Linda Stanley

Musings

Walking through Italy, visiting cities and towns, I could not help but be impressed by the solid, sturdy construction of Italian roads and buildings. Like ancient Roman constructions, modern Italian constructions look like they are built to last....and last....and last. With thousands of years of practice, I guess they have had time to perfect the art of road building, and monument construction. :-)

I then got to thinking about other cultures. If Italians contribution to the global community is construction, (and who builds rock walls in Australia better than an Italian stonemason? )

Then what do other cultures contribute to the global community?

The obvious one that came to mind was the Germans. German engineering must lead the world. Look at German cars and German tools - none better. So Germans contribute engineering skills to the global village.

What then do the French contribute to the global community? Hmmm.. their food is good, but so is Italian and Spanish. In fact, I would say in my opinion, Italian and Spanish are equally good if not better - French cuisine, while delighful, is a little rich for my liking. French cheeses are wonderful, but so are Italian cheeses. French fashion is great, but so is Italian. Okay trying to define what the French uniquely contribute to the global community is a little too hard for tonights musings.

What then about the British? My ancestry is British, my parents were Brits, but trying to think through what the Brits contribute to the global community is even harder than trying to think through the French contribution. Sorry mum and dad. Well, I guess there is manners. The Brits do seem to be more polite than a lot of races. Italians barging onto ferries comes to mind. that would never happen in Britain. Spaniards, Indians and Italians queue jumping - that would never happen in Britain. Ok, I guess the Brits could teach the world some manners. Happy mum?

An area where us anglo-philes do fall down badly is in the sense of community. Italians, and indeed many other cultures, including South East Asian cultures, have a strong cohesive sense of community that is amazing to this Australian outsider.

I lived in Indonesia for several months. There, the whole community feels a sense of responsibility for each other. If a child misbehaves in the street, any member of the community that is nearby will chastise the child, and send it home with a few harsh words, or a clip over the ear. The parents will hear about the mischief often before the child even makes it home, and the parents will chastise the child again for being chastised. The result is that kids actually generally behave themselves. Why play up when there is no way they can get away with it?

The sense of community responsibility is so strong in Central Java, that I was unable to take my normal evening walking exercise. Why? Because women are not supposed to walk unaccompanied in the strongly Muslim country. I felt that as an obvious foreigner, I could get away with taking my exercise. Wrong! Each evening for the first few weeks I would set off at a brisk pace. Within 100 metres of home, one of the local gents, would pull up alongside me on his scooter, and invite me to get on the back of the scooter, saying "I will accompany you home sister Linda".

No amount of explanation on my part about customs in my country, or the need for exercise, would sway his gentle encouragement to get on his scooter so he could take me home. His intentions were to protect my honour. I tried for several weeks to win the argument to take some regular exercise. But I never made it more than 150 metres from home before he turned up saying "I will accompany you home sister Linda". I had to get on the scooter and he would take me to my door and bid my goodnight.

In the end I bought a bicycle. I got my exercise that way. So Indonesia, other South East Asian countries and some European countries, such as Italy, could constribute a sense of community to the global village.

What can other countries contribute to the global village I wonder?

Day 8 - Milan

Exhaustion has set in today.  I just want to sleep.  I feel like a lead weight.  Today will have to be a rest day.  I slept till noon.

Day Seven – Luni back to Sarzana

Got on the bus this morning in Luni and asked the driver the cost. He shook his head and waved me in to the bus.

Was it because I am a pilgrim, i wondered, or should I have bought a ticket somewhere else? Confused, but grateful, I perched myself with my pack still on my back onto a seat and enhoyed the ride to Sarzana.

Back in Sarzana I asked the bus driver what direction the railway stations was. He pointed me the right and off I trotted. At the railway station, I discovered my wallet was missing. Shock! Horror!

I ran back to the bus terminal. I knew I had the wallet on the bus. I must ghave dropped in on the seat in all my confusion. The bus had gone. Mio Dio! What was I gong to do now?

At the ticket office I explained as best <i could to the man behind the window what had happened. He shrugged his shoulders and said something that sounded like there was nothing he could do and maybe it had been stoken.

I asked him if the bus driver had a phone. I felt sure that if the bus driver found the wallet he would hand it in. There had been four middle aged housewives on the bus, I felt that if any of them had found it they would hand it in too. But if anyone else got ont he bus after me – well – goodbye wallet.

'Non?, he said, the driver did not have aphone. Come back at 4pm when the bus returns, I thought he way satying, but I was flustered and not really certain. I looked around at the queue behind me 'anyone speak Englihs?' I asked. A lot shaking of heads followed. Then a woman came up and said in Italian something about the police and I gathered she was offering to take to the police station.

We set off at a run. At the police station she ran back to catch her bus and I tried to convicne a disintrested police man that I should file a report. Phone the bus company he seemed to be saying. I tried to give him my name and details but he didn't want to know.

My credit cards were in my wallet. I had some Auistralian dollars in my money, but unless I found accommodation in convents I was not going to have enough money to last until John arrives on Friday. I needed abank now to change my Australian dollars into euro.

The bank teller spoke English. It was such a relief to be able to converse. I told him story. He was very sympathetic but told me my wallet was probably stolen at the train station. That happens in Italy he said. I din't really need to hear that. I had heard all the stories about pick pockets in italy. But I was trying to stay positive and hopeful until I had to accept otherwise, and that was a 4pm when the bus returned.

Now I needed a toilet and I was hungry. I knew there was a free toilet at the railway station and a bar – the food there was probably cheap. If I didn't get my wallet back I now had to budget my money very carefully.

I walked intot he bar to check out the price of the paninis. As I looked at the rolls, someone tapped me on the shoulder. In my tense state, I was startled to say the least.

'Did you find the Via Francigen?' a man asked. I recognised him as being someone I had asked directions yesterday. I told him what had happened. The bar tender over heard – and he spoke English.

It was now 2 hours since I lost my wallet. He offered to phone the bus company and handle it for me in Italian. A few minutes later, he hung up the phone smiling. 'You are lucky, the wallet has been found.

I ran back to the bus terminal.  Thew man at the ticket office smiled at my excited query and wrote a phone number on a piece of paper and told me to phone the number.  I thought he was saying that the wallet is at Aulla.

I rang the number and gathered I thought that yes the wallet was at Aulla but I could not understand where in Aulla.  Una momento I asked the man and ran back to the railway station to the bar.  I asked the bar tender to call and find out where in Aulla I had to go to collect the wallet.  He was happy to help.  At the railway station in the bar at 5.30pm a man would arrive with my wallet I was to wait for him there until then.

Grazxie, Grazie.  Back to the bus terminal I aksed the man behind the window of the ticket office, where I should catch the bus to Aulla.  He sold me a ticket and pointed at a waiting bus gesticulating urgently.  I raced over and jumped ont he bus.

Some time later, as there were nos signs on the towns that we passed as we headed back up into the mountians, I noticed road signs appearing for Aulla.  Good.  then as we turned away from where the signs were pointing I wondered now, are we taking a detour to pick up villagers or do I have a problem here.

I asked the bus driver to tell me when we were in the vicinity of the Aulla railway station.  A look of horror on his face told me that yes, we do have a problem.  He stopped the bus in the middle of the road.  Definitely do have a problem here.  He prattled away about something about a bridge, and 5 or 6 kilometres back.  I gathered that is where I should have got off. 

Another 5 or 6 kilometreds back to the bridge somewhere in Tuscany and around the corner I found a bus stop with a timetable on it that had a listing for Aulla.  I had just missed a bus by 15 minutes and had 45 minutes to wait for the next - I thought.

Once in Aulla, the railway station was another 5 or 6 kilometres away from the bus terminal - silly town!  I got the railway station at around 4.30pm and waited.  At 5.30pm a man walked in as though he was looking for someone.

'Linda Stanley?' I asked him.  He looked relieved.  He piled me into his car and took me back to his office.  Retrieved my wallet from his safe and offered me a coffee to celebrate.  It was a strong desterspoon of coffee and a desertspoon of sugar stirred into it.

Grazie, I said as we downed the celebratory drink.

It was close to midnight before I reached Milan and began walking to find a hotel for the night.  Phew!

Day Six – Sarzana to Luni

This is the beginning of the section of the trek that I have been looking forward to – (1) Tuscany and (2) no more mountains.

Trying to find the way of Sdarzana though was very difficult. Around 80% of the people I asked had never heard of the Via Francigena and of the other 20%, nobody seemed to know, or agree, on where it probably was.

The maps I had didn't help. I had three different maps of the Via Francigena and each showed an entirely different route.

I found this problem all along the way, but now it was ridiculous as being in a city, the number of road otpionss to choose from, made finding a correct route a huge challenge.

The authors of the Lightfoot Guidebook, created their own route, which mostly did not follow the Via Francigena markers when they did exits, and thus only added to the total confusion of the trek.

I knew the Via Francigena went through Luni, and there was an ancient monument in Luni that was worth seeing. So I decided finally that the only logical option was to do as the Lightfoot Guide had recommended and take the main road.

Big mistake! I found Luni, but the road was a busy one, narrow and winding with crash barriers on the sides. It was dangerous as cars hooned round the bends and there was again nowhere for me to escape. I could see myself getting plstered against a crash barrier by an Italian practicing for the Grand Prix.

Walking on the hard bitumen was sending sharp shooting burning knives of pain through my feet. To make it worse, I had been expecting scenic countryside and quaint villages, but the road wound through an urban area – so boring.

I am feeling fed up with the bad signage, a trail that is difficult to find, putting my life at risk walking on dangerous roads. And now it is ugly boring suburbia. To top it all off, it is very lonely. It is certainly not a trail to walk alone. On the Via Francigena the lack of pilgrim refuges means you have to expensive hotels and that in turn means at the end of the day you are alone yet again.

Very few people have even heard of the Via Francigena so trying to find it, or stay on it, is a daily challenge.

Tonight I stripped off to have a shower feeling pretty jaded with the whole walking on roads thriough suburbia thing and discovered I had rubbed my hip raw during the day. Must have been from my backpack. And, massive angry raised red welts have appeared on my legs. Concerned about he welts spreading and the wound becoming infected, I dediced – that's enough. Time to pack it in.

I enjoyed the mountainous sections of the Via Francigena as hard as they were, but I do not enjoy this flat land section at all. It is the part of the Via Francigena that I had been most looking forward to reaching, and now I am here I hate it.

I thought Luni was going to be a village. Instead it is suburbia. I went in search of the ancient monument and found there is an archaeological research site based on Roman ruins. It made Luni worthwhile. There is an amazing Roman amphitheatre as well. But it was closed until 5pm and I am too tired to return. So I contented myself with peeping through the fence.

Tomorrow I will head back to Milan. I have three days left and I will now spend them resting up in Milan. Goodbye Via Francigena.

Day Five – Sunday – Pontremoli to Sarzana

By the time I reached Sarzana I was in the foothills of the mountains and with a manual scan on the Blackberry got a new provider that enabled email access.

Sarzana is an ancient city with a cathedral. Father pedro at the cathedral, stamped my pilgrim passport for me and asked me to put in a good word for him with God when I get to rome – I think – my Italian is improving but it is still very basic tourist level.

Day Four – Saturday – Montelugo to Pontremoli

There is no reception in the mountains for email reception on my Blackberry. I have a strong signal, so I assume I can make and receive phone calls, but I cannot send emails from here.

The next leg to Pontremoli was a down mountain descent.

Pontremoli is a failry large town of 5,000 people. It has a castle and an historic centre in the town, which made it an interesting place to explore.

I checked in to the convent in Pontremoli. The rooms were dormitories and while basic, were comfortable, clean, cheap, and most importantly – no mice!

Day Three – Friday – Berceto to Montelugo

Got lost this morning. There was a small track going off to the left on the outskirts of Berceto and I didn't see the pilgrim symbol up the track a way. I walked straight past and several kilometres further on. It didn't feel right. I stopped a motorist to ask where the Via Francigena was. He didn't seem to know of it. So I asked where a village that I knew was on the trail was. He indicated a particular road and drove off. I followed that roadanother few kilometres until it ran out of road at a village called Valbona.

In Valbona I asked an old man where the Via Francigena was. He seemed to be saying it was not around here. I asked him about the village I knew was on the track, Passo de Cisa. He pointed to the top of the mountain and indicated a track to take.

I followed that track intot he forest until it split into three. None of the tracks had any signs on them to tell me which way to go. Damnit.

I decided the best thing to do wasto retrace my steps back to Berceto to where I started this morning. I plopped myself down and ate some lunch. Just enjoy the scenery I told myself, don't get upset. But I looked up and there were dark grey clouds coming in over the top of the mountain and I began to feel sick with anxiety. I prayed for the rain to hold off, and it did.

I was back on the main road heading for Berceto when the motorist that I had stopped earlier in the day pulled along side and stopped. He was now returnign from the job he had been at. I shrugged my shoulders at him. When you don't know how to say it a shrug works to indicate I had not found what I had been looking for.

He indicated for me to get in his car. Unsure of his intentions, we debated for some minutes, him in Italian, me in whatever I could manage. I thought he was saying he'd give me a lift back to Berceto, my intuition said it was okay, so we loaded my pack and stick into his boot and off we went.

In Berceto he stopped again and showed me the track I should have taken. So he did understand I thought, or did he ask someone in the mean time? Another debate followed as I was trying to get my pack out of his car and he was trying to keep it there. After much confusing negotiations, I realised he was offering to drop me at an Ostello along the track a little way, because as he said, I was 'stanco'. That doesn't mean 'stinky', although by that time with all the sweat, I probably was. It means 'tired', and that I certainly was. So I agreed and the kind man dropped me at the Ostello. I think he thought I should stay there for the night, but I was behyind my schedule now.

I had a drink, some food, took my boots off to cool my feet and had a half hour rest, before pushing on again.

Jeez! What a climb. I thought yesterday was bad. Today was unbelievable. I needed the stick to pull myself up the steep mountain track.

And the bloody signage! There were signs pointing left, signs pointing right, signs pointing up the mountain, signs pointing down the mountain. The sky was still dark grey and the sheer almost vertical mountain side covered in a thick forest. I had no idea which way I was supposed to go.

I ended up going back down the mountain, back to the Ostello. I contemplated checking in, but decided against it. I asked a girl who worked at the Ostello which way the Via Francigena. She seemed very disinterested and bored with life as she shrugged her shoulders. So I asked her which way is Passo della Cisa? She pointed up the road, stubbed out her cigarette butt and went back inside.

Damn. I decided to ignore the Via Francigena markers into the forest and walk up the hgihway. At least that way I wouldn't get lost again. It was very haerd on the feet walking ont he road. I tried to walk on the shoulder whenever there was a bit of shoulder to walk on, to try and give my aching feet a rest from the jarring on the hard road.

But the road was a mountain pass, it was narrow, winding and lined with crash barriers to stop vehicles going over the side of the mountain. So there is mostly no shoulder and nowhere to escape from speeding cars as the roar aorund the bends. Luckily there were not a lot of cars, but I had to try avoid the most dangerous spots if I heard a car approaching.

It was eight hours of trekking by the time I had crossed over the mountain top at the pass, Passo della Cisa and had entered the village of Montelugo on the other side.

Montelugo is an ancient village whose origins grew out of the pilgrim route. The first written record of teh village is dated 774. Monks built a monestery there to proivde shelter for pilgrims travelling from Caterbury in England to Rome and Jerusalem.

As I was entering the village, a local villager stepped up to me with beautifully whittled white wooden staff. He held it out to me and indicated it was for me as he took my stick away and gave me the new proper staff in its place.

I was stunned by his kindness and thanked him profusely. He just smiled and indicated for me to continue on my way. Wow!

The Ostello Appennino at Montelugo was, according to my guidebook, the only accommodation in Montelugo. The room was expensive, the owner aloof, and I spent a sleepless night chasing mice out of my things. Rustle, chase... rustle, chase.... rustle, chase...., all night long -not happy.

I later discovered the small trattoria directly opposite had rooms available, was run by a very hospitable young man, who spoke English, and went out of his way to me about the history of Montelugo, and the Via Francigena in the area, and provided me with the most delectable local cheeses to try. He was a brilliant host and ambassador for the area. His name is Giacomo and his wife is Laura.

At 5pm it was gather and chat time for the locals. The lack of a village square for this prupose meant that the pavement in front of the bar was the gathering place. I wandered over and asked a villager if she would take my photo for me. I handed her my phone with the camera all set to go. She turned the phone front to back and upside down, then back again until she got it the right way again and ready to take the photo.

That cause much hilarity amongst the other watching villagers and the ice was broken. They cam to chat. I struggled along with my very limited tourist Italian picked up over the last few days, apologising for notbeing able to speak Italian.

When they learnt I was Australian, there was much gleeful excitement and they sent off a runner to find someone who spoke English. That was when I met Giacomo.

The villagers were a delight, and reliant on pilgrims for the livlihood, made me feel most welcome in their tiny ancient village.

Day Two – Thursday – Cassio to Berceto

It was another rugged, exhausting, mountaineering day, but the scenery coming out of Cassio, along the ridge, made it all worth while. It was spectacular sweeping mountain and valley views over farming fields and across the forests on the far mountains.

The track was soon winding through pine forests. I could hear wild pigs grunting and snuffling in the forest near by but I didn't see them.

I had forgotten to bring my trekking poles and really needed something to help me up and down the rocky mountain slopes. I found a branch that looked sturdy and about the right size, knocked the rest of the bark of it, and it became my pilgrims staff. It was enormously useful and I began to rely on it heavily.

The track was very poorly marked and I wondered several times if I was lost. It was very scary being alone on the mountain and not knowing if I was lost or not. The climb was steeper and more rugged than anything I could have prepared myself for back in Perth. I thought I had started my journey far enough south that I would not be in the mountains, but here I was right smack in the middle of the Alps Apennino, The Apennine Mountians. It was very beautiful, but so challenging that every muscle in my body was aching.

I was very thankful that the weather has been excellent. If a storm came in, it would be horrendous. I am terrified of getting caught in a storm on a mountain after my experience on the Camino Santiago in the Pyrennees two years ago.

There are no refuges for pilgrims on the Via Francigena. I was lucky in Cassio that there was a cheap Ostellof for pilgrims. In Berceto I had to find a hotel.

It is very different here to walking the Camino Santiago. On the Camino you see other pilgrims throughout the day and at night the refuges are full of pilgrims, so you never feel alone, even if you choose to walk alone. Walking the Via Francigena is a very lonely, very arduous experience by comparison.

Day One – Wednesday – Fornova de Taro to Cassio

It was a relief to get out of the hot, noisy (it was above the kitchen), overpriced room at the Hotel Cavlierie and start walking the Via Francigena. It was early and the shops were closed, but my guidebook said there were plenty of villages along the way to buy food, so I was not concerned.

It was a challenge to find the trail. It was not well marked. In fact, in Fornova it wasn't marked. I asked a local where it was and got a blank look as a reply. I would not have found it at all except my guidebook gave the road number and by a process of elimination of all the roads in the area, I set off on the road I assumed it must be.

It was a busy main road but it was not too far along the road, that I saw a pilgrim symbol indicating a track running off the road now and up the mountain. Straight up the mountain. I knew better than to rush it, so I did my best to keep my pace slow and plodding as the track became rockier and narrower as it wove higher and higher, steeper and steeper up the mountain.

The view was breathtaking, so was the track. :-) There were a couple of villages along the way, but they did not have any shops. I had water with me in my hydo pack, but for food I had nothing. I was getting hungry and found wild blackberries along the track and they were delicious, the best i have ever tasted.

After six hours of strenuous climbing I was greatly in need of food. I still had not reached the top of the mountain and was hours away from my bed for the night. Damn guide book! Panting for breath and feeling light headed with hunger I stopped in a patch of shade, sipped some water and asked the universe to help me.

Moments later I reached a flattened out area at the top of a rise. Two women were just leaving it. Are you ok, they asked me. Do you have water? Yes, thank you, I replied. Do you have food, they asked? No, but i can't be far to the village now, I hopefully responded. No, it is far they said, but we have food, here, come eat. I meekly protested, but they insisted and made me a couple of sandwiches before they headed off. They were two pilgrims from Belgium, two angels come to save me, I told them later.

After nine hours of mountain climbing, I reached the Ostello in Cassion in late afternoon. It was locked and had a phone number on the door to call.

Now that's a challenge. Thank goodness for the phrasebook, and mobile phones. I practiced a couple of times before ringing the phone number on the sign, all the while hoping that the person who answered might speak English. Of course, they didn't.

Luckily they understood that i wanted a room in the Ostello. The lady asked what time I would be arriving at the Ostello. Hmm, I didn't know how to say that I am already here, so I told her I would be arriving at 4pm ( that was in five minutes time). That worked.

A lovely friendly, helpful man appeared about 40 minutes later and signed me in and showed me a room, on the top floor. He must have thought if I could climb the mountain to get to Cassio then I can climb the stairs to the top floor.

Cassio is a small village with a tiny shop and a bar that serves meals, including breakfast. There was also a camione in the village today, a truck selling fruit and vegetables and a few other fresh essentials. I stocked up at the shop and from the camione with salad vegetables, fruit, bread, cheese and a couple of tins of tuna. I wans't going to get caught without food again!