The Duomo at night

Apparently there are only two cathedrals in Europe bigger than Milan's Duomo - St Peter's in Rome and St Paul's in London. http://flic.kr/p/q4Pm2S

The Laver of Regeneration

During the Easter vigil in the cathedral of Milan in the year 387, the bishop (known to posterity as St Ambrose of Milan‎) baptised several people. Among them were a 33 year old man and his illegitimate teenage son. The man eventually moved back to his homeland. That man was St Augustine of Hippo. And the above photo is the baptistry in which he and his son Theodatus received the laver of regeneration. http://flic.kr/p/q4hcLt

a tentative itinerary

This afternoon I spent some time reading ahead in my guidebook, plotting out my journey to Rome. What follows may prove to be hopelessly ambitious, but I don't think it's unreasonable. Now that I've got a working mobile, arranging for parish accommodations a day or two in advance should ‎be possible, which in turn should help with my budget.

Vercelli

Abbazia di San Alcuino

Gropello Cairoli

Belgioioso

Calendasco

Fiorenzuola d'Arda

Costamezzano

Sivizzano

Berceto

Pontremoli

Aulla

Avenza

Pietrasanta

Lucca

Ponte A Cappiano

Pieve Santa Maria a Chianni

Colle di Val d'Elsa

Siena

Ponte d'Arbia

Gallina

Abbadia San Salvatore

Acquapendente

Montefiascone

Vetralla

Sutri

Campagnano di Roma

La Starta

Rome

That's 28 stages, although there may be days when I wind up not walking - Siena in particular may be worth spending some time to explore. (And of course, I may find myself waylaid by blisters or ill health along the way.)

From Rome, I'll take a train to Bari. Since I've lost so much time early on, I need to make sure I'll be able to clear the Schengen zone within my 90 days of visa-free travel. If I start walking again this weekend, I should arrive in Rome by mid-December.

Rome itself warrants a long stay, but the clock will still be ticking. I'll give myself three to five days, depending on the weather and my health.

The day after I'm done playing tourist there, I'll be ‎out of the Schengen zone and into Albania. Once I re-enter the Schengen zone, I should still have enough time to walk the 400 km through northern Greece without fear of being nabbed at the border for overstaying. If I run into more delays, then I'll just hop a bus to the Turkish border from Thessaloniki. That would be disappointing, but it's preferable to facing the risk of a hefty fine, deportation, and possibly even a ban on travelling to any Schengen zone country in the future.

I'm ready and raring to go. Once the package of extra clothes arrives from Canada, I'll be on my way again!

A Cup of Mercy

Several years ago, my brother and I ventured out to explore some of the dynamic and intriguing exhibits of Nuit Blanche in Toronto.  (Some photos of that evening are to be found here.)

One of these interactive installations was a fire barrel set up in a parking lot. Visitors were given a grilled gourmet sausage and a tin mug of hot chocolate. On finishing my drink, I was delighted to see the word "MERCY" stamped into the bottom of the cup. While I doubt there were any homeless people there to receive this gift of warmth and nourishment, the notion of a cup of mercy is one which struck a chord. One of my favourite verses in Scripture is found in the Epistle of St James. The KJV translation of James 2:13 says, "Mercy rejoiceth against judgement."

It's been my practice for many years to keep a pocket full of change at the ready for any who ask. I know that this is a naive reading of Matthew 5:42, but I cannot in good conscience refuse "one of the least of these"‎ when I have money jingling in my pocket. I've had the debates about "enabling" and so on, but this has been and willl continue to be my practice.

And now I am asking for a similar dispensation.

It was four years ago, a few months after doing the Camino de Santiago,  that I first ‎got the notion of undertaking a walking pilgrimage to Jerusalem. This blog's title, "The Way of a Pilgrim," is an homage to a classic of Russian spirituality, and in my own small way, I am trying to follow in the footsteps of the thousands (millions?) who have gone before me.

I did my research. I gradually acquired the gear I thought I'd need. I learned about the various walking routes that could lead a person to the Holy Land. I read blogs, exchanged email, met other pilgrims. I consulted with people I respect. I postponed my departure two years for financial reasons, and then finally made my plans known to the general public.‎ And then I was laid off from my job.

That forced me to carefully re-evaluate my plans. Should I postpone again? Should I look for another job, knowing full well I'd be leaving in less than a year? Because I'd been laid off, I qualified for Employment Insurance benefits from the government. With the information I'd already gathered, I decided I'd still be able to stick to my original schedule, albeit without a financial safety net.

Part of my calculations was the assumption that cheap (or even free) parish accommodation would be readily available in Italy. I knew that Switzerland would be expensive, but I was banking on common Christian charity ‎once I arrived in a Catholic country, travelling a recognized pilgrimage route.

To date, that has not been my experience. Accommodations in "expensive Switzerland" proved to be much less dear‎ than in Italy, with the exception of the one night I camped in the Italian Alps and the two hostels run by local Via Francigena support groups. The catch at these hostels, and many other places in Italy so far, is that they only accept payment in cash.

When I reached Santhià, I realised that I needed to seek medical attention. A small blister had grown to an alarming size, and had gotten infected. The medical treatment I've received has been top-notch and the payments of €3.90 per visit a mere token. Where my expenses have been piling up is paying €10 per night (a pittance!) in cash every night‎ for the past 16 nights and counting. I've had a few excellent meals in local restaurants, but most days I'm spending €6 per day in the supermarket to keep myself fed and happy.

Here's where you, dear reader, can help. While I was still planning this epic pilgrimage, several people had suggested that I set up some way to receive online financial donations. ‎I chose not to, since it seemed frivolous to ask others to subsidise my folly. I'd counted the cost, and decided I had sufficient to finish it.

I was wrong. The loss of income from being laid off and the unexpected expenses so far in Italy‎ mean that I will not have the means to complete my pilgrimage without turning to my community of friends and acquaintances, and their friends and acquaintances. I will be able to continue on for some time on my own, but I can't complete my journey without help.  Even before I left home, many people had provided help unasked for. I have already thanked them personally.

Now I'm asking for help from you.

I've set up an account at GoFundMe to receive financial contributions in Canadian dollars.

$2 will buy me a morning cappuccino. 

$15 will buy me a satisfying meal in a restaurant.

$30‎ will cover a night's accommodation in a modest dormitory.

Any amount you can give will be received most gratefully.‎ Here's the link where you can help me:

www.gofundme.com/h3t6gs [Edit: My heartfelt thanks to all who supported me! This link is no longer live.]

I still intend to give pocket change to ‎anyone who asks of me, but apart from that I will be frugal and responsible with whatever you choose to entrust to me.

If you are unable to contribute financially, I'd ask you to pass this along to your contacts. In fact, please do so even if you *do* buy me a coffee.‎

I have set up an account on CouchSurfing.org, although I'm not yet clear on how that ‎works.  www.couchsurfing.org/people/peterbrubacher/ 

If you know of anyone who lives in Italy along the path of the Via Francigena (or in Albania, Macedonia, Greece, or Turkey) who might be willing to host a gentle madman on their couch for a night, please contact them on my behalf.

Thank you, and please pray for me.

‎

A Study in Contrasts

It's 1:30 AM and raining in Santhià as I begin this update. ‎ (And 3:30 as I finish it.)

One of the drawbacks to my newly sedentary life is that I'm just not tired enough to fall asleep by 9:00 PM any more. I have been doing a lot of reading while my flesh grows back over the large section of skin on my heel that was ‎surgically removed.  This evening I watched as a spider methodically disassembled its web that was exposed to the wind and rain. I hadn't known they could do this, let alone witnessed it before. And those are the ‎highlights of the past two days I've spent in Santhià. 

I've already written about my excursion to Turin on Saturday, so in this update I'll be talking about my experiences on Sunday.

Last week while I was reclining in my bunk reading, one of the local volunteers who helps maintain the hostel in Santhià came by. Mario speaks more English than I do Italian, so our conversation was weighted towards my native tongue. (I do try to use as much Italian as I can‎, both as a sign of respect to my hosts and to reinforce the learning process.) When he learned that I am Orthodox, he promptly pulled out his mobile and called the Orthodox priest who lives in Santhià. (I was pleased and impressed that he had Fr. Julian's number saved, and could call him directly without having to search for his contact details.)

Fr. Julian is a Romanian priest ‎who alternates services between Santhià and Vercelli. Each parish has their own church building (centuries old Catholic churches). The service this weekend was in Vercelli. I hadn't prepared to receive Holy Communion, so after a small breakfast and a coffee, I caught a train to Vercelli. I got the address from the World Orthodox website (orthodox-world.org) but I didn't know at which end of the street the church was located. Fortunately for me, it's a short street, located near the train station. 

I arrived shortly before the Great Doxology, and even though I didn't receive the Eucharist, it was GOOD to be there. As at the Romanian parish in Ivrea, they sang "To Thee the Champion Leader." I may not know much liturgical Romanian, but that tune is instantly recognisable. At the end of the Liturgy, I spoke with Fr. Julian briefly ‎and then made my way back to the train station and Santhià. 

I was a little footsore after the walking and standing for the three hour Liturgy, but I headed to the café for a quick pick-me-up. Enrico had been in Turin the night before, celebrating a friend's birthday, and although he was exhausted, he was also very enthusiastic about the city - so much so that I decided to abandon my plan for a quiet afternoon in Santhià and headed back to the train station. 

It was almost 4:30 when I arrived in Turin. Most businesses, museums, and churches close early in this part of Italy, so I made my way directly to the Biblioteca Reale. On Saturday, I'd noticed that the ‎Royal Library had just opened a Leonardo exhibit, but when I poked my head in the door and saw the lineup, I decided to keep moving.  

When I arrived on Sunday, I was informed that there were no more tickets available for the day, and that I should come back "tomorrow." I explained that I was a pilgrim walking the Via Francigena, and was staying in Santhià. The woman behind the counter astounded me by making a judgement call and allowed me to pay my €12 for the opportunity to see original drawings and manuscripts by da Vinci and a few other artists.‎ Admission to the Royal Library itself is free, so I wandered through the section open to the public for half an hour before being escorted to the vaults for the special exhibit.

It was an impressive display.‎   My ignorance of the visual arts is profound, so the only other artist whose work I recognised was Rembrandt. In addition to their sketches, there were a number of 16th century maps of Turin, some illustrated early Renaissance science texts, several gorgeous illuminated manuscripts (including a 15th century copy of the Lives of Sts. Barlaam and Joasaph), and some late 15th and early 16th century maps. I spent more time poring over the navigational map of the Mediterranean and Black Seas and their respective watersheds than I did any other single object on display. (To be fair, I do have skin in the game. Literally.)

Once I re-emerged from the library, I was somewhat at a loss. It seemed a shame to head back to Santhià after such a short visit, but the other museums nearby were no longer admitting patrons. And it was raining. And I'm trying to curb my spending. With a mental shrug, I crossed a square heading towards the street back to the train station. Both sides of this major street are lined with cafés and high end shops, and the broad sidewalks‎ are covered with arcades. At least I would stay dry.

As I approached the start of the sheltered sidewalk, I heard a bit of commotion. "‎Signore e signori!" (Ladies and Gentlemen!) The rest was beyond me, but what I saw was a group of about twenty people in costume, carrying drums and kazoos and an electric guitar (complete with amplifier, flange, and a few other effects pedals) assembling.

"Fun!" I thought. Since I had no other plans, and my train wasn't scheduled to leave for a few hours, I decided to follow the parade and see what happened. They were headed my way, they were walking under cover down the sidewalk of a major ‎thoroughfare, and they were blowing large soap bubbles and making lots of noise.

Maybe I maintained a poker face (I don't know), but inwardly I was grinning like a madman. I had gone from being an aimless and broke foreigner in a ‎rainy city to a witness of creative chaos that disrupted the expectations of everyone along the route. Quite a few people followed the procession for several blocks, people sitting at sidewalk cafés gawked, shopkeepers came to their doors and smiled as we passed -- it was wonderful! I've posted some photos and one video of the Famiglia Malfatti on Flickr. (https://www.flickr.com/photos/phool4xc/sets/72157649206768851/)

It took an hour to travel the kilometre to the corner opposite the train station. After a few final minutes of mayhem, the group began to disperse. I chatted with a few people, and Ludovica gave me an "admission ticket" to the Freak Circus. (It's tucked away safely in my wallet. Echoes of Hermann Hesse's Steppenwolf.) I learned that they'd be performing later at a contemporary art show being staged in the former maximum security prison nearby. One of the guys pointed it out to me on my GPS map - the great news was that it was only a block away from the other train station in Turin, which is accessible from where we were by the Metro.

After bidding them "Ciao!" I crossed the street to the train ‎station and checked the departures schedule. The last train going through Santhià was leaving at 11:00 PM, so I grabbed a miserable train station sandwich and then took a short subway ride.

I had an hour to explore the various art exhibits set up in cells on three floors of one prison wing before my new friends began their performance. There were a few really interesting ‎displays, but it was too much to really engage with any one artist or display. 

The photo accompanying this update is one of the few pieces that prompted more than "That's pretty cool." It took me a few seconds to register what I was looking at, and then I literally laughed out loud.

Carlsberg was one official sponsor of The Others Fair, with beverage carts that displayed the slogan "Drink Different." My internal reaction was the same as it was back in the 1980s when I learned that the "indie" beer Black Dog (slogan - Be Your Own Dog) was a wholly owned subsidiary of Molson's. Yes, I understand that art shows need funding. Leonardo da Vinci was dependent on patrons, as were many‎ of the great European artists of the past thousand years. (Or more - I'm ignorant about the visual arts, remember?) Still, an art show sponsored by banks and breweries provides a very different context for experiencing art than a random act of beauty one happens upon in the street. (Perhaps something like Nuit Blanche has struck a healthy balance.)

To me, the important distinction between a contemporary art show and a street performance like those put on by the Famiglia Malfatti and ‎Valter Luca Signorile (https://www.flickr.com/photos/phool4xc/15570304547/) is the element of surprise and delight that results from having the artist come to you and presenting you with an opportunity to explore something new and unexpected. People who go to contemporary art shows have a certain set of expectations which frame their experience. Yes, it's still possible to be surprised and delighted, but there's an extra layer of mediation that simply doesn't exist on the street.

Anyway, that's enough of my late night philosophisin'. I do have one last hospital checkup on Wednesday, but I'd have started walking again today if my care package from home had already arrived. Hopefully it'll be here in the next day or two.