This morning I wake slowly. I take my time. Breakfast doesn’t call. Neither does lunch. I have completely had enough of a diet of wheat and sugar. Italia’s pasta-pizza-pastry merry-go-round has me bloated and vagued-out. My ankles are disappearing. I’m no-good-reason tired. Even the yoghurt is caked with sugar. Mid morning I wander out onto the street. Last night was colder, much colder, than the night before. The dark clouds have set in and it starts to rain. I walk down to a farmacia and stock up on Compeed, the Rolls Royce of blister bandaids. I wander up to the park outside the station and wait for Ben. When I spoke to him last night he was only 15kms away. That would put him at the station by midday at the latest. His phone has died so there’s nothing to do but wait on a bench by the ugliest fountain on Earth.
I saw Ben across the road and let out a cooo-ee, which was promptly echoed by the men sitting around on benches in the park. ‘What’s that!’ were his first words. He meant the fountain.
He downed pack and had a shower in the room and then it was back across the road to the station to catch a train to Roma. We’d left Ben’s computer there for a warranty repair and this was our opportunity to go get it. It was great to sit in the window and watch for familiar roads and rest-stops, retracing the way we’d come from the comfort of a carriage. I glance at the roadside width and wonder about my sanity in walking such a fine line. That’s the thing with anything at all though, isn’t it – it always looks crazy from the outside. Anything at all.
Rome was an adventure. It was raining. I was still in my socks and thongs. We jumped off the train at god knows where and discovered ourselves to be god knows where. We walked and found the fringe of civilisation and the probable direction of the computer, which we’d dropped off on a whim during our pilgrimage out of Rome on Saturday, for no better reason than we walked past an Apple shop. Aha, we decided, a bus would do. And indeed a bus came along and we trundled along in the general direction. The bus came to the end of its line and we jumped ship for another bus until we figured we’d come far enough. At least we were in the thick of peak hour traffic. We tried to flag a taxi. We tried walking until we asked directions and discovered we were heading entirely in the wrong direction. At least, at this point, the lucky person we asked printed us out a Google map, so we began to get a grip on where we were going. We ran for a bus. Ben jumped on and it closed its doors. I ran harder to the front and banged on the door. The driver let me on. Ben and I laughed with the freedom of those with no dignity to uphold. We rolled on. We got off the bus. And voila! We were right across the road from the computer.
Phew, I thought. Mission accomplished. Great, said Ben. Now let’s go get some more hard drive.
I blinked and tried to make sense of this. We were going to cross Rome in the rain through peak hour traffic to another god knows where to find a shop we didn’t even know would be open by the time we got there. Okay. And so our mission began again. Bizarrely, our quest took us down the very street where we’d been lost on our way out of Rome on Saturday. We knew where we were! I pondered this, the number of times in my life where I’d been lost and within days had to return to a place I might never have found had I not been lost there a little while before. Uncanny.
Dripping wet and hungry, we sat in the shop while the Apple was brought up to speed. Then we backtracked, not the way we came – we couldn’t have done that if we’d tried! This time it was the sardine subway and then the lemming subway until we found the station for the train to Avezzone back on the outskirts of the city. It was 7.30; we’d left Avezzone at 1 o’clock. Then next train wasn’t till 8.30. We were hungry. Very hungry. So hungry I did something I haven’t done since I was 16 and the first MacDonald’s came to Canberra. I walked boldly and unapologetically to the counter and ordered a burger – bacon and cheese was the best I could do. I wasn’t so hungry I could go the pattie. Not yet. Not today. It was what might be called being grateful for small mercies – at least it wasn’t pasta, pizza or pastry!
As for tomorrow, to walk on or rest over, well . . . let’s see how the morning greets us.
Friday 28 September 2007
Pilgrimage from Castellafiume to Avezzano 27/09/07
Gim was picking me up at 8am so it was a struggle to drag myself out of bed at 07:30. There was definitely way too much wine drunk last night!
It was back to Franco’s bar for breakfast and I found out that he was a champion at boules. There was a boules court next door so he took me over to have some quick lessons. It was quite a fun game :)
The rain came down heavily last night but luckily it had mostly cleared up for me this morning. There was only five minutes where I had to take cover.
It was a great walk down the mountain to Cappistrello with an awesome view. I had told Steph I would meet her before lunch so there wasn’t very much time to rest. It also meant that I should take the highway as it was 7kms shorter than the smaller roads.
The only obstacle was a 1km long tunnel just before Avezzano. It had a small footpath so I figured it would be safe, but what I wasn’t counting on was it having no ventilation! About half way through I was having visions of myself dropping dead from exhaust fumes!
Steph was waiting for me when I arrived in town and I was exhausted! It was already past noon and I wanted to go and pick my computer up in Rome, so after a quick shower we went straight to the train station. Five minutes after the train left and I crashed out for the entire trip.
What a stressful day! To start we couldn’t find the computer shop again, and didn’t know what time it shut. Then they didn’t have my memory upgrade so we had to go to a different shop on the other side of town, which was going to shut in under an hour. No taxis wanted to pick us up, which I found very surprising for such a major city, so we jumped on a random bus that was heading in our direction. The Gods must have been looking out for us as this bus took us straight to the street we wanted. The only problem was that we were at the wrong end of the street and it was pissing down with rain.
About five minutes before the shop shut we staggered through the door dripping wet. All turned out well and I got everything I needed. My computer is now ready to start playing around with my video footage I have taken; I can’t wait to see what we have got!
We then had a couple of hours to fill in before our train left and I was starving! What I really needed was some McDonalds ;) I couldn’t believe Steph joined me. This is the first time in twenty-nine years I have seen such a thing. She’s a changed woman!
It was back to Franco’s bar for breakfast and I found out that he was a champion at boules. There was a boules court next door so he took me over to have some quick lessons. It was quite a fun game :)
The rain came down heavily last night but luckily it had mostly cleared up for me this morning. There was only five minutes where I had to take cover.
It was a great walk down the mountain to Cappistrello with an awesome view. I had told Steph I would meet her before lunch so there wasn’t very much time to rest. It also meant that I should take the highway as it was 7kms shorter than the smaller roads.
The only obstacle was a 1km long tunnel just before Avezzano. It had a small footpath so I figured it would be safe, but what I wasn’t counting on was it having no ventilation! About half way through I was having visions of myself dropping dead from exhaust fumes!
Steph was waiting for me when I arrived in town and I was exhausted! It was already past noon and I wanted to go and pick my computer up in Rome, so after a quick shower we went straight to the train station. Five minutes after the train left and I crashed out for the entire trip.
What a stressful day! To start we couldn’t find the computer shop again, and didn’t know what time it shut. Then they didn’t have my memory upgrade so we had to go to a different shop on the other side of town, which was going to shut in under an hour. No taxis wanted to pick us up, which I found very surprising for such a major city, so we jumped on a random bus that was heading in our direction. The Gods must have been looking out for us as this bus took us straight to the street we wanted. The only problem was that we were at the wrong end of the street and it was pissing down with rain.
About five minutes before the shop shut we staggered through the door dripping wet. All turned out well and I got everything I needed. My computer is now ready to start playing around with my video footage I have taken; I can’t wait to see what we have got!
We then had a couple of hours to fill in before our train left and I was starving! What I really needed was some McDonalds ;) I couldn’t believe Steph joined me. This is the first time in twenty-nine years I have seen such a thing. She’s a changed woman!
STEPH Avezzona 26/09/07
Avezzona, I’m very pleased to meet you!
Avezzona is like middle sized towns all over the world that are comfortable with themselves: modern and in no need of strangers. It’s a steady town with pretty shops and a great big square where the people gather in the evening. Here on dark, their newish church standing sentinel tall at one end, old people sit around on benches chatting in twos and threes while kids whiz round on bikes and the little ones broom toy cars around the fountain. Teenagers laugh too loud and grandfathers push prams. In Italy, I have noticed, men hold the babies. From Rome to Avezzona, it is the men, old and young, who hold the little ones and how they hold them! Firm and steady in strong arms, often gazing straight into this is my birthright eyes.
I spend the day wandering around town in socks and thongs. No bandaids. Blisters soaked in Betadine. Everywhere I walk, in a great loop from the train station to the old castle to the nearly-as-old church and back to the motel, great dusty hills ring the town. Avezzona is corralled by mountains. High mountains. ‘I hope Ben doesn’t have to walk over those mountains’ mountains. Waiting for snow mountains.
I sit in the square at lunchtime and sun my blisters. I am surprised how quiet it is. Then I notice the stall holders curled up sound asleep on a bench and realise that Italians too have their siesta. The town is deserted and the shops are closed. Until 3 o’clock. The cool breeze of autumn blows through the square, bringing with it a faint winter’s-coming chill.
Clouds begin to roll in from the west. Dark clouds. It’s cold when they steal the sun, which now shines only occasionally through swabs of blue. I wonder how Ben’s doing out in the forest. My spirit would love to be out there with him. My body knows there is nowhere else to be but right here in Avezzona, feet tucked up safe and warm between clean white sheets.
Avezzona is like middle sized towns all over the world that are comfortable with themselves: modern and in no need of strangers. It’s a steady town with pretty shops and a great big square where the people gather in the evening. Here on dark, their newish church standing sentinel tall at one end, old people sit around on benches chatting in twos and threes while kids whiz round on bikes and the little ones broom toy cars around the fountain. Teenagers laugh too loud and grandfathers push prams. In Italy, I have noticed, men hold the babies. From Rome to Avezzona, it is the men, old and young, who hold the little ones and how they hold them! Firm and steady in strong arms, often gazing straight into this is my birthright eyes.
I spend the day wandering around town in socks and thongs. No bandaids. Blisters soaked in Betadine. Everywhere I walk, in a great loop from the train station to the old castle to the nearly-as-old church and back to the motel, great dusty hills ring the town. Avezzona is corralled by mountains. High mountains. ‘I hope Ben doesn’t have to walk over those mountains’ mountains. Waiting for snow mountains.
I sit in the square at lunchtime and sun my blisters. I am surprised how quiet it is. Then I notice the stall holders curled up sound asleep on a bench and realise that Italians too have their siesta. The town is deserted and the shops are closed. Until 3 o’clock. The cool breeze of autumn blows through the square, bringing with it a faint winter’s-coming chill.
Clouds begin to roll in from the west. Dark clouds. It’s cold when they steal the sun, which now shines only occasionally through swabs of blue. I wonder how Ben’s doing out in the forest. My spirit would love to be out there with him. My body knows there is nowhere else to be but right here in Avezzona, feet tucked up safe and warm between clean white sheets.
Pilgrimage from Camerata Nuova to Castellafiume 26/09/07
Emillio drives the school bus in the mornings so it was once again an early start.The walk was amazing! I followed a dry riverbed up through a gorge and didn’t see a single person the whole way up. It was a really peaceful morning and I was feeling great when the valley opened up to these big plains with wild horses and cattle grazing.
My map wasn’t corresponding to what I could see so I was soon well and truly lost. I stumbled upon a little shepherd’s hut where I stopped for a rest, and while I was rummaging through my bag the cows must have thought I was there to feed them. Before long I was surrounded. The head cow with her big horns stood about half a meter away waiting expectantly. It was slightly disconcerting…
Luckily they let me leave without incident but I did pick up a big stick as I walked away just in case. Not that I think it would have been much good to me if they decided they wanted to keep my pack.
I then walked for another hour before coming across a crossroads with a bigger dirt track. The choice was up or down so the down obviously won out :) I was very pleased when a car drove past and I could ask for directions to confirm I was going the right way.
It wasn’t long before I was back in civilization but I was feeling well and truly buggered! None of the restaurants were open in Cappidicia so I was forced to have a couple of beers for some calories instead ;)
The next town was only 2kms down the road so I went to try my luck for some food there. I was in luck. I got a big plate of spaghetti and half a litre of wine, even though I only ordered 250ml, all for €7. What a bargain!
Darkness was descending as I set off for the last 6kms but after the wine it didn’t really faze me…
It was looking like rain so I was going to try my luck with the parish but the first house coming into town was a bar. I couldn’t resist :)
A couple of glasses of wine later and Franco, the bar owner, offered to let me camp out the back. So there was nothing left to do than wait for the bar to close…
As everything was winding up a young couple heard what I was doing and decided that I could stay in their mountain chalet for the night. It was great! I had the whole place to myself. Thanks guys!!!
STEPH Saint Casimato – Avezzona 25/09/07
Aaaah, yes, today I took the train.
Needless to say this morning we woke early, just before the songbirds and the first light of dawn. Given the cold-hard-tiles and the dogs baying all night beneath a big round moon, I was surprised I slept at all. Surprised further still to realise it was easier to get moving this morning than previous mornings, when most often I felt like a bandy-legged cement gnome getting out of bed.
Well before sunrise we were on the road again, mixing it with the workday commuters. So far, I have identified four kinds of people on the road - those who don’t see us, those who do and wish they hadn’t, those who see us with the air of the curious, the confused or the hostile and those who recognise us. The latter toot. They wave. They laugh and smile. A tractor driver took his hands off the wheel and clapped with glee. Fellow pilgrims sharing the journey, each in their own way.
The first light of sun touches the mountains. It’s a glorious morning and a beautiful time to be on the road. Sun flashes silver on the silver birch. Roosters crow from distant hilltops. We turn a corner and morning streams up the valley. The traffic is ceaseless. It’s an odd situation for the quick-reflexed, such as myself; laden down as I am by 20kgs I haven’t a hope in Hades of getting out of the way of anything quickly. I am, therefore, learning the art of thoughtful response to life and (imminent) death. Walk out on the road where they can see me, for example, as in this way I’m in a position to take a slow step sideways while the wheeled ones will make an effort to drive around. Trucks get a different thoughtful response altogether: press as closely as possible to retaining wall and pray they’ll appreciate my thoughtfulness. Right-hand curves and left-hand curves are a toss-up. Right-hand curves run the risk of cars taking them too fast and so slamming into me and the wall. Left-hand curves carry the novelty of making me invisible for all but the split second before they see me. Meanwhile Ben, with 2000 pilgrim miles up his sleeve, walks on with pilgrim’s purpose; they see him, he sees them and each to their own path. Life on the road. Literally.
And every now and then there’s a break in the traffic and the stillness of the mountains is breathtaking. I look up at the wooded forests and if there’s not boar in them now, there surely was once. A lifetime ago I was a hunter, for three years in the wild places of New Zealand. Meat for the family table. I raise my eyes into the clear-morning mountain light and my heart quickens, remembering what it was to follow the tracks of the wild boar through the beauty of the forest underbelly.
Soon we begin to climb again . . . uh-oh. Straight up. Steep. Hot. Exhausting. No breakfast . . . okay, a few bites of last night’s leftover pizza. Arsoli is another of those towns it would be easy to fall off. I think to myself I wouldn’t want to raise a baby here. We reach the top and collapse in a corner of another bar. This one doesn’t sell toasted ham and cheese sandwiches. It sells pastries. And Powerade, which is fast becoming my drink of choice. I’m rapidly losing interest in pasta, pizza and pastries. Have I mentioned I’m rapidly losing interest in pasta, pizza and pastries?
Sadness begins to descend and before long my spirit tumbles off the heights of Arsoli. We set up camp for a couple of hours in a little square and I take off my boots. Fortunately for me the blister on my little toe burst as I took off its bandaid, sparing me the decision about whether or not to pop it. My little toe was so sore, so blistered, so agonisingly red raw. Unlike Ben, I’m not committed to walking all the way. I’m here for the ride, to share this leg of his journey, happy to partake of some of the agony and lots of the fun. Not here to torture myself. And so we agreed I would take the train to Avezzona and meet Ben there tomorrow . . . or the day after.
We parted company at the station. It wasn’t easy, because this next leg of the walk would take him through deserted forest roads. No traffic. Pilgrim heaven on Earth. I sat at the deserted railway station feeling somewhat like the station itself – not quite abandoned. Loneliness pulls into the station. It’s been a wonderful week. London. Rome. Pilgrimage begun. A cat all the shades of yellow-beige sits with me, looking into my eyes. I am grateful for the company. I don’t want to be where I am. I don’t want to feel what I feel.
There are two human beings through whom, at this stage of my life, God speaks to me. One is Illumina, whom I think of as my Guiding Light (you can find her at www.sacred-relationship.com). The other is my Steadying Hand, and it is he who offered me the seeds that became the Eugenia Street Prayer.
As I sit at the railway station, feeling overwhelmed by my longing for ‘other’ and ‘the other’, it is my Steadying Hand that comes to me, in the form of line 3 of the Eugenia Street Prayer – I keep my puppy on a lead. And so I reign in my emotions and sit tall on the concrete bench, condensing time and space and all that I am to this moment. And voila! in canters my Guiding Light with her gentle reminder:
And my spirits lift. Loneliness begone! Let the journey continue. The train pulls into the station and within the hour I’m flat on my back on cool white sheets, pondering the fine line between receiving what’s on offer and asking for more; guilt’s triumph both. There is more to life than either . . . I’m looking for something outside of forgiveness, you might call it the jewel in the crown.
Needless to say this morning we woke early, just before the songbirds and the first light of dawn. Given the cold-hard-tiles and the dogs baying all night beneath a big round moon, I was surprised I slept at all. Surprised further still to realise it was easier to get moving this morning than previous mornings, when most often I felt like a bandy-legged cement gnome getting out of bed.
Well before sunrise we were on the road again, mixing it with the workday commuters. So far, I have identified four kinds of people on the road - those who don’t see us, those who do and wish they hadn’t, those who see us with the air of the curious, the confused or the hostile and those who recognise us. The latter toot. They wave. They laugh and smile. A tractor driver took his hands off the wheel and clapped with glee. Fellow pilgrims sharing the journey, each in their own way.
The first light of sun touches the mountains. It’s a glorious morning and a beautiful time to be on the road. Sun flashes silver on the silver birch. Roosters crow from distant hilltops. We turn a corner and morning streams up the valley. The traffic is ceaseless. It’s an odd situation for the quick-reflexed, such as myself; laden down as I am by 20kgs I haven’t a hope in Hades of getting out of the way of anything quickly. I am, therefore, learning the art of thoughtful response to life and (imminent) death. Walk out on the road where they can see me, for example, as in this way I’m in a position to take a slow step sideways while the wheeled ones will make an effort to drive around. Trucks get a different thoughtful response altogether: press as closely as possible to retaining wall and pray they’ll appreciate my thoughtfulness. Right-hand curves and left-hand curves are a toss-up. Right-hand curves run the risk of cars taking them too fast and so slamming into me and the wall. Left-hand curves carry the novelty of making me invisible for all but the split second before they see me. Meanwhile Ben, with 2000 pilgrim miles up his sleeve, walks on with pilgrim’s purpose; they see him, he sees them and each to their own path. Life on the road. Literally.
And every now and then there’s a break in the traffic and the stillness of the mountains is breathtaking. I look up at the wooded forests and if there’s not boar in them now, there surely was once. A lifetime ago I was a hunter, for three years in the wild places of New Zealand. Meat for the family table. I raise my eyes into the clear-morning mountain light and my heart quickens, remembering what it was to follow the tracks of the wild boar through the beauty of the forest underbelly.
Soon we begin to climb again . . . uh-oh. Straight up. Steep. Hot. Exhausting. No breakfast . . . okay, a few bites of last night’s leftover pizza. Arsoli is another of those towns it would be easy to fall off. I think to myself I wouldn’t want to raise a baby here. We reach the top and collapse in a corner of another bar. This one doesn’t sell toasted ham and cheese sandwiches. It sells pastries. And Powerade, which is fast becoming my drink of choice. I’m rapidly losing interest in pasta, pizza and pastries. Have I mentioned I’m rapidly losing interest in pasta, pizza and pastries?
Sadness begins to descend and before long my spirit tumbles off the heights of Arsoli. We set up camp for a couple of hours in a little square and I take off my boots. Fortunately for me the blister on my little toe burst as I took off its bandaid, sparing me the decision about whether or not to pop it. My little toe was so sore, so blistered, so agonisingly red raw. Unlike Ben, I’m not committed to walking all the way. I’m here for the ride, to share this leg of his journey, happy to partake of some of the agony and lots of the fun. Not here to torture myself. And so we agreed I would take the train to Avezzona and meet Ben there tomorrow . . . or the day after.
We parted company at the station. It wasn’t easy, because this next leg of the walk would take him through deserted forest roads. No traffic. Pilgrim heaven on Earth. I sat at the deserted railway station feeling somewhat like the station itself – not quite abandoned. Loneliness pulls into the station. It’s been a wonderful week. London. Rome. Pilgrimage begun. A cat all the shades of yellow-beige sits with me, looking into my eyes. I am grateful for the company. I don’t want to be where I am. I don’t want to feel what I feel.
There are two human beings through whom, at this stage of my life, God speaks to me. One is Illumina, whom I think of as my Guiding Light (you can find her at www.sacred-relationship.com). The other is my Steadying Hand, and it is he who offered me the seeds that became the Eugenia Street Prayer.
As I sit at the railway station, feeling overwhelmed by my longing for ‘other’ and ‘the other’, it is my Steadying Hand that comes to me, in the form of line 3 of the Eugenia Street Prayer – I keep my puppy on a lead. And so I reign in my emotions and sit tall on the concrete bench, condensing time and space and all that I am to this moment. And voila! in canters my Guiding Light with her gentle reminder:
I am the love of my life.
And my spirits lift. Loneliness begone! Let the journey continue. The train pulls into the station and within the hour I’m flat on my back on cool white sheets, pondering the fine line between receiving what’s on offer and asking for more; guilt’s triumph both. There is more to life than either . . . I’m looking for something outside of forgiveness, you might call it the jewel in the crown.
Pilgrimage from St Cosimato to Camerata Nuova 25/09/07
Steph woke me up at around 6am this morning and we were both looking forward to getting an early start. It was great to watch our first sunrise as we walked down the valley.We made good time and decided to stop for lunch at a town called Arsoli…yes, Arsoli :) I was pretty keen to find out if they made their own pasta shapes…I was thinking an “arsoli marinara” for lunch would be great! ;)
Steph’s feet were looking a bit worse for wear so she decided to catch the train a couple of days ahead and take some rest.
It was a different feeling once again being by myself. The best part is that there is no-one to ask when a decision needs to be made. But then when I was lost two hours later there was nobody to blame but myself ;) Arsoli lived up to it’s name by once again appearing in front of me. I had just done a big circle!
I was planning to get off the main road and head into the mountains and when I finally got going in the right direction it was beautiful.
At 18:30 I past through Camerata Nuova which was to be the last town for 25kms. Luckily there were heaps of people out and about because there were no signs to point me in the right direction.
As I was leaving town this little black kitten started to follow me. Sometimes I am a bit superstitious but I quite like black cats so I find it hard to think of them as bad luck. It was almost like the kitten was waiting for me to make up my mind because it kept to the left side of me and didn’t cross my path until I decided that there would be no bad luck if it did…
And then another 100m down the road, a car pulls up with one of the guys I had asked for directions, telling me that I was more than welcome to spend the night at his house in town. It was an offer too good to refuse :)
Emillio was his name after getting back to his house he made a wonderful dinner which we enjoyed with some of his dad’s homemade wine. What a treat!
STEPH Tivoli – Saint Casimato 24/09/07
Loving being on the road again. What is it about choosing such agony that releases the spirit?
We woke early-ish in our wonderful room below the castle, the best room we’ve had yet. It even came with shampoo!, so I got to wash my hair for the first time since I cut it off 10 days ago. Now I get to see what it looks like without fancy hairdressers’ gels.
And I’m loving travelling with Ben. We laugh a lot. His dad laughed a lot too. We wake to excessive traffic and people noises and wonder how on Earth such a tiny town high on a hill so far from the autostrada gets so loud and so busy so early in the morning. Ben is especially puzzled. ‘Italians don’t get up this early,’ he says, having walked through Italy’s north into Rome. ‘Even if they do, they go to the bars for their coffee.’ In which case Tivoli is frenetically un-Italian. A cool breeze blows through the shutters, drying the washing, and we’re pleased to meet a cloudy day.
I lie in bed and do a rollcall: big blister under the ball of one foot (in praise of Compeed) and a very sore little toe (nothing a bandaid won’t help). My legs aren’t quite as sore and my shoulders not as stiff. In two days I’m already feeling stronger and I’m sure as hell sitting up a lot straighter. We have brekkie near the castle, coffee and pastries, and two questions linger in my mind: 1. how did they ever get these things built before an invading army came to snatch it away? And 2. when (and why and how and what was it like when) did the castle pass from being pivotal to village life to being ‘the past’?
We load up with cheese and bread and chocolate for the road and by mid-afternoon, having taken advantage of a good-sized town to attend to the businessy side of life – including finding a decent map of the mountains, we were on the road. No doubt we took the long way out of Tivoli (we forgot to look at our map) but eventually fancy stone villas and city walls gave way to trees and fields and supermercatos in the middle of nowhere. Relatively speaking, that is. ‘Nowhere’ in Europe is a very different animal to ‘nowhere’ in Australia. As we walk along the backroads I ponder the wisdom of choosing the country roads over the autostrada . . . at least on the autostrada there would be room for us. On the backroads our path is a narrow strip of bitumen between the white-painted line at the edge of the road and a cement retaining wall dripping with blackberry snags. By ‘narrow strip’ I mean anywhere between 6 and 18 inches. Where new bitumen has been laid our path widens to 3 to 4 feet. The problem with this is that cars then cut corners. Our little path is like a parallel zone . . . as if we’ve wandered through the mists of time into an Otherworld, unseen and unacknowledged by those loud metal machines bearing down on us.
We stop by the roadside amid the brambles and rubbish for a rest. My shoulders scream and my feet ache.
‘Does it get any better?’ I ask Ben.
‘I assure you,’ he says, ‘it gets better. It doesn’t stop hurting, but it gets better.’
We roll around laughing. We share chocolate. I lie back on my pack with my face to the sky and, like turning a dial, the white noise of pain clears and I tune in to the world around me. Suddenly life is crystal clear and broadcasting all around. The tiny black berries high on the tree above, the red flowers on the tree across the road, the soft whistles of the songbirds and the slow yellow of the turning leaves.
Moving on is a lot like getting out of the water when you’re surfing – there’s no right time to do it. We load up. We walk on. Ben’s rhythm puts him a couple of hundred metres ahead. I enjoy the solitude, the wild fennel, yarrow, pennyroyal and mint sprouting along the roadside; it’s like keeping company with old friends.
We make it to Saint Cosimato and neither one of us is willing to scale those steep streets scouting for the possibility of bed and food. We walk on. We take a break for cheese and chocolate. We walk on. There is a rather closed looking restarante. We ask for pasta. They feed us. We ask for hotel. They shake their heads. We ask for camping ground. They shrug. We ask for ‘tente’. More shrugs. Our fingers make the shapes of church steeples: ‘tente’. They shrug again. We must look a little lost. Delirium takes a sharp left hand turn. They offer us their verandah, tiled and clean. We pitch our tents in the dark beneath a full-bellied moon. New tents, both. Neither of us has any idea how our tents work. Neither stands without ropes. We each tie one end to a table and on the other corners I post my sentinels for the night, delighted with their symbolism: a pot of rosemary (for the strength of women) and a money plant (obvious).
We sit at a restaurant table and Ben asks me how I feel. I say: Very tired. Very sore. Better than yesterday. Pilgrim humour being what it is we roll around laughing. That about sums up every day, said Ben.
Tired. Sore. Better than yesterday.
I lie down in the tent. The body remembers. Having walked the road to Santiago there is nothing novel about this pilgrimage as it lives in my body. What is novel is a land of no hotels or rooms or camping grounds; just the earthen-tiled verandah of strangers kind enough to meet the needs of those they don’t understand (linguistically or otherwise!).
We woke early-ish in our wonderful room below the castle, the best room we’ve had yet. It even came with shampoo!, so I got to wash my hair for the first time since I cut it off 10 days ago. Now I get to see what it looks like without fancy hairdressers’ gels.
And I’m loving travelling with Ben. We laugh a lot. His dad laughed a lot too. We wake to excessive traffic and people noises and wonder how on Earth such a tiny town high on a hill so far from the autostrada gets so loud and so busy so early in the morning. Ben is especially puzzled. ‘Italians don’t get up this early,’ he says, having walked through Italy’s north into Rome. ‘Even if they do, they go to the bars for their coffee.’ In which case Tivoli is frenetically un-Italian. A cool breeze blows through the shutters, drying the washing, and we’re pleased to meet a cloudy day.
I lie in bed and do a rollcall: big blister under the ball of one foot (in praise of Compeed) and a very sore little toe (nothing a bandaid won’t help). My legs aren’t quite as sore and my shoulders not as stiff. In two days I’m already feeling stronger and I’m sure as hell sitting up a lot straighter. We have brekkie near the castle, coffee and pastries, and two questions linger in my mind: 1. how did they ever get these things built before an invading army came to snatch it away? And 2. when (and why and how and what was it like when) did the castle pass from being pivotal to village life to being ‘the past’?
We load up with cheese and bread and chocolate for the road and by mid-afternoon, having taken advantage of a good-sized town to attend to the businessy side of life – including finding a decent map of the mountains, we were on the road. No doubt we took the long way out of Tivoli (we forgot to look at our map) but eventually fancy stone villas and city walls gave way to trees and fields and supermercatos in the middle of nowhere. Relatively speaking, that is. ‘Nowhere’ in Europe is a very different animal to ‘nowhere’ in Australia. As we walk along the backroads I ponder the wisdom of choosing the country roads over the autostrada . . . at least on the autostrada there would be room for us. On the backroads our path is a narrow strip of bitumen between the white-painted line at the edge of the road and a cement retaining wall dripping with blackberry snags. By ‘narrow strip’ I mean anywhere between 6 and 18 inches. Where new bitumen has been laid our path widens to 3 to 4 feet. The problem with this is that cars then cut corners. Our little path is like a parallel zone . . . as if we’ve wandered through the mists of time into an Otherworld, unseen and unacknowledged by those loud metal machines bearing down on us.
We stop by the roadside amid the brambles and rubbish for a rest. My shoulders scream and my feet ache.
‘Does it get any better?’ I ask Ben.
‘I assure you,’ he says, ‘it gets better. It doesn’t stop hurting, but it gets better.’
We roll around laughing. We share chocolate. I lie back on my pack with my face to the sky and, like turning a dial, the white noise of pain clears and I tune in to the world around me. Suddenly life is crystal clear and broadcasting all around. The tiny black berries high on the tree above, the red flowers on the tree across the road, the soft whistles of the songbirds and the slow yellow of the turning leaves.
Moving on is a lot like getting out of the water when you’re surfing – there’s no right time to do it. We load up. We walk on. Ben’s rhythm puts him a couple of hundred metres ahead. I enjoy the solitude, the wild fennel, yarrow, pennyroyal and mint sprouting along the roadside; it’s like keeping company with old friends.
We make it to Saint Cosimato and neither one of us is willing to scale those steep streets scouting for the possibility of bed and food. We walk on. We take a break for cheese and chocolate. We walk on. There is a rather closed looking restarante. We ask for pasta. They feed us. We ask for hotel. They shake their heads. We ask for camping ground. They shrug. We ask for ‘tente’. More shrugs. Our fingers make the shapes of church steeples: ‘tente’. They shrug again. We must look a little lost. Delirium takes a sharp left hand turn. They offer us their verandah, tiled and clean. We pitch our tents in the dark beneath a full-bellied moon. New tents, both. Neither of us has any idea how our tents work. Neither stands without ropes. We each tie one end to a table and on the other corners I post my sentinels for the night, delighted with their symbolism: a pot of rosemary (for the strength of women) and a money plant (obvious).
We sit at a restaurant table and Ben asks me how I feel. I say: Very tired. Very sore. Better than yesterday. Pilgrim humour being what it is we roll around laughing. That about sums up every day, said Ben.
Tired. Sore. Better than yesterday.
I lie down in the tent. The body remembers. Having walked the road to Santiago there is nothing novel about this pilgrimage as it lives in my body. What is novel is a land of no hotels or rooms or camping grounds; just the earthen-tiled verandah of strangers kind enough to meet the needs of those they don’t understand (linguistically or otherwise!).
Pilgrimage from Tivoli to St Cosimato 24/07/09
We had a lot of things we wanted to get out of the way before leaving today so it was always going to be a late start.After numerous phone calls, an hour on the net, and lots of shopping it was finally time to leave around noon. There was a sign out the front of the B&B pointing us in the right direction, so the map of Tivoli got left behind. A big mistake that was! It took us two hours before we finally reached the edge of town.
I went and spent a fortune on sound equipment for my cameras but Sony being Sony none of the microphone shoes fit!!! I was told the art of film making is the art of improvisation so I let loose with some electrical tape :)
It’s much more pleasant walking in the mountains. Since we left late we were not planning on going too far and were even thinking of having our first night camping.
After stopping for dinner around 6pm, Steph came to the conclusion that she couldn’t walk any further. There weren’t any hotels in town and after a brief discussion with the restaurant owners we received our first random act of kindness. They said we could camp on the verandah! This was quite amusing for us as we were in view of the open restaurant but it beat looking for a place in the dark.
I decided to have a couple of glasses of wine before bed but when I ordered 250mls I got a bottle instead!
Steph went and had an early night and just as I was about to abandon half my bottle of wine these three young Italian girls came and gave me a good excuse to stay.
STEPH Settecamini - Tivoli 23/09/07
We woke late in our fabulously overpriced little hotel room and its fabulously affordable and delicious pasta. We laughed about last night’s agony and delicately stretched, testing feet and bones and muscles for life. Amazing what a good night’s sleep can do. I tell Ben I need better socks, that all my pilgrim woes would be fixed if I had better socks. We laugh so hard our bellies ache.Today was a heading for the hills kind of day. By mid-morning (which in Italy is about lunchtime) we were on the road, fuelled by a typical Italiano breakfast of coffee and pastries. We walked along the edge of busy busy roads in the sunshine, all day. Tivoli, staring at us from high atop a distant mountain, was today’s Nirvana. The advantage of aging eyesight is that I just thought it was an interesting rock formation.
Walking along the road isn’t entirely unpleasurable, cars and trucks and buses barrelling towards us with the urgency of Time and Destination. Senses dormant kick to life. Fascinating to watch all these people, all of us, including us, all of us thinking we’re going somewhere. For every 1000 cars someone toots us, for every 200 cyclists we get a wave, for every 50 shopkeepers there’s a smile and sometimes even a hearty laugh. Life has very quickly been reduced to the simple things: food, bed, shade, smiles, feet. We took our first break in the middle of a busy traffic island, seeking shade beneath a bulbous billowy palm. As I peeled the pack from my back, the familiar stab of dagger-sharp pain between shoulder blades ecstatic with release, I laughed out loud as the three words that came to mind: painful, delirious, entertaining. This is the pilgrim’s journey. It’s madness, pure and simple. And we laugh, a lot.
It takes surprisingly little time today for the leg muscles to warm up and for my body to find its rhythm. In no time at all, pain gives way to warm breeze on skin and thoughts give way to clear blue sky. We walk all day beneath a pounding sun and the sweat pours off. Whether it’s the smog or the quality of the atmosphere, if this was Australian sun we’d have been fried. Shade was tantalisingly close, just on the other side of the road; but the only thing worse than having to walk in the sun is having that traffic come at us from behind. Often I walked on the other side of the steel traffic barrier, along a narrow strip of sodden weeds and rubbish, occasionally picking the seeds of wild fennel to roll between my fingers.
By late afternoon Tivoli had declared her hand as the interesting rock formation and I realised we were destined to climb that hill, straight up a narrow winding road in that relentless heat. Now and then, when the distance between us and the cars drove me over the guardrail, I’d shortcut through an olive grove. A few kms away a siren wailed and wailed and wailed from the top of the hill and I fantasised that it was coming for us. About a km from town I’d had it and announced I was hitching the rest of the way. Ben sat down in the shade and I stuck out my thumb near a driveway, giving cars room to stop. Ben started to cackle. ‘How long since you’ve hitched?’ he asked. I laughed too. Too long. High school long. Five minutes and no takers later I’d cooled down enough to make the final run to the top. This was a town so high you could fall off! And what a surprise was there to greet us! Tivoli was humming, Italianos streaming through narrow medieval streets lined with performers and a young man with three big dogs sitting mournfully in the shade, the dog bowl their begging bowl. Best of all was a most fantastic castle rising up from the earth, looking for all the world like a clever sandcastle. Sitting on crumbling stable ruins in the cool night air, we spent the evening listening to live music by the light of a near-full moon.
Pilgrimage from Settecamini to Tivoli 23/09/07
I had a great night sleep last night but my joy was short lived as there was no hot water for morning showers! We weren’t impressed!My body is handling getting back into walking a lot better than I was expecting. I have spent the last few weeks peeling huge layers of skin off my heels so I was anticipating blisters on top of blisters. But my new shoes are doing a wonderful job! I have gone back to wearing Gortex runners in lieu of hiking boots and the difference is amazing.
The walk was pretty boring, just following the main road due East, so it made for an uneventful day.
The last 4kms were straight up which was good to get the blood pumping. Steph’s blood started to pump a bit too much, nothing to do with the two layers of wool she insists on wearing!!!, and with 1km to go she decided to try her luck hitching.
It may have had something to do with me sitting 10m down the road laughing but she didn’t have any luck, and after cooling down decided walking the last kilometer was less damaging for the ego than continually being rejected :)
Arriving in Tivoli we found a great little B&B in the middle of town for €25 each. And what a beautiful town!!!
After a wonderful dinner and some live music next to the castle it was off for an early night.
STEPH Rome – Settecamini 22/09/07
We’re at the end of day one! . . . and the bones in my feet feel as if they’re about to cut through the skin on my soles. It’s like walking on tacks. We packed early to the accompaniment of yowling Roman cats and the bang-clang-thud of Christian bells ringing their dominion over land and life. I would have thought, if I’d thought about it at all, that the Vatican’s bells would be power bells, beauty bells, hallelujah chorus! bells. Then again, pilgrimage is all about expectations . . . more on that later.
I lay in bed in the early light of dawn, Ben sound asleep in the far corner of the room, quietly thinking about the road ahead. I brought to mind my creed for the road, the Eugenia Street Prayer:
Eugenia St Prayer
I respect myself,
I honour my creativity;
I keep my puppy on a lead,
I see the miracle in others.
Spirits high and packs heavy we wandered down to the Vatican for brekkie. The biggest decision at this stage, riding as I was on a caffeine-driven four hours sleep, was whether or not to have another coffee. There are three things, culinarily speaking, that I do not do – meat (vegetarian for 30 years), wheat (cells retain fluid and I swell up) and coffee (don’t sleep for days). Having walked one 1000km pilgrimage on a near-starvation diet (try doing regional Europe coffee, wheat and meat-free), I’m not about to repeat the performance. On day one of the road to Istanbul, I merrily tucked into all three.
The great gift of pilgrimage, and the piss-off, is that you get to shake hands with your own head trips; the ideas, concepts and musts that shape, and limit, our lives. Sure, in particular circumstances and times of life they serve us very well, so too as experimental phases. Yet when rigidity kicks in and we begin to punish ourselves on the grounds of what we ‘do’ and ‘do not do’, then the trouble starts. The trick is recognising trouble!
Morning coffees in hand, we played the first game of the Great Backgammon Challenge on the pavement in front of God’s Castle. By a throw of the dice, Ben was handed the inaugural victory. When he was a kid, the backgammon board sat perennially on the kitchen table, the first challenge of the day signalled by the rattle of dice on the wooden board. Summoned to the game, we’d drop what we were doing and take our seats at the table. It took him years to beat me and even now, his victories are rare. So I was happy to hand him the first challenge of the walk. ☺
We hefted packs onto backs and, raising our eyes to the light of our first sunrise, headed east. East to the east. We’d found it impossible to find a map, although in truth we didn’t try very hard; the sun was our guide. We followed the river awhile, the old buildings and bridges keeping time, until the presence of the ancients gave way to the architectural priorities of the 20th century as we turned roughly in the direction of Tiburtina Road, the most straightforward route to Istanbul. What once would have been a common procession of merchants, travelers and crusaders is now the preserve of the occasional pilgrim – or two. Lost, and abandoned by the usefulness of our native tongue, in asking directions to Tiburtina Road we were inevitably pointed to the nearest bus stazione! We finally collapsed in the corner of a bar for coffee and toasted ham and cheese sandwiches and a proprietor who spoke enough English to assure us we were entirely on the wrong side of town. Fortunately for us, Ben’s pilgrim nose is finely tuned and he led us over a small hill, which I like to think of as one of the seven famous hills of Rome (or is my ignorance showing again?), past the homes and lifestyles of Rome’s modern day middle classes, and onto the road to Tiburtina!
The clean streets of affluence gave way to trains and traffic and lots and lots of rubbish. Food was no longer an option and navigating the giant cement freeways funnelling traffic in and out of town was a pilgrimage in itself! Eventually we took a breather and lay in the dirt in the shade beneath one of the great underpasses, Ben sprawled out with his feet up on his pack. A bus went by and the look on the face of a young man on the bus, when he saw Ben, was priceless. Then he saw me and we both laughed out loud at the incongruity of the moment. Those smiles and laughs are the best thing of all about this journey.
Soon after we saw a hotel and, reckoning a good day’s effort, decided to give it away for the day. The innkeeper took one look at us and pronounced ‘full’, despite all those room keys jangling merrily behind him. We left, spirits undampened, thinking Motel Industrial was a strange name for a hotel anyway . . . Down the road aways, on the other side of the main drag, was another hotel. This time friendly – and also full. So we downed packs in the café next door and settled in for a cold drink and bowl of pistachios. A bed and breakfast sign with pictures of sweet yellow and white rooms, all shiny and beamy and beckoning, announced itself from the glass door of the café. A young bloke with long black shiny hair and three mobile phones was perched in the corner of the café, feeding one of three pokies in the room. The only one around with enough English to guide us, he said the shiny, beaming, come come come establishment was in the backstreets, about 500m back the way we’d come.
Now, lesson one of the road to Santiago was: keep moving forward. As is the way with us humans, lessons have a habit of becoming rules. And so, rather than turn around and walk back the way we’d come, we agreed to keep moving forward . . . and spent the next two hours staggering through an industrial corridor that looked like any other industrial wasteland in any city in the world on a Sunday afternoon – caryards, paint warehouses, abandoned buildings, lots of wire fencing, weeds with pretty flowers (thank god for weeds with pretty flowers). Nowhere to pitch a tent. Nowhere to grab a bite. Nowhere.
So here we come to the bit about expectations. Even though that sweet little yellow B&B called, I thought I knew better, that there would be another motel very soon. Why? Because I wanted one. Just as I made peace with my error of judgement, a small church came into view and we were returned again to civilisation. Church meant church steps and church steps, in the absence of anything else resembling a bed, would do me and my screaming shoulders and aching feet just fine. Ben thought I was joking. Not about sleeping on church steps but sleeping on those church steps. I’d failed to notice the church was old as the hills and its steps were about six inches wide, sloping and crumbling. Besides, there was an eight foot wire fence around it. All I saw was a bed.
Hallelujah! A (relatively) modern church spire rising from tall green trees a couple of blocks away signalled hope. I peeled off the pack and collapsed on a plastic chair outside the bar next door to the church, unlaced my boots and gazed semi-conscious at the clear blue sky above. The bells rang for six o’clock mass and the old ones of the town hobbled up the path and into the church. I vowed to not move another step. We could hide out the back of the church and get locked in after mass. The barman must have read my mind, because he told Ben about a motel up the road – across the road from the old church we saw first, as it turned out. So while Ben went to check it out, I, on behalf of my piercingly painful shoulders and agonisingly world-weary feet, made a vow:
I dedicate this walk to harmonising ease and effort.
I lay in bed in the early light of dawn, Ben sound asleep in the far corner of the room, quietly thinking about the road ahead. I brought to mind my creed for the road, the Eugenia Street Prayer:
Eugenia St Prayer
I respect myself,
I honour my creativity;
I keep my puppy on a lead,
I see the miracle in others.
Spirits high and packs heavy we wandered down to the Vatican for brekkie. The biggest decision at this stage, riding as I was on a caffeine-driven four hours sleep, was whether or not to have another coffee. There are three things, culinarily speaking, that I do not do – meat (vegetarian for 30 years), wheat (cells retain fluid and I swell up) and coffee (don’t sleep for days). Having walked one 1000km pilgrimage on a near-starvation diet (try doing regional Europe coffee, wheat and meat-free), I’m not about to repeat the performance. On day one of the road to Istanbul, I merrily tucked into all three.
The great gift of pilgrimage, and the piss-off, is that you get to shake hands with your own head trips; the ideas, concepts and musts that shape, and limit, our lives. Sure, in particular circumstances and times of life they serve us very well, so too as experimental phases. Yet when rigidity kicks in and we begin to punish ourselves on the grounds of what we ‘do’ and ‘do not do’, then the trouble starts. The trick is recognising trouble!
Morning coffees in hand, we played the first game of the Great Backgammon Challenge on the pavement in front of God’s Castle. By a throw of the dice, Ben was handed the inaugural victory. When he was a kid, the backgammon board sat perennially on the kitchen table, the first challenge of the day signalled by the rattle of dice on the wooden board. Summoned to the game, we’d drop what we were doing and take our seats at the table. It took him years to beat me and even now, his victories are rare. So I was happy to hand him the first challenge of the walk. ☺
We hefted packs onto backs and, raising our eyes to the light of our first sunrise, headed east. East to the east. We’d found it impossible to find a map, although in truth we didn’t try very hard; the sun was our guide. We followed the river awhile, the old buildings and bridges keeping time, until the presence of the ancients gave way to the architectural priorities of the 20th century as we turned roughly in the direction of Tiburtina Road, the most straightforward route to Istanbul. What once would have been a common procession of merchants, travelers and crusaders is now the preserve of the occasional pilgrim – or two. Lost, and abandoned by the usefulness of our native tongue, in asking directions to Tiburtina Road we were inevitably pointed to the nearest bus stazione! We finally collapsed in the corner of a bar for coffee and toasted ham and cheese sandwiches and a proprietor who spoke enough English to assure us we were entirely on the wrong side of town. Fortunately for us, Ben’s pilgrim nose is finely tuned and he led us over a small hill, which I like to think of as one of the seven famous hills of Rome (or is my ignorance showing again?), past the homes and lifestyles of Rome’s modern day middle classes, and onto the road to Tiburtina!
The clean streets of affluence gave way to trains and traffic and lots and lots of rubbish. Food was no longer an option and navigating the giant cement freeways funnelling traffic in and out of town was a pilgrimage in itself! Eventually we took a breather and lay in the dirt in the shade beneath one of the great underpasses, Ben sprawled out with his feet up on his pack. A bus went by and the look on the face of a young man on the bus, when he saw Ben, was priceless. Then he saw me and we both laughed out loud at the incongruity of the moment. Those smiles and laughs are the best thing of all about this journey.
Soon after we saw a hotel and, reckoning a good day’s effort, decided to give it away for the day. The innkeeper took one look at us and pronounced ‘full’, despite all those room keys jangling merrily behind him. We left, spirits undampened, thinking Motel Industrial was a strange name for a hotel anyway . . . Down the road aways, on the other side of the main drag, was another hotel. This time friendly – and also full. So we downed packs in the café next door and settled in for a cold drink and bowl of pistachios. A bed and breakfast sign with pictures of sweet yellow and white rooms, all shiny and beamy and beckoning, announced itself from the glass door of the café. A young bloke with long black shiny hair and three mobile phones was perched in the corner of the café, feeding one of three pokies in the room. The only one around with enough English to guide us, he said the shiny, beaming, come come come establishment was in the backstreets, about 500m back the way we’d come.
Now, lesson one of the road to Santiago was: keep moving forward. As is the way with us humans, lessons have a habit of becoming rules. And so, rather than turn around and walk back the way we’d come, we agreed to keep moving forward . . . and spent the next two hours staggering through an industrial corridor that looked like any other industrial wasteland in any city in the world on a Sunday afternoon – caryards, paint warehouses, abandoned buildings, lots of wire fencing, weeds with pretty flowers (thank god for weeds with pretty flowers). Nowhere to pitch a tent. Nowhere to grab a bite. Nowhere.
So here we come to the bit about expectations. Even though that sweet little yellow B&B called, I thought I knew better, that there would be another motel very soon. Why? Because I wanted one. Just as I made peace with my error of judgement, a small church came into view and we were returned again to civilisation. Church meant church steps and church steps, in the absence of anything else resembling a bed, would do me and my screaming shoulders and aching feet just fine. Ben thought I was joking. Not about sleeping on church steps but sleeping on those church steps. I’d failed to notice the church was old as the hills and its steps were about six inches wide, sloping and crumbling. Besides, there was an eight foot wire fence around it. All I saw was a bed.
Hallelujah! A (relatively) modern church spire rising from tall green trees a couple of blocks away signalled hope. I peeled off the pack and collapsed on a plastic chair outside the bar next door to the church, unlaced my boots and gazed semi-conscious at the clear blue sky above. The bells rang for six o’clock mass and the old ones of the town hobbled up the path and into the church. I vowed to not move another step. We could hide out the back of the church and get locked in after mass. The barman must have read my mind, because he told Ben about a motel up the road – across the road from the old church we saw first, as it turned out. So while Ben went to check it out, I, on behalf of my piercingly painful shoulders and agonisingly world-weary feet, made a vow:
I dedicate this walk to harmonising ease and effort.
Pilgrimage from Rome to Settecamini 22/09/07
There was a feeling of anticipation in the air when we woke this morning. Being the organized pilgrim I am it was straight into some last minute packing.It was strange walking the couple of hundred meters from the B&B to the Vatican, as it was the same walk I did to finish my pilgrimage from Canterbury six weeks ago. What a different feeling today! Now I am taking the first steps of what will be a 5000km marathon to Jerusalem.
Steph seems excited and also a bit nervous, and I think I am pretty much the same. But I am also feeling slightly detached. I know what I am getting myself into this time, which probably isn’t helping ;)
We picked up a coffee and some rolls for breakfast and interviewed each other on the steps of the Vatican.
It was a bit later than we had originally planned but there was still time to squeeze in our first game of backgammon. Steph and I have had a constant rivalry ever since she taught me to play when I was twelve. It has been years since she has been able to beat me and today was no exception :)
And then there was nothing left to do other than walk…
Not having learned anything from my previous 2000kms, we left without a map….and of course were lost within half an hour! A perfect way to start.
I was impressed with Steph’s patience (not one of her strong points), as she blindly followed me through the backstreets of Rome without a word of complaint.
Luckily we came across a hotel and they pointed us in the right direction.
My computer’s disk drive has been playing up so when we past a Mac shop I couldn’t resist the chance to get it fixed. It was going to take a few days but it would be worth the bus trip back to have it fixed.
Our goal was to leave the city limits before calling it a day, but after getting lost we weren’t holding our breath.
To make matters slightly worse, all the hotels we were coming across were full. I remember my first day as a pilgrim and I could see that Steph was ready to drop.
We did manage to finally stagger out of Rome and the first village we came to had a big church that was calling to us. The priest was just about to hold mass so couldn’t come down to talk to us, but from the conversation over the intercom it wasn’t looking too good. He told us to come back in an hour and Steph was saying that if they didn’t have a place for us to stay she was sleeping on the steps!
After talking to the man at the café next door, we were informed there was a hotel in town so I went down to suss it out. At first they also said they were fully booked but after finding out what we were doing they managed to make room. Thank God for that!
I have also been impressed with the change in Steph since our last pilgrimage together on the Camino De Santiago. During that month she had tried to get by without eating meat or wheat. It basically left her with a diet of cheese and fruit juice and by the end of the month she was definitely looking a little worse for wear! Thankfully she had a change of heart for this journey and is now eating almost anything…
Friday 21 September 2007
Steph - Rome 21/09/07
It’s midnight and we’ve been out doing what the Romans do at such hours – drinking wine and eating pizza. We had big plans for the day that included visiting just about every stop on the tourist circuit. Instead we managed a roam through the Colloseum and on through the ruins of the ancient ones, colonized these days by cats, and a private tour of the marble backwoods and byways of the Vatican. All the colours of the Earth are in those marble floors. We kicked off the morning with a visit to the venerable and affable Dom Bruno at the Vatican . . . once we got past the Polizi gang lurking in the shadows and the Swiss guards in their billowing blue and orange silks topped with frilled neck lizard collars. We thought they took themselves a bit seriously considering the jester outfit.Dom Bruno blessed us with the touch of St Peter and, farewelling us with the smile of the gentle, packed us off with a signed copy of a fat blue bible he bought especially for Ben at the Vatican bookshop. It’s not every day Rome receives pilgrims who’ve walked all the way from Canterbury. The Vatican is a parade of monks and nuns draped in fancy dress costumes from all over the world. Blacks, whites, greys and blues lined with crimsons and gold. Every nation has its Friar Tuck.
We queued for two hours and a good half kilometre to glimpse Michaelangelo’s iconic Cappella Sistina. Getting through the corridors to the great chapel was a pilgrimage in itself, past gigantic tapestries of the ages and the pope’s impressive collection of stone people and animals – for a moment there we thought we were in the castle grounds of Narnia’s Ice Queen! The mosaic marble centaurs on the floor didn’t help . . . although I’m sure the Ice Queen wouldn’t have bothered putting small cement leaves over certain parts of the male statues. Funny that the paintings high on the walls didn’t wear leaves . . . perhaps it’s because the statues are at eye level , , , ?
After the excitement of such a passing parade, we were in danger of missing the Sistine Chapel altogether. Now why did I think it was a thousand feet high and the really famous bit was an angel? That’s the downside of ignorance. The upside is that cities like Rome hold wonderful surprises. Like the colour of the sky above the Trevi Fountain at night – behold the blue of Michaelangelo’s ceiling! And the mid-afternoon sun blaring through the columns of the ancient city, daring us to naysay the Great Ones who built the old walls. And the Vatican itself, imposing and cold by day; majestic and bobbing about in the sky up there - backlit by a crisp silver-gold half moon - at night. If you plan to proclaim yourself God’s spokesman for all time, it’s a hard act to follow. What the medieval ones would have given for that lighting!
And now we prepare to walk into the dawn for the next 100 days. We thought a bloke who wandered past us as we shuffled along in the queue outside the Cappella Sistina summed up the road ahead with the perfect pilgrim t-shirt:
Free and Dirty.
Rome 21/09/07
Here I am back in Rome!!! The madness is about to begin again :)I have had a great holiday and achieved most of what I set out to do. I found a fellow pilgrim to accompany me out of Rome, my mother, and a production company interested in my documentary.
I would like to say that I am well rested but unfortunately it is not the case. My “time out” in Morocco turned out to be a little stressful, but overall it was extremely enjoyable.
Now I am looking forward to getting back on the road!
My last day in the real World has been great.
Steph and I headed over to the Vatican after breakfast to catch up with the man who is in charge of looking after pilgrims, Don Bruno Vercessi. It was a real treat. He guided us into the depths of the Vatican to give us a blessing and say a prayer. I was touched when he then took us down to the Vatican bookstore purchased me a copy of the Bible out of his own money. Thanks Don Bruno :)
It is funny…I was planning on trying to read the bible on the way to Rome, but didn’t find one on that journey. Now one has found it’s way to me and I am looking forward to exploring it. After, I also hope to find a Koran to read before arriving in Jerusalem.
After Don Bruno it was time to visit the Sistine Chapel. We endured 500m of queuing, endless corridors of the Vatican Museum filled with art and sculptures, which was great for the first 10 minutes, before finally arriving. I think if I had walked straight from the street into the Chapel I would have been blown away, but by the time I got there all I wanted to do was go and eat…
So we did :)
It appears that while navigating Rome as a tourist, you spend about an hour queuing for every 15 minutes enjoying what it is you want to see. The Coloseum was no exception, well worth the wait but it makes for an extremely tiring day!
After a delicious pizza, it was time to get our last sleep as normal people for many months…
Thursday 20 September 2007
Steph - Rome 20/09/07
Rome! Took the best part of the day to get here from London, most of it getting through security at Gatwick. What a gorgeous city, warm and friendly and pulsing with the ages. I can’t believe I’m here; had no idea how much I even wanted to be here! It’s great to be in Ben’s company again. Sitting at the back of the plane on the tarmac in London I realized that even though we’ve met up places, it’s nigh on 15 years since we have flown anywhere together – not since he said he was never flying with me again because I made him hurry to beat the queue through immigration when we flew to New Zealand when he was 15. We laughed about it as we stuffed our faces on Toblerone for breakfast . . . been a while since we’ve done that too! It was an act of culinary desperation, hungry and scrambling to spend unwanted pennies as we raced for Gate 105 before it closed.
Hardly slept last night, either because I’m still jet-lagged from the loooong flight over from Sydney or because I was excited about heading to Rome and beginning our pilgrimage. Yesterday, as we created chaos packing in Renee’s sweet little flat in the heart of London, there was a slight air of bemusement in the room. How I longed for the innocence and romance of the inexperienced as I eliminated my clothing down to a handful of garments. Even though the aesthetic mind mounted an impressive case for pretty choices, the rational mind, weathered from the road to Santiago de Compostela, won out: there would be only one change of clothes for the next three months. My hair went the same way. I’d like to say my golden locks were shorn as an act of reverence for a sacred journey. You might say this is a fringe benefit. In truth it boiled down to the shampoo – to carry or not to carry . . . not.
Yesterday and the day before and the day before that, tired and heavy from the 32 hours it took to get to London, my immune system struggling to win its weary war with a well-armed battalion of flu-germs, triumphantly as it turned out, the last thing on Earth I had the energy to do was walk to Istanbul. Then, in the silent heart of stillness last night, I opened my eyes in the darkness to see my pack leaning up against the loungeroom wall, looking for all the world like a pillow case stuffed with goodies on Christmas morning, and I smiled with the contentedness of child who knows she’s loved and the anticipation of a woman on an inbound outwardbound journey.
It’s a privilege to be sharing this walk with my son. We laugh as we roam the streets of Rome about the burning between our shoulder blades because we know it’s going to get a lot worse. We smile knowingly as we kick off our shoes with a tell-tale groan and collapse on our beds in the afternoon heat because our feet are hot and tired the walk hasn’t even begun. And we breathe deeply the simple pleasure of a motel room, across from the Vatican as its happens, because come Saturday, September 22, when day equals night and summer fades to autumn, even the simplest of comforts, a clean bed . . . or any bed, a hearty meal . . . or any meal, will no longer be ours for the asking.
Ben has a grace and ease about him at the moment that is uncommon in our world. The first leg of his journey, from Canterbury to Rome, may have been a quintessential rollercoaster ride of challenge and fun – yet it has filled him also with a lightness of being that comes to those who meet life as it presents itself in each moment. His is a steady eye and an open heart. This is the gift of the road.
Hardly slept last night, either because I’m still jet-lagged from the loooong flight over from Sydney or because I was excited about heading to Rome and beginning our pilgrimage. Yesterday, as we created chaos packing in Renee’s sweet little flat in the heart of London, there was a slight air of bemusement in the room. How I longed for the innocence and romance of the inexperienced as I eliminated my clothing down to a handful of garments. Even though the aesthetic mind mounted an impressive case for pretty choices, the rational mind, weathered from the road to Santiago de Compostela, won out: there would be only one change of clothes for the next three months. My hair went the same way. I’d like to say my golden locks were shorn as an act of reverence for a sacred journey. You might say this is a fringe benefit. In truth it boiled down to the shampoo – to carry or not to carry . . . not.
Yesterday and the day before and the day before that, tired and heavy from the 32 hours it took to get to London, my immune system struggling to win its weary war with a well-armed battalion of flu-germs, triumphantly as it turned out, the last thing on Earth I had the energy to do was walk to Istanbul. Then, in the silent heart of stillness last night, I opened my eyes in the darkness to see my pack leaning up against the loungeroom wall, looking for all the world like a pillow case stuffed with goodies on Christmas morning, and I smiled with the contentedness of child who knows she’s loved and the anticipation of a woman on an inbound outwardbound journey.
It’s a privilege to be sharing this walk with my son. We laugh as we roam the streets of Rome about the burning between our shoulder blades because we know it’s going to get a lot worse. We smile knowingly as we kick off our shoes with a tell-tale groan and collapse on our beds in the afternoon heat because our feet are hot and tired the walk hasn’t even begun. And we breathe deeply the simple pleasure of a motel room, across from the Vatican as its happens, because come Saturday, September 22, when day equals night and summer fades to autumn, even the simplest of comforts, a clean bed . . . or any bed, a hearty meal . . . or any meal, will no longer be ours for the asking.
Ben has a grace and ease about him at the moment that is uncommon in our world. The first leg of his journey, from Canterbury to Rome, may have been a quintessential rollercoaster ride of challenge and fun – yet it has filled him also with a lightness of being that comes to those who meet life as it presents itself in each moment. His is a steady eye and an open heart. This is the gift of the road.
Friday 7 September 2007
Latest News...
Things are looking good :)
I have had a great time catching up with friends over the past few weeks…It’s been wonderful!
The exciting news is that while I was in Amsterdam I was introduced to an Australian guy by the name of Tobe. He owns a production company, Forward Motion Media, whose most recent project has been producing a DVD containing exercises for people with Parkinson’s. He is extremely excited about my documentary and has inspired me to really make a go of it.
My boots should also be back for auction around the 20th September. It seems that eBay removed them because they said they were in the wrong category. They can’t actually tell me which category they should be in, but I will be a bit more careful next time :)
Now I haven’t been sharing any of my stories since finishing the Via Francigena, but what happened a few day’s ago is definitely worth sharing :)
It was the worst day traveling I have had in years…possibly ever!!!
My plane was scheduled to depart Heathrow at 15:40, but as the Tube workers were on strike, I figured I better give myself plenty of time to get there.
I had a few things I wanted to do in the morning before leaving so it was a rush from the start. Luckily though, the Tube was actually running better today than it does normally and I arrived at Heathrow with plenty of time to spare.
Everything was going well until my flight started boarding. As I stood up I realized that something was missing. I checked my pockets…my phone was there…my passport was there…I kept walking. The feeling didn’t disappear, I checked my pockets again…my phone was there …my passport was there…where the fuck was my wallet???
The last time I had seen it, I had just purchased a book with my credit card. While replacing the card I noticed it was upside down. I always take as a sign of bad luck and ensure that I change it the right way immediately, but this time before I could right it, the woman at the check out distracted me. That was the last I saw of my wallet…
From the bookstore I had only walked about 30 meters before finding a seat so I didn’t have too far to search. The woman at the bookstore knew nothing about it and the security said it had to be dealt with by the police. They explained that they were too busy and would take two hours to get to me, a lot of good that was going to do me when my flight was leaving in 20 minutes!
So there I was with no cards and no cash having to decided whether to board my plane or not. Morocco was not the place I wanted to be stranded without money!
I was just about to bail on my trip when I remembered that a kiwi guy I knew, who I had been speaking to a week before, was also coming to morocco from Sweden today, and was flying British Airways.
I decided to take a gamble. I figured there couldn’t be too many flights to Marrakesh with BA today, so there would be a good chance he would be on this plane.
The gamble paid off :) On boarding I was the happiest man alive to see a friendly face. He agreed to fix me up with some money so I thought all my problems were over.
Unfortunately I was mistaken…
We had a stopover in Casablanca for 45 minutes, where they asked everyone who was continuing to Marrakesh to remain onboard. While I was in the toilet they decided to do a baggage check of the carry on to ensure there was no unattended bags. Obviously mine was unattended so they removed it from the aircraft!!! There went my video camera, my gortex jacket and my mp3 player, just like that.
I have was informed that they would just send the following day but as I write this two days later they tell me it is still in Casablanca :(
They say that bad things come in threes and today was no exception…
After checking in to my hotel the stress from the day was taking its toll. I had these huge knots in my back so I asked the hotel manager where the nearest place for a massage was. He told me they could send someone to my room…this suited me fine.
About twenty minutes later I get a knock on the door and the manager asked if I was ready. I informed him that I was and he entered…
“You are going to give me the massage”?
“Yes, is that OK”?
I figured that if he wanted to make some extra cash then fine…I was too tired to argue.
The first five minutes were fine but then he went on to straddle me. I thought this was a bit odd and my suspicion was confirmed after he then proceeded to dry hump me!!!
“Mate, stop that”!!!
“What”?
“No, no, no, no, no”!!!
“What do you mean”?
I could see that he was genuinely surprised with my response, so I couldn’t help laughing as I told him that was enough and he could leave now.
What a great day!!!
Losing my wallet…
Losing my video camera, gortex jacket and mp3 player…
And then getting fucked up the arse by my hotel manager…
It doesn’t get much better than that, I’m just glad I had my clothes on or it could have been really ugly!
I have had a great time catching up with friends over the past few weeks…It’s been wonderful!
The exciting news is that while I was in Amsterdam I was introduced to an Australian guy by the name of Tobe. He owns a production company, Forward Motion Media, whose most recent project has been producing a DVD containing exercises for people with Parkinson’s. He is extremely excited about my documentary and has inspired me to really make a go of it.
My boots should also be back for auction around the 20th September. It seems that eBay removed them because they said they were in the wrong category. They can’t actually tell me which category they should be in, but I will be a bit more careful next time :)
Now I haven’t been sharing any of my stories since finishing the Via Francigena, but what happened a few day’s ago is definitely worth sharing :)
It was the worst day traveling I have had in years…possibly ever!!!
My plane was scheduled to depart Heathrow at 15:40, but as the Tube workers were on strike, I figured I better give myself plenty of time to get there.
I had a few things I wanted to do in the morning before leaving so it was a rush from the start. Luckily though, the Tube was actually running better today than it does normally and I arrived at Heathrow with plenty of time to spare.
Everything was going well until my flight started boarding. As I stood up I realized that something was missing. I checked my pockets…my phone was there…my passport was there…I kept walking. The feeling didn’t disappear, I checked my pockets again…my phone was there …my passport was there…where the fuck was my wallet???
The last time I had seen it, I had just purchased a book with my credit card. While replacing the card I noticed it was upside down. I always take as a sign of bad luck and ensure that I change it the right way immediately, but this time before I could right it, the woman at the check out distracted me. That was the last I saw of my wallet…
From the bookstore I had only walked about 30 meters before finding a seat so I didn’t have too far to search. The woman at the bookstore knew nothing about it and the security said it had to be dealt with by the police. They explained that they were too busy and would take two hours to get to me, a lot of good that was going to do me when my flight was leaving in 20 minutes!
So there I was with no cards and no cash having to decided whether to board my plane or not. Morocco was not the place I wanted to be stranded without money!
I was just about to bail on my trip when I remembered that a kiwi guy I knew, who I had been speaking to a week before, was also coming to morocco from Sweden today, and was flying British Airways.
I decided to take a gamble. I figured there couldn’t be too many flights to Marrakesh with BA today, so there would be a good chance he would be on this plane.
The gamble paid off :) On boarding I was the happiest man alive to see a friendly face. He agreed to fix me up with some money so I thought all my problems were over.
Unfortunately I was mistaken…
We had a stopover in Casablanca for 45 minutes, where they asked everyone who was continuing to Marrakesh to remain onboard. While I was in the toilet they decided to do a baggage check of the carry on to ensure there was no unattended bags. Obviously mine was unattended so they removed it from the aircraft!!! There went my video camera, my gortex jacket and my mp3 player, just like that.
I have was informed that they would just send the following day but as I write this two days later they tell me it is still in Casablanca :(
They say that bad things come in threes and today was no exception…
After checking in to my hotel the stress from the day was taking its toll. I had these huge knots in my back so I asked the hotel manager where the nearest place for a massage was. He told me they could send someone to my room…this suited me fine.
About twenty minutes later I get a knock on the door and the manager asked if I was ready. I informed him that I was and he entered…
“You are going to give me the massage”?
“Yes, is that OK”?
I figured that if he wanted to make some extra cash then fine…I was too tired to argue.
The first five minutes were fine but then he went on to straddle me. I thought this was a bit odd and my suspicion was confirmed after he then proceeded to dry hump me!!!
“Mate, stop that”!!!
“What”?
“No, no, no, no, no”!!!
“What do you mean”?
I could see that he was genuinely surprised with my response, so I couldn’t help laughing as I told him that was enough and he could leave now.
What a great day!!!
Losing my wallet…
Losing my video camera, gortex jacket and mp3 player…
And then getting fucked up the arse by my hotel manager…
It doesn’t get much better than that, I’m just glad I had my clothes on or it could have been really ugly!
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