Monastic Hospitality

Tuesday evening over dinner, Michael and I had  negotiated a nine o'clock start time. It was half past when we closed the door of the pilgrim's hostel in Piacenza behind us and got underway. Well actually, we walked about 50 m back the way we'd come the evening before so that Michael could have a look at the sports‎ section of the morning paper while we both drank our morning coffee. Call it 9:45 then, when we set out for Fidenza, some 32 kms away.

The rain that had been forecast turned out to be drizzle for the first few hours, with a steady breeze coming in from the left. ‎I kept my poncho on, since even a drizzle can soak a person to the skin if the exposure is long enough, and I knew that in our case it would be. The thing that amazed me is that Michael had no hat, hood, or scarf. He was walking through the blowing damp with his head fully exposed. Small wonder he doesn't want to walk in the rain!  (We stopped by a parish church later in the morning, and he was given a change of clothing, including two hats.)

There were numerous stops today, so in spite of our fairly constant pace of 6 km/h, we had only covered 15 kms by the time our lunch break ended at 3:00. With half the distance left to cover and his inflamed shoulder causing great distress, Michael opted to catch a bus to Fidenza and meet me at the Cappuchin monastery there. 

(We had tried calling them several times earlier in the day to give them a heads-up and confirm that we'd be able to find shelter with them for the night, but one of the numbers simply rang out, while the other resulted in a "Call Failed" notification.)

I arrived just as the evening Mass was ending‎. One of the departing worshippers took notice of me, dripping water on the floor, draped in a bright yellow poncho, with the bulge of my backpack beneath said poncho giving me a striking resemblance to Quasimodo. When I explained I was looking for a place to stay the night, she led me back to the sacristy where the celebrant was removing his vestments.

As I'm sure some of you have already guessed, their hospitality to pilgrims is not on offer year-round, coming to an end in October. The priest suggested that I find a hotel for the night.‎ I could certainly have done so, but I hadn't seen Michael anywhere, and he should surely have arrived long before I did.

I'd spotted a café in one of the buildings of the monastic complex, so when the parishioner asked what I was going to do I told her I'd get a coffee and warm up a bit.‎ As we were leaving the church, she pulled out her wallet and attempted to give me some money. As graciously as I could manage, I thanked her and explained that I have money. She was insistent on doing something, so I agreed to let her buy my coffee. 

As we were walking towards the café, Michael spotted me from the sheltered corner where he had spread out his bedroll. He joined us in the warmth and light of the café, which sadly was set to close in less than half an hour. Our kindly host seemed quite shocked at the notion that he was resigned to sleeping outside on the doorstep of the monastery. (Remember the weather forecast I mentioned yesterday? Yup, rainy overnight, temperatures hovering around 7 Celsius.) 

After paying for our coffee, she pressed the €15 she got in change on me, and this time I felt I had to accept it.‎ As we left the café, I asked Luciana (Lucy in French - we'd been speaking together in a language foreign to both of us) to pray for us as we continue our pilgrimage. She promised to do so, and likewise asked for our prayers.

Not ten minutes after returning to the corner of the  roofed walkway, the priest with whom I'd spoken earlier walked up and told Michael and I that we could sleep on the floor ‎in a room in a wing currently housing several Chinese refugees. Apparently shame is a more powerful motivator than mercy for some folks. 

Once he'd shown us to our room, so to speak, I pulled out the letter of introduction my parish priest had provided me so many weeks ago. The Cappuchin monk read it through and then asked it he could take it and photocopy it. (?) I wasn't about to say no, and when he returned, he handed my letter back saying (in the English he'd claimed earlier he couldn't speak), "This is most important." Strange.

Unlike the past few (open) parish accommodations we've stayed in, the heat is on in this building. There's a toilet and sink next door, but both my clothes and I will have to do without a proper washing until later. (Tomorrow? That would be nice!‎) My accordion-style foam sleeping pad has seen regular use as a seat cushion while walking, but tonight will only be the third time I've actually slept on it. My clothing bag (half full) will serve as a rather rank-smelling pillow.

For tomorrow, my guidebook lists two towns as having any parish accommodations for pilgrims: Medesano is 21 kms distant, while Fornovo di Taro is 30. Both have phone numbers listed, we'll be trying them both tomorrow, well before arriving. I suspect that we will be shown the door as soon as daybreaks tomorrow morning (i.e. 7:30 or thereabouts), so if we stop off in Medesano I could even sink-wash some clothes and still have time for them to dry overnight. We'll see what tomorrow brings!

Perplexing Pilgrims

To date, all but two of the pilgrims I've spoken with have been foreigners: Germans, Swiss, and English. (Well, there were six Italian women I met on the street, but our conversation lasted all of a minute.) The thing which I find most peculiar is that these two Italian pilgrims will not walk when it's raining unless circumstances compel them.

On the one hand, I suppose that's not surprising. After years of doing deliveries through all sorts of weather, I can say quite clearly that my least favourite weather condition is rainy with the temperature in the single digits Celsius. (Wind adds to the misery, but is not an essential component.) It's not weather fit for anything other than watching through a window, sipping hot chocolate while seated in a comfy chair next to a good fire. (Other types of weather are also good for this!)  Since neither of these two inclementally dis-inclined pilgrims face any sort of time pressure, ‎there's no good reason for them to expose themselves to the cold raw nastiness if they have the option to stay put and wait it out.

On the other hand, it's late November in northern Italy! What were they‎ expecting?!? The one pilgrim has a K-Way rain jacket and pant set, the other has a mini-umbrella and a lined three seasons jacket over a light leather jacket and no rain cover for his backpack. "There's no such thing as bad weather, only inadequate clothing." And yes, I know that I cut my first day back on the road short last week due to the rain, but that was because I had forgotten how to properly layer my gear for this particular type of misery.

This morning, my travelling companion had a quick look at the newspaper in a café. Later on, he mentioned it was supposed to rain tomorrow, so he would ask at the hostel tonight if we could stay one extra day. I don't *think* I looked at him as though he were daft, but that was certainly my internal reaction. I also knew that the weather app on my phone was forecasting a greater than 50%‎ chance of rain each day for the next six days.

When the subject came up again a little later, he mentioned that maybe we could start a little later than usual and hope to avoid the worst of it. That sounded better to me, but I'm hoping to make it to Fidenza tomorrow and take refuge with the Capuchins, which is at least 30 kms. There is another option some 5 km closer if we find ourselves benighted in the cold dark rain, but I rather fancy enjoying monastic hospitality again. (Plus, I still have that timer ticking away - averaging 30 kms per day gets me to Rome four days earlier than if we log 25 kms per day.)

Today, we took nine hours to cover 25 kms. Well, 29 kms, except that four of those were sitting in a power boat cruising down the River Po.‎ We'd set out at 8:45, having booked a 10:00 river taxi ride with the most memorable Danilo Parisi. Pilgrims on the Via Francigena who have met him have nothing but good things to say about this kind and generous man, and Michael and I are the latest.

After completing the 4 km passage, Danilo invited us to his home for coffee. We signed his impressively large pilgrim's logbook, and got our pilgrim's credentials stamped.‎ After chatting for a bit, he left us for a moment and came back with an immense loaf of fresh bread, some homemade cheese, and a good sized chunk of salami for Michael. He also gave us pretty good directions for the rest of the day's walk, and a few pointers for tomorrow. It was 11:30 by the time we took our leave, having covered 7 kms in three hours. Most of that time was spent sitting and drinking coffee. :-)

Michael and I powered through the next few towns pretty quickly, pausing for a brief lunch break about 5 kms outside the Piacenza city limits. Things slowed down considerably after that. Each subsequent time ‎Michael suggested a coffee break, I was all too willing to oblige, even though it takes me longer to get back up to speed the later it gets.

Eventually the sporting goods store that Danilo had told us about came into view, and we knew the parish office was only a few hundred metres beyond that. I looked at a few different shoes, and eventually settled on a pair that seemed like a good fit. I knew that I'd be replacing my footwear at least once this trip, but I thought it would be due to wearing out my shoes rather than the shoes wearing out my feet. Now all I can do is hope that the new shoes ‎work out better for me than the last pair did. I certainly won't be taking them back to the store for a refund!

After easing my feet into their new armor, we proceeded to the church office of San Lazzaro to sign in, get our credenziales stamped, and get directions to our night's lodging. The parish of San Lazzaro is responsible for ‎the pilgrim's hostel attached to the Church of St Peter the Apostle just a few kilometres distant. In the Middle Ages, San Lazzaro hosted a leprosarium on the church property. While that aspect of their service has been handed over to the state, they still maintain an active Caritas programme, providing food and clothing to the needy, as well as the regular activities of a large and thriving urban parish.

I'm not sure why the Church of St Peter the Apostle no longer has an active parish, but the adjoining hostel was housing pilgrims since at least the 11th century, when it was run by the Templars.‎ The Knights of Malta eventually assumed that responsibility in addition to their more martial duty of keeping the Roman bridge over the River Nure. According to my guidebook, part of that bridge can still be seen near the modern one. 

I don't know whether this building has been in continuous use as a hostel for the past millenium. I rather doubt it, but it's wonderful to see it returned to its original use. It was completely renovated in 2000 as part of the Year of Jubilee, and Pope John Paul II was present for its (re?)dedication.

And so tomorrow evening I hope to be in Fidenza‎, although it may be a late arrival. As I write this, Michael is looking rather the worse for wear, and asked if I could wait for him in the morning, "Maybe ten, maybe noon." Although he's a little on the chatty side for an extreme introvert such as myself, he's not bad company. Perhaps in the morning I'll suggest that he meet me at the Capuchin monastery, and let him decide for himself when he'll arrive. (sigh)

medieval hostel, Orio Litta

I'm sure this tower and adjoining hall weren't originally constructed for such a peaceful purpose as housing Rome-bound pilgrims, but it serves its new function well. http://flic.kr/p/pTZ2Cp

The keys to the city...

‎Today Michael and I decided to save about 5 kms of walking by following a rural road directly from Santa Cristina to our next destination, Orio Litta. Because we started early on a Sunday morning, we met very little traffic on the way. We had wondered what we would do about dinner, not knowing whether there would be anything open in a small town in northern Italy ‎on a Sunday.

We needn't have worried. About 4 kms from our destination, we spotted a supermarket on the side of the road, located between two villages. As we approached, we were delighted to see vehicles turning into the parking lot. This may have been the only store in a 20 km radius that was open today - certainly it was the only one we saw. If we'd followed the marked trail for the Via Francigena, we'd have missed it entirely. 

After roaming the aisles for a few minutes, we'd each selected what we thought would do for our next few meals. It's amazing how well one can eat on €5 a day!‎ And that will do for our meals tomorrow, as well.

We were in no great rush, since last evening, the priest in Santa Cristina had called ahead to Orio Litta on our behalf. The pilgrims' hostel in this town is run by the municipality rather than the church, but we were assured that our lodging would cost no more than Saturday's, i.e. nothing at all.

It turns out that our contact person in Orio Litta was none other than the mayor of the village. Pier Luigi Cappelletti unlocked the hostel for us and showed us around the retro-fitted medieval tower and hall, and then literally presented us with the keys to the city hostel.

On our arrival, Michael had mentioned I was having some issues with my foot, so the town doctor made a house call later in the afternoon. I knew that my blistered right foot had not been improving over the last few days of walking, but after having a look at it and then dressing my poor abused flesh, Luciana told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to walk for at least a day.

Pier Luigi stopped by to check in on us while Luciana was finishing ‎up, and he assured us there was no problem at all for us to stay as long as necessary. The pilgrim facilities in Orio Litta are wonderful, so staying here an extra day is no great hardship for us! He also mentioned that perhaps a journalist would stop by for an interview tomorrow. They've seen pilgrims a-plenty in this town located near the traditional crossing point of the Po River, but I gathered he'd never met one bound for Jerusalem before.

I hadn't reall‎y considered my trek of folly newsworthy. I'm not averse to sitting down (!) and speaking with someone. Having lost some weight over the past seven weeks, I'm certainly more photogenic than I was when I left home and took up the life of an itinerant. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

What it will bring is a follow-up house call to check on my foot, and hopefully give me a clean bill of health to continue walking. Once I arrive in Piacenza, my first order of business will be replacing my footwear and buying new socks!

This evening I finished reading The Canterbury Tales, and began reading Moby Dick. (Both in the public domain and available as a free download through Amazon‎.)  I don't expect to finish reading it any time soon (barring any further medical exigencies), but it's good to have something on the go. And now, to curl up under the covers with Herman!

Leaving Pavia

http://flic.kr/p/pSvPMP