Eva on the Via Francigena (and beyond)

Song of the Day: This is the Day — The The

“This is the day, your life will surely change / This is the day, when things fall into place…You could have done anything, if you wanted / And all your friends and family think that you’re lucky / But there side of you they’ll never see / Is when you’re left alone with your memories / That hold your life together, like glue”

I’ve been holding onto this one for awhile. I never believed, in setting off on this journey, that there would be a single life-changing moment. I have yet to experience a true epiphany like this and I don’t really expect to — I think most change happens gradually. But today, sitting and eating my lunch and looking back at the last 3 months of this journey, I did feel that — slowly but surely — my life had indeed changed. Not this day, but everyday, just a little.

And in some ways, today marks one end of this journey. Likely one of many ends. It’s the last day of the full pilgrim experience — tomorrow, once I arrive in Rome, I will begin the process of un-becoming, of returning to normal life. So, with almost all of the journey in the rear view, why not take some time to think about the ways this journey has changed me?

Still adjusting to the new daylight-savings reality, I was surprised to see daylight coming in from the bedroom’s skylight this morning. Sleepily I rolled out of bed and walked over to the living room to pack. This almost ended badly when I tried to go back to the bedroom to turn off my alarm, forgot that there was a set of stairs leading down to it, and fell down the stairs back into the room (thankfully landing on the bed, unharmed). With a bit more adrenaline pumping now, I continued packing and watched the highlights from yesterday’s F1 race.

At around 7:30 or so I left the hostel and made my way through the deserted streets of Campagnano toward a pastry shop that had been recommended to me. When I walked inside I found two new pilgrims sitting at one of the tables, who I greeted with a wave. After I had ordered and sat down, they turned to me, asking “Are you Eva??” A bit caught off guard, I responded “Ummm…yes! Who are you?” As it turns out they were Graham and Carol from England. They had walked with Patrick for awhile, and also with Kerry and Andy. “You’re a legend!” They told me, “We’ve heard all about you!” I laughed, touched and a bit surprised — of course there are people I have met who I had heard about along the way, but it hadn’t occurred to me I would be that person for anyone else!

We ended up sitting and chatting for awhile — Graham had started in London, so we had lots of stories to swap about the French section. Probably around 8 we all set off together, leaving town and starting up a steep uphill. Pretty soon our paces had diverged, so I wished them well and pushed on ahead.

I hadn’t given much thought to what today might look like. So, I was pleasantly surprised by the scenery once I was out of Campagnano, heading uphill through trees with views of fields out in the distance, and some fancy-looking villas in the meantime. Umbrella pines lined driveways and appeared haphazardly on the horizon. For me, these trees are truly a symbol of Rome — their more frequent appearances reminding me just how close to my goal I am.

After a steep downhill following a series of stations of the cross — my knees crying out in pain with each thump of my boots on the pavement — I started up a few short switchbacks to the Sanctuario della Madonna del Sorbo, where I ran into Domenico, who was just leaving. The Sanctuary was surprisingly lovely, with a gravel courtyard, a few well-placed benches and gardens, and a small church. I’m not sure why — maybe I’m just in a nostalgic mood these days — but the interior of the church transported me back to some of the French countryside churches I visited. It was simple, quiet and dark, with frescoes covering the apse. I sat outside for a bit, reflecting, before putting the pack back on and setting off.

It was more walking through trees downhill for a bit, and then I entered the first outskirts of the Veio park, which would be the setting for much of the rest of today’s walking. The asphalt road thus transformed into a white gravel path through open fields and then forests again. Looking up, I saw a group of houses high on a cliff above and could only hope that this was not my intermediary destination, Formello. In the end, it was not, and after only a moderate incline, I found myself in the outskirts of town.

Formello is very typical of an Italian town. I passed a bar where elderly men sat in a line outside, watching the comings and goings of cars and pedestrians. I greeted them and they watched as I continued up the road to a piazza, where another group of men sat and watched. Usually, there is somewhere for the women to sit as well (those who aren’t in their homes). Formello seemed to be all men today. With another set of greetings, I headed up, through an arch and into Formello’s old town, where Domenico was in the main piazza.

I immediately was faced with the entrance to Palazzo Chigi, which hosts the town’s museum. I took a quick lap of some of the Roman artifacts on display in the palace’s courtyard. Then, I found what I had been looking for: a set of glass steps, each emblazoned with the name of a stage on the route from Canterbury. Slowly I climbed, trying to generate in my head the sights and sounds of each stop. Guines — the couple I spoke with outside of the closed Mairie. Trefcon — the gruff owner of the gite. Orbe — the long, hot, forest walk. Pont-Saint-Martin — my initial shock at the size of the Roman bridge. And so on. At the top of the staircase, I stepped out onto a small platform with a view over the surrounding countryside. In the distance, the spines of the Appenines were visible — I realized for the first time that I had gazed at these mountains many times before. They would be visible, barely, from Gianicolo hill, whose Belvedere I visited often.

Coming back down the stairs, unwinding the journey so far, I ran into Graham and Carol again — pursued by a cameraman, and a blonde woman in a suit who was going to stamp their pilgrim passports. I followed this crew into an office and duly had my passport stamped as well, a bit shy of the camera that was filming our every move. The blonde woman explained that they were filming a documentary of some sort about the Via Francigena, so were happy to have real pilgrims to use as set dressing. To be honest, I found the whole thing a bit off-putting. The woman was a bit short, even cold, to Graham, who was trying to explain that he had journeyed here from England. The sense I got was that she was interested in us only as we were useful to the filming. As soon as the cameraman had had enough she breezed out of the office, returning to the film crew to make sure they got the shot.

I took a quick lap of the church, and upon re-emerging ran into the group of Stephen, Kay, Michelle, and Penny. Multiple cameras surrounded us, filming our greetings. By the way, they never asked if we wanted to be filmed — of course we are in public so I understand it’s all legal, but it would have been nice if they had asked before literally following me and the others around with cameras. I recommended the tower to them and headed back in the direction I came from in search of coffee and a bit of privacy.

I popped into the first bar I saw for a cappuccino and a piece of “torta caprese,” a dark chocolate cake I had never tried before. It was incredible — still soft and a bit squishy in the middle but with a slight crunch on the outside, and very rich and chocolatey. Perfect. I pulled out some more cash from the ATM, having realized I was running low again, and then ran into Sergio. We chatted for a bit, and then I darted once again past the cameras and made my way through the small alleyways of Formello, stopping at a Carrefour on the way out of town to buy bread, meat, and cheese for a sandwich.

Then, it was back into nature, cutting through fields following a narrow, winding trail. Here I caught back up to Graham and Carol and we once again got to chatting as we walked, leaving the trail and walking on a quiet road over a highway lined with thorny bushes. I had to run back at one point to grab my hi-vis which had been snatched from my pack by one of these thorns. Lost in conversation about French host families, I hadn’t noticed until Carol pointed it out!

We left the road and re-entered the Veio park, following a trail delineated by a wooden fence. To our left were thick trees that sounded like they were hiding a forest stream, to the right, rolling fields covered in grass. Once again we split off here, and I headed forward, charging up steep hills that would immediately come back down. The path here was rutted and covered in loose rocks that almost tripped me up.

I ran out of water in my Camelback heading up a steep hill. I knew I was close to the next town, but the warm sun was starting to make me overheat and I realized it was almost 1pm. I needed to start looking for a place to sit and rest. After one more uphill, admiring the grass as it waved in the wind, I emerged from this section of the park.

After crossing a road, the path continued, cutting through a number of sheep pastures. Signs warned about sheepdogs, though I didn’t see any animals at all as I followed the barely-there path. Wildflowers and tall grasses, up to knee height, carpeted the hills. These pastures were ringed by stands of trees which swayed in the wind. Above, a deep blue sky filled with cartoon-like puffy clouds hung over the scene. It was idyllic. I was surprised — I knew I was close to Isola Farnese, the first of a few sprawling Roman suburbs I would be walking through today and tomorrow. How could this possibly feel so….rural? I felt like I was back in the Kent Downs, or maybe somewhere in Northern France.

I stopped under a tree to sit and make my sandwich, taking off my shoes to give my feet a bit of a break. It seemed fitting that I should have one last DIY trail sandwich to mark the near-end of the journey. I thought back on some of the “lifestyle adjustments” I have gotten used to on this journey: constant worries over if I have enough food in my pack (the enduring legacy of France); the minor aches and pains that mean I walk like an 80 year old for the first few minutes after standing up; the daily cycle of washing my walking clothes and hoping they will dry by morning; the daily focus on primarily needs: do I have enough water? How does my body feel? Do I have a place to sleep tonight? For better or worse, I think I will probably re-adjust to most aspects of my normal life relatively quickly. But of course, there are plenty of lessons and takeaways from any journey like this. The most obvious one is how little we need — when you walk a journey like this, your life condenses to only that which you can carry on your back.

Finishing my sandwich, I reached into my pack to grab the small jar of honey I purchased at the market yesterday. I had some pizza bianca left over that hadn’t become part of my sandwich bread, so I tore off a strip and drizzled it with a bit of honey. Crunchy, oily, salty, sweet. Aromatic. Delicious. As I was pondering my dessert, Sergio rounded the corner and came to sit with me. I sat with him for awhile as he made his own sandwich. We talked about the impending end of the journey: the positives (no need to do laundry today!) and the sadder aspects. He commented that, even if I am sad to have my year in Italy coming to a close — wasn’t this a beautiful way to close the loop? I agreed. Not a bad way to end the chapter.

I left him sitting under a tree that was creaking ominously in the wind. “If we don’t see each other,” I said in Italian as I got ready to go. “Thank you. It’s been a pleasure.” He thanked me and told me to go do good things in life. With a final series of good lucks (in Italian: “In bocca al lupo) and buon camminos I set off alone into the forest, past a waterfall, and then quickly emerging onto a road. I was back in civilization.

It was a quick walk through Isola Farnese and into the “town” of La Storta, which is essentially a series of new build apartments and strip malls lining the Via Cassia. I found the Casa Nostra Signora, which had a big garden full of umbrella pines and olive trees, and went to check in. After a somewhat confusing experience chatting with the nun, who also warned me that the water was shut off for repairs “until 2” (it was 2:30 already), I headed to my room.

I sat on my phone for awhile mindlessly scrolling and then, realizing I couldn’t shower yet, headed out in search of coffee. But, it being a Monday, the bar that I had planned to go to was closed. Next door was a small shop selling all sorts of sweets and nuts and other good things. I ended up buying some of those pre-packed risottos to bring back as souvenirs to the US. Now that I have only 1 day left, I feel like I will survive with the extra 600g of weight (famous last words!)

I headed back to the monastery to once again sit and zone out, take a shower once the water was back (the towers were shockingly fluffy and luxurious) and start on my writing. I talked to both of my parents and made plans with Nathan for tomorrow, since he arrived in Rome today. I’m trying to finish up the rest of my blogs so I have nothing in the backlog when I arrive tomorrow.

At around 6pm I was hit with a wave of extreme exhaustion. But, a pilgrim’s gotta eat, so I headed out down the trash-covered sidewalk of the Via Cassia to a nearby restaurant. The place was empty when I walked in, though Stephen, Kay, Penny, and Michelle soon filed in (though I opted to eat alone tonight given how tired I was). I ordered a carbonara that was pretty good (I have a high bar, so this is high praise). The sauce was the right consistency, the mezze maniche were perfectly al dente, but the guanciale was unfortunately a little overdone. However, much better than some of the soupy iterations I’ve had elsewhere — all in all a pleasant surprise. I also treated myself to a tiramisu and a decaf coffee before retreating to the accommodation. By the time I left just after 8, the place was almost completely full — clearly this was a popular choice on a Monday night!

I’m heading to bed. So, as I sign off for now, all I will say is: it’s been a crazy, impossible-seeming adventure. I still can’t wrap my head around all that has happened and all I have done. I have very mixed feelings about having reached the end of the line….but tomorrow is another day. Just like the last 87 days, I’ll get up and start walking. Everything else, well — we’ll see what happens.

Final mileage: 13.01 mi
Walking time: 6h 35m
Elevation gain: 1,646 ft

Accommodation: Casa Nostra Signora in La Storta. Note that this is a different group of nuns than the Suore Poverelle who are listed in the guidebook, and only open in the summer. I have a private room and bathroom for 35 euro — well worth it. I had originally booked in a hostel in Isola Farnese, which would have added about 20-30 minutes to my walk tomorrow, so I am glad to have the privacy here instead. There is also the option for dinner at the monastery, though I don’t think I have the energy for a group dinner tonight.