Experiencing Italy

‎The past few walking days have seen me cover a lot of distance. Tomorrow instead of pressing on directly to Piacenza from Santa Cristina (about 40 kms), Michael and I will be stopping halfway at the parish accommodations in Orio Litto.‎ While we have both done 35+ km days, that would mean arriving in Piacenza footsore and exhausted. Instead, we should arrive by early afternoon Monday, with several hours of daylight left to see the town, and in my case, do some shopping.

With my on-going foot problems, I've decided it's time to change my shoes. I'd been planning to do this in Pavia, but was in no shape to do so once we arrived shortly before sunset on Friday. I'll also be looking for some new socks. The hydrocolloidal bandages I've been using to patch my feet are great for the fragile skin ‎covering a blister, but they tend to merge with the fibres of my socks, making removing said socks a delicate process and leaving a real mess embedded in them. (Washing them at a laundromat didn't help a bit, never mind by hand in a sink.)

I'm also hoping to visit some of the churches in Piacenza. One of the drawbacks to this type of trip is that I simply cannot see everything worth seeing. I need to keep moving on down the line. I'd really hoped to visit the Church of San Pietro Ciel d'Oro in Pavia, which houses the tomb of St Augustine of Hippo. One of the items in the museum in the archbishop's palace ‎in Vercelli is the oldest extant book in Anglo-Saxon. That would've been cool to see, but so it goes.

My halting progress through northern Italy has provided me with some new experiences. On Tuesday as I was walking through the countryside, I passed a farm which had several emus stalking about a large enclosure. Those are some impressive birds! 

Today ‎while we were approaching a hamlet, Michael stopped excitedly at a tree alongside the trail, which was bearing pumpkin-shaped fruit slightly larger than an apple. I used my walking stick to knock several of them out of the tree for him to catch. I'd seen groves of these in the Aosta Valley and Piemonte, but they were always on private property.‎ The cachi fruit were sweet, soft, and utterly delicious. On arriving at the hostel this evening, I went online and learned that they are persimmons. I'll be having one for breakfast tomorrow. 

This evening, Don Antonio ‎(the parish priest and our host in Santa Cristina) called the hostel in Orio Litto on our behalf, so we're expected there tomorrow. I'm not sure where we'll stay in Piacenza, but having an Italian as a travelling companion has made my nightly accommodation much, much cheaper (read, often free). 

Michael went to Mass this evening before settling down to watch the Juventus match with the priest and a whole passle of youth, and there's no Orthodox Church within walking distance, so we'll set out again by 8:00 tomorrow morning. That being said, I'd best post this update and settle in for a well-deserved rest.

The Old Men

As I mentioned previously, I now have a travelling companion. I'd met Michael on Sunday in Vercelli when I met up with Salvatore for coffee after Liturgy, and caught up with him again Wednesday evening at the hostel in Tromello.  Michael is walking from Assissi to Rome, and after a pleasant evening of conversation with him, I decided to wait a day and leave with him on Friday.

We were walking through the cold damp mist by 8:00 AM, and three hours later, we had covered almost half the distance to Pavia. I've been covering lots of ground recently, but I've also been taking long breaks to enjoy the weather. The weather was certainly not enjoyable today, which may be one reason we covered the 14 km so quickly (including a 20 minute coffee break at the halfway mark). I suspect having someone to keep me accountable was just as important as the unpleasant weather. 

We took another short break at the next village three or four‎ kilometres on. My guidebook said Pavia was only 11.5 km away, which at our walking speed to that point should only have been another 2.5 hours. Imagine my confusion (and dismay) when a woman at the church office told us that Pavia was another 20 kms! I consoled myself with the thought that this distance is likely correct when following the road, but walking trails are not so constrained.

‎From that village, we followed a narrow country road for 7 kms, at which point the trail branched off  and led into Pavia from the west after another 4.5 kms. As we were walking along, Michael pointed out all the water in the fields to the left of the road, and wondered if it was an artificial lake. That didn't make sense of the trees which demarked the field boundaries, and looking across two fields I saw flowing water.

At some point after my guidebook went to the publishers, the Ticino River has flooded. When we came to the point where the trail branched off from the road, it led directly underwater.‎ It must have happened some time ago, because in addition to the Via Francigena signs we'd been following all morning, there was a new blaze which pointed away from the flood and along down the road.

We finally staggered into Pavia from the southeast, having made a wide loop around the town. Walking an extra 9 kms may not sound that difficult, but psychologically, we'd both been prepared for a short day under sunny skies, arriving at the parish accommodations by 2:30 or 3:00 in the afternoon.‎ Instead, our walk had been extended by 33%. My plans to do some shopping and sightseeing were cancelled. By the time we arrived, my priorities were a hot shower, dinner, and bed. Having WiFi was a bonus, but once I post this I'll be saying my prayers and getting to sleep pretty quickly.

It was shortly after hearing we'd have another 20 km to go that my right knee and both hips began to ache. Michael's left shoulder is inflamed ‎and begins hurting after about three hours of carrying his pack. We're both in our 40s, but to hear us creak and groan you'd think we were a quarter century older. 

Thankfully, we are also able to indulge in some self-mockery. "I vecchi uomini" is Italian for "the old men." It took me a few tries to get the number and gender of the adjective to match the subject, but Michael's a good teacher.

This morning, we'd thought of heading on to Piacenza tomorrow‎, but after logging a tough 37 kms today, we'll make it a short day tomorrow and check in to the parish accommodations at Santa Cristina e Bissone some 25 kms from here. (God willing, and the crick don't rise!)

A Familiar Face

It was with great reluctance that I left my lodgings in Palestro this morning. Not only are Paolo and Ambra the perfect hosts, the hostel they run is absolutely wonderful. Every possible detail has been looked after - there's even a hair dryer in the room! (Not that I have all that much hair to dry.) When I checked out Ambra's website, I was not surprised to learn she's a wedding planner and interior designer. The hostel bears witness to her skill.

Nevertheless, I need to reach Rome with enough time left on my 90 day stay in the Schengen area to walk the 400 km across northern Greece. The world is full of beauty, and while I may one day settle down, that is not going to happen while I have my face set to Jerusalem. 

After a few hours of walking, I noticed a bit of pain on the ball of my right foot where I'd had a blister a month ago. I decided to stop for lunch (i.e. lighten ‎the load in my backpack), and while sitting on a bench in the sun in front of a cemetery, I pulled off my socks and gave my feet a quick once-over. Everything looked good, although there was a bit of tenderness, and that should have alerted me. It was only two hours after that before I finally applied one of those magic hydrocolloidal bandages. By then, of course, the blister had already formed, and I had another 14 km to go.

I made good time in spite of the minor change to my stride, and when I was 7 km from my destination, I stopped for a coffee and asked the barista if she would look up the number for the parish accommodations in the next town over. She was happy to oblige, and even refused to let me pay for my coffee. Once outside again, I called the first of the three numbers she'd provided for me. It rang, and then switched over to a fax machine. I spoke to someone at the second number who said she couldn't help me, but that she would get the number of the person who could. She called back a few minutes later, I thanked her, and then called the new number. (All of this in a sort of Italian.)

Finally I was speaking to the right person (well actually, to his wife), and when I told her what time I expected to arrive, she told me to go to a café near the hostel and someone would meet me there. My ETA was off by 15 minutes -- I hadn't accounted for the combination of walking with a blister on farm tracks lit only by my headlamp. Still, I was pleased with the margin of error.‎ I walked into the right café on my first try, and was greeted with a rousing cry of "Pellegrino!" (Pilgrim!)

On the way over to the hostel, John Carlo told me there was one other pilgrim staying there. Imagine my surprise when I recognised him as the man I'd met on Sunday in Vercelli with Salvatore. Michael and Salvatore parted company this morning, Salvatore bound for Milan some 45 km distant, while Michael came to rest after walking 15 km this morning. It seems I'm not the only one to be afflicted with blisters.

After a hot shower and change of clothes, I came into Michael's room and asked if I could cook on the stove there. He told me that it wasn't working, at which I smiled and displayed the alcohol burning penny stove ‎I've been using to heat up my evening meals. It turns out that he'd had dinner earlier (cold) and still had some lentil soup left over. I offered to heat it up for him when my food was warm. We sat down and and together, and then went for coffee and started talking.

Turns out, Michael is fluent in Russian and Arabic, proficient in English and Romanian, and of course speaks Italian as his first language. (Tomorrow I'll have to share some of my music with him. I've got Orthodox liturgical music in ‎all those languages except Italian, but then have some Greek chant too.) 

After speaking for several hours, I decided to take a day for my blister to heal and continue on with Michael to Pavia on Friday. He has a list of church-run hostels which is more up-to-date than my guidebook, neither of us are compulsive talkers, and of course to my benefit, he's Italian. ‎This decision does mean adding yet another non-walking day to the tally, but I think it's best to take tomorrow as a rest day rather than push on the 28 km to Pavia as I was intending. The last thing I want is for another blister to get infected! I've covered 66 km in the past two days without being utterly exhausted by the end of the day. It's odd that it's my right foot which has been blistering repeatedly - my left foot is just fine.

So, tomorrow I'll find a laundromat and sterilise my clothing, buy some more food, and find somewhere to sit in the sun. Still no word from my friends in Santhià about the arrival of the package that was mailed to me on November 1. If it happens to arrive in the morning, I'll see about hopping a train up north to collect it. Otherwise, I may have to go window shopping to see what I can find around here, although I'll probably have better and less expensive options once I reach Pavia.

The past two mornings I've woken up before my alarm went off. Tomorrow morning ‎I'll be able to sleep in, so I've disabled my alarm. It's almost 1:00 AM as I nod off while typing this, so that will have to do for today.

Briefly

The weather was ideal. My feet are happy after walking 32 km. Every time I glanced behind me, the Alps seemed to grow even larger and more majestic. (I'm really missing my camera!)

I took several over-long breaks today‎, which meant the last hour of my walk was done by the light of my headlamp. Note to self: make haste while the sun shines! With only 9.5 hours of daylight, I can't really afford to dilly-dally.

Tonight I'm staying in Palestro. The private hostel is only open from April to October, but the young‎ couple who run it do not turn people away. I had a home cooked meal in their dining room, the breakfast options look great, there's a wood-burning stove in my room, and payment is on a donation basis. Oh, and my bedroom directly abuts a mediaeval tower. How cool is that?

The Ospitaliere La Torre Merlata in Palestro is not listed in my guide book, so I'll be emailing the publisher with the information to be included in future editions.

And now I need to retire, so I can be ready to start walking again once it's light enough to see. I'm aiming for a 7:30 start, but who knows?

On the road again!

This morning I was up before my alarm went off - up before dawn actually. (Today that was at 7:28, so it was no great feat.) While Santhià is a lovely town (they won the final competition on the weekend show on national TV - congratulations!)‎, I didn't come to Europe to enjoy life in small town Italy. My goal is still to arrive in Jerusalem for Holy Week. Three weeks ago, I dragged myself into town. Today I strode out, heading towards Rome once again.

As I mentioned near the end of my last update, this morning was cold and grey, and it soon became very wet as well.‎ This is actually my least favourite weather for walking, although today could have been worse. The temperature may have gone as high as 10 Celsius, but with the light headwind it certainly didn't feel like it.

I've mentioned we've had some rainy days during my three week sojourn in Santhià, but today was the first time I've walked in the rain with all my gear since I ascended the Great St Bernard Pass on October 16.  I did a much better job layering my clothes a month ago than I did today. (Thinking about it just now, I don't think there was any wind that last day in Switzerland.) After an hour, my sleeves were sopping wet where my forearms extended beyond the cover of my poncho. My torso was still warm and dry, but I could feel my arms and then my hands gradually cooling down.

Losing body heat is rarely a good thing‎, particularly when walking off-road with the nearest shelter an hour or more away. My plan for today was to make the 29 km walk to Vercelli, passing through two small towns on the way, and then meeting up with Salvatore and another pilgrim who were waiting out the rain for a day there. I'd sent him a text as I was leaving Santhià, and got a reply as I was approaching the first town 9 km away.

Once I got under cover, I pulled out my phone. His message was to the point - no hostel in Vercelli, go to the next town along. I consulted my Via Francigena guidebook. The next town along is 11 km away, or a little over two extra hours of walking. I'd delayed my departure from my warm and cosy home in Santhià until 10:00 this morning, hoping against hope that my errant parcel would be delivered‎. (It wasn't. Was I surprised?) After packing up, I strolled up the street to say farewell to Severina, the woman who runs the small shop where I've been buying fresh fruit, local cheese, and bread over the past few weeks.

Due to my late start, continuing on to Vercelli would have meant arriving at twilight (sunset was at 4:55 pm today) after walking at least six hours in the rain and then trying to find accommodations for the night. Since I'd found a dry spot out of the wind, I pulled off my rain poncho and set down my backpack. Breakfast had been four hours earlier, so I pulled out the lunch I'd prepared and ate while I considered my options. Then I headed to a café to warm up over a cappuccino. The barista gave me directions to the only place in town that has rooms.

By 1:30, I was unpacking my gear while the proprietor made up the bed. It's dry, there's a Chinese restaurant and a café downstairs, I have a sink with warm and cold running water‎ in my room. And a bidet, oddly enough, although the toilet and shower is a few doors down. No heat, though. I'm the only person on this floor of the building, so the radiator is merely decorative. The good news is, it's cheap!

Later on I went down to ask if they‎ had any old newspapers that I could have, not only to stuff inside my footwear to aid in drying, but also to scrub the mud and grit and grass off the outside before it dried and caked on. The proprietor had stepped out, leaving his wife to mind the counter. It turns out that we each speak about the same amount of Italian, just not the same words. After a few attempts at communication, I was told to wait five minutes. (A note for people travelling cross-culturally: in my experience, "five minutes" rarely means a literal five minutes.) It didn't take me long to wonder whether my phone's nifty translation app could handle Chinese. Sure enough, it does -- both Traditional and Simplified character sets. Thirty seconds later, I was heading back to my room with several sections of yesterday's paper.

As shown by the photo, the coming days are going to be pretty much ideal for walking. I plan to get an early start and head to the town Salvatore told me about earlier today. It should be about 32 km, so even with a short break for lunch‎ I should arrive well before dark. The trail markings in Piemonte continue to be excellent, so I don't anticipate losing any time to wrong turns or sheer confusion. And now, to bed!