Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: Ventura Highway — America

”Chewing on a piece of grass, walking down the road / Tell me, hoe long you gonna stay here, Joe? …Cause the free wind is blowing through your hair / And the days surround your daylight there / Seasons crying no despair / Alligator lizards in the air…”

I was looking for a song that matched both the scenic experience of my morning and the slightly more chaotic afternoon walking along the Via Cassia. Naturally, this felt like the right choice.

I woke up at 4am this morning and struggled to fall back asleep, so ended up reading in bed until 5 when I got tired again. Naturally, I didn’t think my original 6:30am alarm was the best idea, so I snoozed it until 6:45…then 7…then 7:30.

I needed the sleep so wasn’t too upset about my delayed departure. And besides, the town was still enveloped in a thick layer of fog, so it’s not like I missed a final Tuscan sunrise. I packed efficiently and was out of the hostel by 8. Domenico was long gone, but Sergio was still packing up. On the way out of town I stopped in a cafe for breakfast (cappuccino, brioche cioccolato, and a Tuscan almost cookie called a ricciarello that I am obsessed with). The Canadian / Singaporean group I met yesterday was also having breakfast and planning their day — some would be taking the bus while the others would walk. After quick hellos and then goodbyes, I was cutting through Radicofani’s charming stone buildings, out the gate, and then downhill out of town.

I quickly turned off the road onto the old Via Cassia, now a gravel strada bianca whose Roman pavings still occasionally peeked through. Ahead of me were views out to the hills of Tuscany and then Lazio, emerging from layers of clouds come un mare. The autumn sun was warm on my face and the air was still cool as I gazed at this view, occasionally turning around to watch Radicofani retreat into the distance.

In my head I composed a sort of love letter to Tuscany — a sentiment that a year ago I would be surprised at myself for. I’ve always approached Tuscany with a sort of hipster reticence — yes, of course it’s beautiful, but it’s full of tourists. And while I have loved exploring lesser-known areas of Italy, I have been glad to allow myself to get to know Tuscany this year (and not just through the Via Francigena). The region has so much more to offer than the perfect postcard image that is projected out to the world: from high mountain forests to lush seaside escapes to, of course, rolling hills of vines and cypress trees. And I’ve fallen in love with Tuscan food through many plates of ragu al cinghiale, pici al aglione, panzanella, and the humble pasta al pomodoro. I’ve savored cantucci, ricciarelli, and many iterations of castagne. Not to mention, of course, all of the Tuscan wine I have sampled. And my time in the region has been a multi-sensory experience: not just views and tastes, but smells too. I’ll associate my time here with woodsmoke and jasmine, roasted chestnuts and lavender, rosemary and the pungent aroma of meat and cheese eminating from its many salumerie. All this to say, I’m surprised by how much I will miss Tuscany. And I think that exploring it as I have this go-around, on foot, has deepened and enriched the experience in interesting ways. I would love to come walk here again — this time with space in my pack to buy oil, wine, and honey directly from the farms I am passing.

I rambled along without paying too much attention to the clock or the map. I stopped for awhile at a pilgrim rest stop with views towards Monte Amiata, which had fashioned a “selfie station” where you could shove your phone between two wooden slats to set up for a photo. I was passed by rows of hunters, most of whom seem to drive the same 80s-era 4×4 Fiat Pandas. I passed farms with pristinely organized vegetable gardens. My mind wandered once again to the future — to what lays beyond this pilgrimage. It’s sort of hard to imagine. Of course, I need to get ready for France. And I need to earn some money, too — walking for 3 months comes with its costs. And I want to see family and friends. Somehow, the two months that I thought would feel interminable I think will go before I realize.

In the back of my mind I was also weighing my options for the second half of the day. The guidebook described two options: either a harrowing, life-threatening walk on the high-speed Via Cassia, or a long detour through Proceno that would lead to another 20 mile day. The intermittent shooting pain in my hips made it clear that the Proceno route was a no go. A quick Google suggested that there was a bus leaving from Centeno (before the worst of the road walking) at 11:50. I checked and realized I was scheduled to arrive at the bus stop only a few minutes before that — time to pick up the pace.

Finally arriving at the base of this long descent, I passed quickly through Ponte a Rigo, a town which allegedly had a place to buy food. But a quick glance suggested this was not the case — the only thing I could see was the modern church that hosts the pilgrim hostel. Not ideal as I had planned to buy my lunch here, and so now literally all that I had to eat was half a bar of hazelnut chocolate and a granola bar.

But, not much to be done about that, so I hung a left onto the path paralleling the Via Cassia, which after about an hour of cross-crossing the highway through fields and stands of trees, brought me into Centeno at 11:30. Now it was decision time. I could wait 20 minutes for the alleged bus — though I have less faith on Cotral (the Lazio bus network) than the Tuscan buses which seem to be reasonably reliable. If not, I could wait 30 minutes for the decent-looking trattoria in town to open. Or, I could try my luck further down the line and start walking the road. I had been observing the highway over the last hour and there really wasn’t that much traffic (certainly, I’ve seen worse in the last 80 days), so I decided to head onwards with courage and agility.

Really, this section was not that bad at all. There was almost always enough space to step aside onto a strip of grass when cars passed (every few minutes), and I got lucky that nobody passed me when I walked around curves, hemmed in by metal barriers. After maybe 30 minutes of this the route planners graciously directed me off the road to a small path immediately parallel to the highway, which the guidebook didn’t seem to know about.

Even better, about 5kms before Acquapendente, I passed a small bar / restaurant catering to pilgrims. So I would get to have lunch, after all. The woman behind the counter suggested a sandwich of marinated pork, coleslaw, and salsa verde. It was delicious — very nice to have a warm sandwich for once.

Thus restored, I made my way along the Via Cassia and then up a hill into Acquapendente, where I met Domenico outside the pilgrim hostel. After a comically lengthy phone call with the proprietor — Domenico trying repeatedly to get off the phone before being given more instructions — we got into the building. My room was relatively small, with 3 beds, but in the end was just me, so this was fine. The shower also had no hot water, though apparently Domenico managed to figure out a fix for this after me.

Afterwards I headed out to explore Acquapendente, which was almost entirely closed (it is a Monday, after all). I saw some interesting street art, which apparently the town is known for, and otherwise meandered the small streets. It’s immediately clear that we have crossed into Lazio from Tuscany. Tuscany, a wealthier region, is full of perfectly-manicured, beautiful towns. Acquapendente, like other towns in Lazio, is a bit grittier and rough around the edges — or at least hasn’t been pressure-washed. Buildings are still clad in grey plaster, without a layer of pastel paint on top. But I like this about these towns is that they give a visual into what life in Italy is like for many Italians, and what some of the bigger cities would have looked like a few decades ago. Acquapendente, in some streets, could substitute for Rome or Milan or Livorno in a film by Fellini, Antonioni, or Visconti.

At dinner I once again ran into the Canadian / Singaporean group of friends, and ended up joining them to eat. I had a delicious margherita pizza and a lovely evening of chatting. A bit of chaos was injected into the experience at the end of the meal, when a large black cricket (which at first glance I thought was a cockroach, scarred from my Rome apartment experience) jumped up onto my plate and then onto my shoulder(!) With much cursing I got the thing off of me and the staff came over to see what the commotion was about, leading to a multi-linguale conversation regarding the (apparent) scourge of crickets that has taken over the area. Well, anything better than a cockroach, right? Heart rate still slightly elevated, I thanked my fellow pilgrims for the company and headed to bed.

Final mileage: 15.01 mi
Walking time: 5h 35m
Elevation gain: 1,141 ft

Accommodation: Casa del Pellegrino. This was alright (would have been better with hot water…). They try to assign private rooms where possible, which I appreciated.