For all my pictures from today, click here to see the Google Photos album.
I had a fairly good idea that today was going to be difficult. The distance was fair enough (in the end, at 24km, it was about 1.5km further than I estimated), but it was the ascent/descent that was the real stinger. Back when we were doing the MacKillop-Woods Way from St Mary’s birthplace in Fitzroy to her tomb and shrine in North Sydney, Sean and I did one day along the coast where we clocked up 440m/-413m ascent/descent due to repeatedly walking down into coves and back up again. Today on the route from where I was staying in Campagnana di Roma to La Storta, I clocked 344m/-526m. So, on average it was downhill, but there was a lot of upping and downing in between. And the Italians have an endearing habit of building their towns on hills, so if you are walking between town A and town B, you can be assured of a steep climb at the end of your walk, just when you are already completely buggered. When it comes to walking in Italy, you can reverse Newton’s Law, and say that what goes down must inevitably go up again.
But today’s “down” was, as you can see, considerably more than the “up”, and the downs could really be quite steep. I started off the day quite concerned with the stiffness in my right calf which my myotherapist was treating before I left Melbourne. Lots of uphill walking does this. However, by late morning, I had shifted my anxiety to the possibility of developing blisters on my toes and the balls of my feet due to the pressure they were experiencing on down hill walking (something like a ballerina balancing on her pointed toes, I imagine). I cannot imagine walking today’s trail without (1) hiking stocks and (2) pressure pants. The first add an exceptional stability as well as assistance with both ascending and descending. The second is something I learned from Luke Mills, the founder of the Aussie Camino between Portland and Penola. He swore by wearing sports pressure pants for keeping muscle tone. It’s like bandaging your leg muscles, knees and hips before they go all wonky instead of afterward. It is essential to leave them on for at least half an hour after you stop exercising, and (in fact) right now I am wearing the same pressure socks that I wore on the plane to stop high altitude blood clots as they work brilliantly as supports for my calves as well. I will probably sleep with them on tonight and walk with them tomorrow as well. My Tasmanian pilgrim companion Josh calls them “elf pants”, and I know they look silly, but I don’t want to end up like my fellow VF pilgrim Roland…
But, as I was saying, I was concerned about getting blisters on my feet, and so I bandaged the “hot spots” (your feet warn you of coming blisters by continuous overheating in the same spot). However, after a while it occurred to me that I had been carrying my “spare tyres” – my Roman sandals, and so I stopped for the requisite tyre change. This was just after leaving the little medieval town of Formello and it was at just that point that the VF trail turned, for the most part, from sealed roads to dusty tracks, so my feet were liberally covered in the fine dust of the road. The experience of walking on dusty roads like this for mile after mile is informing for reading the stories in the gospels about Jesus having his feet washed or washing the feet of his disciples…
Still, blisters avoided, that was not the last of my worries. My final concern was the advancing rain. The AccuWeather app said that there was a chance of rain from 1pm onwards, and indeed I could often see bands of rain to the south of my walking position (I think Rome copped a shower or two). At just one point – just a few kilometres out of La Storta, a few drops fell on and around me, and I thought “this is it”. I considered stopping and putting on my rain jacket, but then everything cleared up again. A handy tip for avoiding rain when you are on pilgrimage: pack lots of heavy rain wear. If you do this, you will never get wet because you will never use it. It only ever rains if you are unprepared for it. So carrying all that additional weight is not useless. In fact, the rain held off for the whole day. But the weather was different. There was cloud cover all day, and although the breeze was mild to non-existent, it was also generally cooler than it had been the previous days.
The day started quite well. I had been up during the night writing yesterday’s account of the journey between 2:30am and 5:00am. I slept solidly for the next 1.5 hours and then got up and packed. Gianna had prepared a very satisfying breakfast. She apologised for there being no eggs (I hadn’t expected any!) and so had made me TWO toasted ham and cheese sandwiches. Plus croissant and jam and cake and juice – and an expertly presented caffe Americano, with several shots of espresso in a coffee pot, a teapot full of boiling water, and milk in a jug to add. Unfortunately, when I had finished packing, Gianna was not around to thank, so I let myself out.
The one draw back of staying at Casa Margot is the climb back up the hill. Just to get out of the little housing area is about a 30m climb, and then there is another 70m up over the Via Monte Razzano to rejoin with the VF on the other side. The one plus is the incredible 180 degree views from the top of the hill, including the whole of the vista to the south (Rome was down there somewhere, only 50km or so away, but not visible to my eyes), Lake Bracciano to the west, and a view of Campagnana di Roma to the north. And of course, once up, you have to go down the other side. After joining up with the VF again, more views toward the east open up. I would almost say to anyone coming out of Campagnana di Roma on the VF that they should take the detour up Via Monte Razzano just for the views, although this would add extra ascent and descent to a day already overloaded with ups and downs.
I was intrigued to see a cross on the side of the road with the Roman numeral II on it. Hullo, hullo, hullo, I said to myself. This just be a part of an outdoor Stations of the Cross, and I’ve missed the first one. I further guessed that it might have something to do with the repeated signs to “santuario del sorbo”, a 15th Century monastic establishment and church further down the road. Not having a devotion book with me, I decided simply to do the genuflection at each cross and say the Salvator Mundi at each cross. I missed a few, but that was absolutely where they were headed. Of course, the monastery was on a hill, but thankfully it was only a short way up. Inside, I visited the Blessed Scarament, but then retired to the back of the church to take off my shoes and attend to the “hot spots” that could become blisters, applying protective bandaids in sore spots.
As I was coming down the hill, I met the only other pilgrim I saw all day. She was perhaps a little older than me and was from Switzerland. I cannot remember her name or if she even told me (it struck me as we said goodbye that she used my name). Her first question to me about “gnocchi” – as in the pasta – as she pointed to her knees. Later I looked this up and realised that it means “lumps” or “bumps”. It could have been a reference to blisters but then I realised she had probably seen the strapping around my right calf (which I had forgotten all about – thanks Voltarin tablets!). She did tell me that she has been doing the VF for about 7 or 8 years, two weeks at a time during her holidays each year, the Covid years excepted. She was heading up the hill to santuario, so we said “Buon cammino” and parted. She was staying tonight at Isola Farnese rather than La Storta, so there is little chance we will cross paths again. [Footnote: In Italian this is how to spell that greeting – in Spanish it is “Buen Camino”. I’ve actually been more often greeted by passers by (especially cyclists) with “Buon viaggio”: Good journey.] Some time later along the trail, I was surprised to find that there was a rock with the Roman numeral VII and a cross on it. I guessed that there is another “Stations of the Cross” coming from the opposite direction to the monastery, although I had seen no others and saw no more.
Just after the monastery, the VF enters a National Park, the Valli del Sorbo. At this point, the “Itinerario Via Francigena Commune di Campagnano di Roma” – which officially started at Settevene – comes to an end, and the Via “pro loco Formello” begins. The Formellites have erected very nice little milestone style markers for the VF, pointing in both the direction to Canterbury and toward Rome. The distance to Rome is marked (the distance to Canterbury would have been a nice touch but was seen as redundant!). The first one appears just as you enter the park at 36km to Rome, and the last one I saw told me I was 26.9km from Rome. At the entrance to the Park, there was a creek and a small waterfall which I went down to investigate (and photograph). The slopes were very slippery with dust, and to do this with my full pack and wonky legs with my iphone in my hand was probably not a clever idea, and in fact I did slide the last metre or two (a small bush prevented me landing in the shallow water). It isn’t wise to take risks on pilgrimage. I, however, am not wise. The park entrance and exit both have livestock grills, and I was surprised to find signs of cattle in the area (which seemed to me odd for a national park), although I didn’t see any. It was more like walking through a paddock than a park. There were a couple of modernist sculptures about.
On the other side, it was a climb up to the hill on which the town of Formello was located. I had had a big breakfast, so here I bought three biscotti and a peach ice tea (thè pesca) and sat down to eat and drink it beside the busy road which runs through the town (the Via Formallese, which connects with the Via Cassia further south). I changed my shoes for my sandals, and was just leaving as I noticed the Swiss pilgrim had caught up and was in the pasticerria across the road. I could have been friendly and walked with her for a bit, but she was just stopping and I was just going. Formello has its own “medieval” section, which included a Museum. I went inside the forecourt, which had some interesting statuary and sarcophagi – and most interestingly some ancient Etruscan burial markers dating from the 8th century BC. However, pilgrims are not tourists, and I had to keep going if I wanted to beat my third worry about the rain. The ancient church was sadly closed for renovations.
Of course, what goes up must go down, and there was a steep descent at the other end of the old town down into a long narrow valley, which is a public park. The VF is the path that runs through the park. The route from here went through agricultural land – not olives and orchards, but ploughed and dusty fields, obviously in need of the coming rain. The surface of the VF trail changed often and was in some places quite stoney and irregular. I met a number of people walking their dogs – each one with at least three in tow. The Italians sure do like their canine pals. I passed a couple of signs commenting on some ancient Etruscan feature or other (such as a grave yard, or agricultural tunnels for diverting water through the rock hills), but none of these were visible from the trail. The path is nicely marked with the traditional rough-cut wooden fences. And there is a lot of up and down and winding round at this point, as the trail follows the Torrente Cremera, a rushing creek which flows into the Tiber closer to Rome. Here the wooden fences serve a good purpose: sometimes the trail is right next to rather high cliffs above the stream. Finally, at the far end of the park, the VF comes out on a road on the top of a high hill affording great views of the countryside. Then it goes into another paddock, this time owned by the Agricultural University of La Storta, and finally comes out just below the locality of Isola Farnese, which indistinguishably merges with La Storta.
La Storta is virtually a suburb of Rome – in fact, my hostess for the night gave the address of my room as “Roma” rather than “La Storta” – and looks entirely modern. However, according to Wikipedia, this is one of the places which the original Via Francigena pilgrim journalist, Archbishop Sigeric (d. 994), mentions in his account. Also according to Wikipedia, it is called “La Storta” meaning “the curve”, as there is a bend in the Via Cassia here. Roman roads being straight and all, you know. Cathy rang just as I was entering onto the busy main street, and we talked as I made my way to my accommodation. I had been in contact with the hostess of “Annie’s Room”, which appears to be a number of rooms in an apartment building, and asked about the option of using a kitchen to make my own dinner (last night’s dinner being so pleasant and cheap I wished to repeat the experience). She messaged me back to say that she had upgraded me to from a room to the “kitchen apartment” and had left the keys in the door of the apartment for me to let myself in. She would come around after she got back from work at 8pm to “do check in” – i.e. to get paid (I had made my reservation on booking.com but, like the Hotel Sutrium, it was pay at the property).
As I walked through La Storta, I noted were the liquor store (a sort of Dan Murphy’s) was, the Frutta shop, and did a google search for “supermercato near me” – which located a rather upmarket delicatessen style shop next door to a caffe/bar. It was shut, but I had determined to get to my lodging first and dump the backpack and wash the dust of my feet and every other part of my body first before doing the shopping. I went into the caffe bar, however, to ask for “il timbro” for my credential. They were a bit confused at first, but then worked out they could do it – and stamped it with their own store stamp, which didn’t clearly indicate their La Storta address. The location of Annie’s Home is just a few blocks west of the main street (= the Via Cassia), and walking there along the Via Braccianese gave me an initially poor impression of the area. Later, as I walked back to the shops by a different route, I realised that the place was actually fairly upmarket (judging by the cars and some private housing areas) for apartment style living. However, I was still under the impression of it being a shady district when I let myself into the apartment through a door which could have done double duty on a bank safe. I was still talking to Cathy on the phone as I did this (hands free – talking and walking!), and using the WhatsApp video function showed her around the two roomed apartment as I was discovering it myself. Again, my initial impression was not great – the apartment has only one window (apart from the one in the bathroom), heavily barred and looking out nowhere. Cathy thought it looked very nice – but the place smelled musty due to not being well ventilated. There was an air conditioner, which worked well before malfunctioning later on. Nevertheless, the qualities of the place grew on me later, and I do feel thankful for this space. It has a double bed, a single bed, and a couch, so it could actually accommodate a small group of pilgrims.
I said goodnight to Cathy, and discovered that the shower was very hot and effective on sore legs, feet and shoulders. Looking clean and civilised and with the moustaches waxed, I headed out to do the shopping. I got a little carried away, and ended up spending €18 euros – about $30. I spent €5.50 at La Frutteria for much more than I really needed, but the nice lady was giving me a fine little lesson in naming Italian vegetables. I bought four large vine ripened pomidori (tomatoes), a large peperone (capsicum), and two zucchini (thankfully we use the Italian name for that already). Another €4.30 went to the Dan Murphy’s equivalent. I noted before I left the apartment that there was no bottle opener, so I bought a 500ml can of Polish “Barley Lager – Extra Strong 9.0%”, and two 250 bottles of Italian red wine with screw tops. Practically every other wine bottle in the huge establishment were corked rather than screw tops. Also, there was no beer fridge – I had to put the can in the freezer for a bit before drinking it later. Across the road was another caffe bar, la Dolcecassia, so I went in to see if they had a proper “il timbro”. To be polite, I also went to the bar and ordered a caffe macchiato, which was served with the customary glass of cold water to drink before hand (to slake thirst and cleanse the palate so you can enjoy the minuscule coffee which you down in one gulp). The coffee was actually very good, and the DID have the proper official VF stamp. That box ticked, or stamped rather, I headed back to the apartment. The deli was on the way, but had closed for siesta and I had to wait until 4:30 before it opened. The nice man behind the counter showed me the selection of prosciuttos on offer, and I bought a couple slices of what looked like his best. He also sold me a small cut of nice firm cheese (he offered a taste beforehand). Together these set me back €8.20, which was quite a bit – but they were very nice in my dinner.
So, I went home, and although it was only 5pm, I started cooking. I didn’t have to buy pasta, as there was half a packet of cellentani – a corkscrew shaped pasta – in the cupboard. Apart from that there was some salt, some olive oil (in a suspiciously ancient slightly rusty green can with no label but only an olive design on the outside kept under the cupboard with the dishwashing detergent – I tasted it and it seemed fine), and some old spices designed to sprinkle wedges or chips. So, I fried up the ham, and then tossed in the other ingredients to make the sauce. I only used two of the tomatoes, which were deliciously ripe, and saved the other two for lunch tomorrow. I drank the lager while cooking – very nice – with a bit of the cheese for nibbles – also very nice. When the whole lot was finished, I mixed in the pasta and put some slices of the cheese on top (no grater in the house). I had more than I could eat, so I decided that the left overs would be breakfast (this isn’t the kind of establishment that does breakfast). I then began writing up this blog, and catching up on the Australian news and emails and so on while drinking one of the little red wine bottles (the other will go into my back pack tomorrow). So while the whole dinner cost me a bit, it was good, and I have leftovers, and still cost me less than eating out would probably have done.
Luisa, the lady who runs these rooms, turned up promptly at 8pm. She had a little bit of English, but spoke the words in such a garbled fashion that I realised how silly I must sound when I am attempting to speak Italian. It really IS all in the pronunciation. (This morning, Gianna was trying to teach me to say “confortevole”, and made it clear that I was not rolling my Rs enough or doing the bouncy up and down on every syllable sufficiently!) Nevertheless, she did make clear that she would be happy with only €40 for the whole apartment rather than the originally advertised €43 for just a room – about $66. When I compare this to the experience of staying in a cabin on a trip in Australia and doing your own cooking, I realised you wouldn’t get away with that for under $100 as I have done tonight.
Anyway, that was day four. Tomorrow I arrive (back) in Rome. Just before going to bed, I made contact with Derek and Nathan, who are both in Rome, and arranged to meet up tomorrow at the Vatican and have dinner together afterwards.
And none of my fears and anxieties for today – sore leg, blisters, and rain – came to pass. Lord, Jesus, I trust in you.
