Seashore Sunset

http://flic.kr/p/qgLD7k

A Choice of Paths

Contrary to my expectations, today saw me slogging through mud and underbrush, walking up and then down steep, slick, leaf-covered rocky paths, and also dodging traffic around hairpin turns. Not at all ideal.‎ The last six kilometres took me three hours, and it was all the more frustrating because I had already caught sight of the suburbs of the town I was aiming for.

The good news is, the forecast for tomorrow is sunshine most of the day. The bad news is, the off-road trails will still be as treacherous as they were today. The views from the ridges will be better, though. Shifting veils of mist, droplets of water shimmering on every branch and limb, and the muted sound of water dripping in a muted forest is wonderfully poetic imagery, and beautiful in its own way, but I've been moist for a week. Give me some of that famed Tuscan sunshine!

My goal for tomorrow is to reach Avenza and the sea. The first section of the walk presents me with a dilemma. Do I stick to the official Via Francigena trail, or chance the traffic on more sharp bends? The trail is 17.5 kms cross-country, and from the description in my guide, I expect it to take six hours. The road route (mentioned as an option in case of bad weather, with the appropriate caution about traffic) is only 14.5 kms, which I can do in three hours.

Another factor for me to consider is that, after having taken a wrong turn in the mountains two days ago, Michael is back on the road to Rome.‎ As I had suspected, his reluctance to do any strenuous off-road work had led him astray, and it was only after walking seven kilometres in the wrong direction that a kind-hearted local stopped and pointed him in the right direction.  He wound up staying two days in Berceto, so he would've been there when I walked through the town yesterday. Then today, since he doesn't have the luxury of paying for his own lodging, he braved the rain and the traffic and ground out 49 kilometres along the main road. Since he had no money, he didn't stop for coffee along the way, and he arrived at the parish hostel in Aullo a few hours before I did, in spite of having walked more than 1.5 times the distance. ‎ Mosquitoes may be annoying, but they are to be found anywhere on earth there is human civilisation. (Research stations in the Antarctic don't qualify.)‎ Hardy and adaptable creatures they are.

I was VERY glad to see that he had not wandered off the edge of a cliff in the dark two nights ago‎, but I was also rather surprised. Wasn't he headed to Parma to stay with friends? Well, he'd changed his mind. Fair enough.

Although I do love mountain vistas, I think I will take to the road in the morning. After today's trek, Michael (who is already snoring gently) only intends to walk the 14.5 kms to the next available parish accommodations. By noon at the latest, I'll buy him one last coffee (maybe?) and then continue on my way.

After parting company in Sarzana, I can choose to follow the waymarked trail back up into the hills and pass, among other sites, the marble quarries of Carrera, or I can find my own way down and along the coast. Tomorrow's high is forecast to be in the upper teens - maybe I'll go swimming!

So, lots of options for tomorrow. I wonder if Michael would be offended if I started calling him Smeagol -  it's a compliment, of sorts.

The Maestro of Hospitality

http://flic.kr/p/qdi8XG

A Parting of Ways

Knowing that today's walk would be challenging, last night I told Michael I'd like to leave by 7:30. It's only 31 km from Fornovo di Taro to Berceto, but the last two-thirds of that are very arduous, so I wanted to get an early start.

He was ready to go by 7:10. It took me another 15 minutes to get myself together. When I emerged from my room, I put‎ my pack down in the entryway and asked Michael to sit down with me for a moment. He was already standing in the doorway, but when I took a seat on one of the couches he came over and sat facing me.

Yesterday afternoon after I'd discovered how close Cassio actually was, I was pretty upset. Remaining in Fornovo di Taro after covering only 9 kms had been presented as a fait accompli. (That may have been a misunderstanding on my part.) While Michael snoozed the afternoon away, I had composed a brief letter and used my phone to translate it into Italian. Basically I said that we are on two different pilgrimages, and I wished him well on his, but said that I had to start following the path I need to take.

We were face to face and he could see there was no rancour in me when I told him that from now on, I would stop when I want to stop, and go when I want to go. He has said that he hopes to reach Rome in time to celebrate Christmas with his family. I had already told him I need to be there a week earlier, which means averaging 30 kms per day. (See my last update.)‎ He said, okay, he wouldn't stop so much at churches, maybe only once a day to get money for food. I repeated that his system is good for him, but I had to follow my own way. We shook hands, locked the door behind us, and went for a quick coffee.

Leaving Fornovo di Taro, there are two options for pilgrims to follow, one of which is waymarked, the other not. The unmarked way mentioned in my guidebook stays on what passes for a main road around here and skirts a small peak. The marked trail shaves a few kilometres off the other path, but it's fairly steep in both directions. This morning, we followed the marked trail.

It took us a little under an hour and a half to get to Sivizzano, a journey of 9 kms if we'd been following the road.‎ This is the town where I'd hoped to stay last night in order to get a jump on the grueling trek today. The priest in Fornovo di Taro had told Michael that the hostel was closed here, which is why he was so eager to stop walking at noon yesterday where he had been offered a free meal and accommodation. 

The thing is, when Michael has these little conversations with the parish priests, he always makes a point of telling them he has no money. (He's compared himself to Francis of Assissi in travelling this way.) What he neglects to mention is that the Anglophone pilgrim who's waiting outside in the rain *does* have money - and a credit card. Almost immediately after entering Sivizzano, I was hailed by a woman leaning out the window of her B&B. (sigh)‎ I could have slept in a place that didn't require people to provide their own toilet paper if I'd just walked another 90 minutes yesterday. (And yes, I do have a roll of tp stashed safely away in my backpack.)

Roughly half an hour before this, having covered a 250 m ascent and descent before returning to the road, Michael announced that he thought he would take a bus to Parma and stay with friends there. Could I give him €5 or €10 for the bus fare? Looking back on it, it seems either laughable or shockingly audacious, but at the time all I felt was pity as I told him no. (I'd decided yesterday that I would pay for his coffee this morning as a gesture of good will, but that would be the formal end of our association.) As I'd been suspecting for a few days, his talk of walking to Rome on a pilgrimage was talk and nothing more.

So it was that when he saw an older gentleman doing some yard work as we approached Sivizzano, he stopped to ask whether there was a bus to Parma that stopped in town. Maybe it was harsh of me, but when he stopped, I didn't. Nor did I say goodbye. I. Just. Kept. Walking. I'd said everything I needed to say in the letter and to his face this morning.

As I approached the edge of town, I spotted a small shop. As I crossed the road, I saw Michael walking about 20 m behind me. ‎Neither of us said anything. 

That's the last I've seen of him. I hope he found a ride to a town that does have inter-city bus service. For that it's either back to Fornovo di Torno or on to Berceto, and the priest in FdT is unlikely to provide charity to the same person two days running. I know that if he tried walking to Berceto, he's now hopelessly off course.‎ 

I know this because, having stopped at the shop I lingered a good half hour before continuing on my way. After reaching Terenzo, the marked trail veers off the very minor road it follows to that point. The narrow rocky path had rivulets of water streaming down, and further up the slope, several large patches of mud. ‎I did not see his footprints anywhere, and if he followed the trail, leaving at least some tracks would have been impossible to avoid. 

The previous few days have shown conclusively that ignoring the Via Francigena trailmarkings and sticking to the road can lead, not only to added distance, but also to lots of fast-moving‎ oncoming traffic with no shoulder to walk on. Yesterday and this morning demonstrated that sticking to the marked VF trail can lead through some very unpleasant walking conditions in late November. What I'm afraid Michael might have done is follow the VF markings as far as the village of Terenzo, look at the steep, rocky, watery track, and then decide to keep following the road. Since he has no maps or guides or GPS, he has no way of knowing that this particular course will take him 56 kms the long way around a mountain and across to the wrong side of the valley before eventually leading him to Berceto. If you are so inclined, please pray for the servant of God Michael. He's intelligent and capable, but that doesn't do much when stranded in the cold foggy dark of the mountains on a minor road at night, hours away from the nearest hamlet.

As for me, I arrived in Cassio by mid-afternoon, having had a leisurely lunch along the way, and even needing my sunglasses! (For about ten minutes, until the fog rolled in again.) I'm above the range of deciduous trees, and it was wonderful walking on pine needles and breathing the pine-scented mountain air!

I stopped for a coffee in Cassio, and discovered that my phone was picking up a signal again. Yesterday I'd contacted one of the two hostels in Berceto by email, and received the disappointing (if not unexpected) news that they were closed for the season. I'd written back last evening, thanking them for the reply, and asking if they knew of anything within 10 kms that was open. I'd heard nothing last night, and there was still no reply when I checked again this afternoon. After preparing my short list of Italian phrases, I called the number of the other hostel listed in my guidebook. No answer. The guidebook was published in January 2014, and besides ‎these two hostels, it indicates that there are no other overnight lodgings available.

Not knowing whether I'd have a place to stay when I arrived after sunset (4:37 today), I opted to make it (another!) short day‎. The person running the café told me there's a hostel that's open in Cassio, and if I wanted, he could call the person responsible and let him know there's a Canadian pilgrim seeking shelter. (And yes,‎ the guy behind the counter was speaking fluent English - always a bonus for this linguistically challenged pilgrim!) 

Five minutes later, I was being shown around the digs. Andrea (Andrew) turned the heat on in the men's dorm room as we walked through to the bathroom. Bath sheets! Hot water galore! A sink to wash my clothes in, and actual laundry detergent! :D

There was a huge pot of homemade minestrone soup simmering on the stove, the fridge was fully stocked with eggs, milk, juice, yoghurt, wine, and various kinds of meat. The breakfast nook had three kinds of cereal, multiple types of sliced bread, plastic-wrapped brioche (meh), teas, instant coffee mixes of various descriptions, jams and preserves, a toaster, a toaster oven, a juicer - no Nutella in sight, though. The main dining room had fresh fruit and vegetables on display for the taking, as well as an impressive selection of wines, cheeses, and cured meats. (This Nativity Fast, I'm abstaining from meat and eggs, but when walking as much as I am {or ought to be} on a daily basis, I am eating fish, oil, and dairy. God knows, and so does my confessor.)‎ The bar has a dozen different liquors (including some homemade ones), and there are more bottles of Moretti beer than one person could safely drink in three days. And all of this luxury was mine for the taking for the princely sum of €16.

Best. Hostel. Ever.

No WiFi, but hey, that's why I bought the Vodafone SIM!

The hills won't be as intense tomorrow as they‎ were today. I'm currently at 813 m above sea level and the high point tomorrow is only 1041. The road does dip down a bit, but I'm hoping to cover the 37 kms to Pontremoli in about nine hours, allowing for food and rest breaks. 

That may be overly ambitious, but I don't think it will be too difficult. In the flat stretches of the Po valley, I was maintaining speeds of 6 km/h even with my foot problems. Today I was travelling much more slowly than that - that steep gravel trail I mentioned earlier rose 500 m in 1.5 km. A grade of 30% may sound dismally low in an academic context, but walking up a slope with uneven footing and mud and water on that sort of incline is TOUGH! ‎If you can find a treadmill that allows for a 30% slope, strap on a 25 pound backpack and give it a whirl.

Anyway, my belly is full, my clothes are sorta clean and drying by the radiator, and I do not have an Italian radio talk show blaring away at me. Michael has a battery powered radio, which is turned on the instant he sets his pack down in a hostel‎. His favourite evening programme is called Zanzara - that's the Italian word for mosquito.  If you've ever been in an enclosed space with one, you'll know how irritating that can be. I really do wish him well, but it is a relief to have silence as a rule rather than an exception.

Two Ways

I've been planning this pilgrimage ‎for four years, and making serious preparations for the last two. I use everything in my pack, if not on a daily basis, then at least weekly. I've even been able to help some of my fellow pilgrims out with one or two things along the way. My pack is too heavy to qualify me as an "ultra-lite" hiker, but when I take short breaks, I don't feel compelled to remove it at every opportunity. 

Michael's pilgrimage is quite different from mine.  He is walking in the spirit of "Give us this day our daily bread" so in every village, he stops at the parish church and asks the priest for assistance. Since most parishes we've come across have a Caritas ministry, he's received changes of clothing, food, or sometimes €10 or more in an envelope.  More importantly, he's also received assistance in finding nightly accommodations for us. Several times, the priest has phoned ahead to our intended destination and arranged for us to stay in the local hostel.

Although my smartphone has a GPS app and a Via Francigena guide loaded on it, over the past few days, I have allowed my travelling companion to do the navigation.‎  He's Italian, and so he's able to ask directions from the locals we come across, whereas I've been relying on my guidebook. These two days have highlighted the difference between local knowledge and the knowledge of a specialist.

On Wednesday, we ignored the Via Francigena signs because someone had told him that following the Via Emilia is more direct.  (This road has a fascinating history -

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Via_Aemilia). While it is certainly a more direct route from Montale (a suburb of Piacenza) to Fidenza, it also meant facing traffic travelling at least the posted maximum of 90 km/h, and very often faster. This, on a road with no more margin than the width of the white painted strip on the road, in the rain‎. After taking a lunch break that lasted over an hour, we began walking again at 3:00. 

Shortly afterwards, Michael announced he was going to take a bus to our destination, and would meet me there. By the time I arrived, I'd been walking alone in the cold and the dark and the rain for two hours, with imminent death scant inches away. I was not impressed, but I let it slide. (And then the Capuchin monastery he'd been talking up offered us scant and grudging hospitality.)

As we were leaving the vicinity of the monastery Thursday morning, I paused under some shelter to consult my guidebook and GPS. While I was doing this, Michael again stopped someone on the street and asked for directions to our next destination. And here is where the difference between local and specialised knowledge became apparent to me. 

The old guys who pointed out the way to him have lived in Fidenza their whole lives. They've probably made the drive to Medesano ‎hundreds of times, but the directions they gave proved to me that they have never walked there. Instead of following the Via Francigena cross country along the hypotenuse of a right angled triangle, we wound up grinding it out in the rain along another set of roads with no margin. The first eight kilometres weren't too busy, but once we turned the corner, we encountered heavy traffic, with more trucks than cars. And as anyone who remembers their geometry will know, we walked farther this way than if we'd followed the VF trail.

Today I told Michael, in no uncertain terms, that I would not be doing any more road walking unless the marked Via Francigena called for it. (The trail was laid out by people who have actually walked the route, so they only put people on the road if there's a good sidewalk or absolutely no other option.)‎ It's unsafe, the paved surface jars knees and hips and oh-so-tender feet, and there is no way to relax and enjoy the act of walking or the natural world when heavy metal death is hurtling towards us through the rain.

We only had 17 kms to do today, prior to the ascent into the Appenines. The author of my guide book wrote that the following 23 kms is one of the most arduous‎ in the Italian section of the Via Francigena, so I thought it wise to break after four hours so we'd be well-rested for the next stretch. The guidebook also indicated that this upcoming 23 kms will take much longer than experienced walkers would normally expect.

Since we only had 17 kms to cover, I agreed to a later start this morning. It was probably 9:30 by the time we finished our morning coffee and set out, following the Via Francigena. For the first few kilometres we had a broad sidewalk with a crash barrier separating us from traffic. Then we branched off on a minor road with very little traffic, and then the trail led to a pedestrian walkway under the highway. And that's where the reality of November rain started to sink in.

The underpass was flooded. The next hundred metres or so we could see of the trail was flooded. At this point, we had no choice but to plunge forward. The water was over my ankles most of the way, so my new shoes have now been properly baptised. My old shoes were a good enough fit for Michael to discard the canvas sneakers he'd been given at a church a week ago, so he also had some good footwear for trail work.

The next half hour was mostly gravel, with some mud and water thrown into the mix. We also had to ford a small creek. After I'd made the crossing safely, I tossed my walking stick back for Michael to use. After finishing this stretch, the next town came into view and Michael scurried off to the church to talk to the priest.

He came back with the news that the hostel in the town we were headed for was closed - in fact, everything was closed until Cassio. The good news was, we could stay in the parish accommodations in Fornovo di Taro ‎tonight, and have a hot dinner for free!

That all sounded good, but we'd only covered 9 kms and it was barely noon at this point. (These little parish visits of Michael's tend to lengthen our time on the road considerably.)‎ Still, my shoes were squelching and the rain showed no sign of letting up. It's one thing to venture into the elements with a specific destination in mind, it's quite another to walk blindly, not knowing where or when you'll find shelter.

We were shown to the apartment set aside for pilgrims, and I wasted no time unpacking and changing into dry clothes. After lunch, I consulted my guidebook and discovered that Cassio was only 20 kms away. If we'd simply pressed on at noon, we'd have been there before nightfall, with the first third of the tough bit behind us. 

I was sorely tempted to pack up and head out again, leaving Michael asleep in his room, but by this time my walking clothes were no longer permeated with the warmth from my body, and enough time had elapsed that I'd wind up walking into town after dark again. I've done it before, andlikely will again, but steep ascents in the rain are best done in the daylight.

This decision has been days in the making, but tomorrow I will tell Michael that although we're walking in the same direction, we're clearly on different pilgrimages. If he manages to adjust himself to my rhythm, well and good. But I need to average 30 kms per day, every day from here to Rome if I want to spend any time at all in Greece. 

In the towns along the main Camino route‎ in Spain, there are pilgrim hostels in each and every one. Even walking in January, as I did in 2010, very few places were closed, and those that were had closed in order to renovate for the huge flood of pilgrims expected later that Jubilee Year. By way of contrast, very few of the villages I've walked through in northern Italy have overnight accommodations of any sort. If you're not staying with family, you're not staying. (Or you're sleeping on the street, which Michael has done several times.)‎ 

This means it's not simply a matter of walking 30 kms and stopping at the next village. I've spent several hours looking ahead through my guidebook, identifying which towns have lodgings available, and then trying to work out reasonable daily distances for me to cover. That's why I had planned to do 17 kms today, although if I'd learned about the distance to Cassio sooner, I'd have gladly done the 29 to get a jump on the next day.

The other factor in my calculations for the next few days of walking is the weather forecast. Saturday is the best it's going to get in this area until the middle of next week. I'll take a 20% chance of 3 mm worth of rain when attempting a mountain crossing, thank you very much!

As it is, tomorrow I'll do the eight kilometres left over from today, and then start the long hard climb up to Berceto. Still, it's only a 650 m rise in elevation over a 23 km distance. Compared to what I faced over a month ago in Switzerland, it should be relatively easy, especially since I've lost weight and my cardio fitness has improved.

One positive aspect to my unexpected halt is that it was in a town large enough to have a laundromat. My clothes are now clean and stink-free -- well, except for what I was wearing. Shoulda brought a blanket to change into, I guess!