and worse, and nervous about getting caught in a storm, I decided to ignore my pained feet and push on. The path took me once again across the busy Via Cassia, up and down hills with more views to the surrounding countryside, which had become much greener already. Tomorrow I will be properly walking in the vineyards of Brunello di Montalcino. After 40 minutes of more up-and-down, I crested a hill and could see the town of Buonconvento below, and after dodging more Via Cassia traffic I made my way into the charming medieval center, which is essentially one Main Street.

After checking into my B&B and doing my normal chores, I headed out in search of wifi, which I found at a local cafe. After another lap of town, I realized there was not much to do other than post up somewhere to read and write. I had hoped to visit the wine bar on the main strip but it was closed, so I headed back to the cafe where I had gotten coffee to have an aperitivo, before heading to dinner at the Ristorante Roma (well-named!)

I dug into a large, steaming plat of pici al ragu while reading the Formula 1 headlines — it’s a race weekend, after all. Then, of course, I indulged in the chocolate lava cake on the menu (how could I not?). This dessert was a conversation starter for the next table over: two Americans, Jan and Richard, who started walking the Via Francigena from Lucca. We ended up chatting for awhile about the experience of walking from Canterbury, their Portuguese Camino experience, and the trials and tribulations of the VF so far (including a gnarly-sounding injury for Jan!) They were a lovely couple who seemed to be enjoying the walk so far — I think I may run into them again tomorrow in San Quirico.

It’s already 9pm (on a Friday night) but after a long day of walking, some more blisters (ughhhhh), and some soreness in my knees, I’m going to take it easy tonight. A domani!

Final mileage: 17.04 mi
Walking time: 7h 02m
Elevation gain: 967 ft

Accommodation: Affittacamere Caliani. A reasonably-priced room in the Centro Storico. However, there was no wifi — seems like some of the other B&Bs at a similar price point did have wifi.