Angels and Demons (and Cats)

First, the demons. The day started well: cool mist promising sun later, high spirits as we leave our cosy apartment in Rieti, a straightforward walk to the beautiful Franciscan Sanctuary–La Foresta–with exquisite gardens and copious cats. We get our passports stamped and head off again for a steady uphill climb until we spot a restaurant where we order the requisite 2 cafelattes. That’s when we notice the GPS tracker (now working, as we are at a WiFi area) shows that we have completely missed the continuation of the trail which leads from the Sanctuary. We are talking about a one-hour detour. Judy is attacked by mental demons, and marches off back down the hill in tears, unsure now that she will be able to complete the day’s 11-mile walk. Her angry inner voice is shortly interrupted by Angel #1. Elna stops her car and calls out of her window in good English, “Your husband says you have a bad knee. Do you need a lift back to the Sanctuary?” Judy immediately accepts. Dear Denis is left to walk down alone, struggling with his own inner demons. “God, it was so much easier doing pilgrimages alone…”

Judy waits with Elna at the Sanctuary, as she walks her dog a bit. Denis soon arrives and thanks her profusely for believing his tale about his supposedly lame wife who is 1 km ahead of him. Judy tells her she is an angel. “What is ‘angel’ in Italian?” she asks. Elna smiles. “Angelina, which is my middle name.” Perfect! Then her dog pees on Judy’s backpack, which is perched along the Sanctuary wall, and Elna apologizes profusely. Judy just laughs. “I deserve to be pissed on,” she says. We all burst out laughing and part with a new friend.

Once on the right trail again, we pass through woods interspersed with olive groves and vineyards, dotted with medieval towns perched impossibly high on hilltops. There are cats outside every home, it seems–calicoes, black cats, tiger kitties–and they greet us with purring and typical curiosity. At one point, we walk for quite awhile along a narrow trail cut into the hillside with a sheer drop on the other side. Technically, pilgrims need to bike, ride a horse, or walk to receive a pilgrimage certificate, but Denis ponders out loud if it’s ok to arrive at Assisi by ambulance. “I bet they give great passport stamps at the hospital,” he muses as we try to keep our balance.

We finally inch our way up the twisting stone stairs to Poggio Bustone at 4:00, but we can’t find the San Francesco Suite which Judy has booked on line. When she reserved the room, it sounded like a large, upscale place, so we think it will be easy to spot. It is not. The town is miniscule, with steep staircases between nearly every building. Judy sheds her pack and finds a park bench on the town square, which overlooks the 600 foot drop to the valley below. It is unfathomably beautiful. Denis takes charge, because Judy is clearly out of gas, and he hunts down a local for directions. An older woman with a determination to serve (Angel #2), leads him hither and yon until the location is discovered, but first she has stopped another resident in their car, called two people on her phone, and pretty much alerted half the town that two pilgrims cannot find their beds. The owner, the sister of the B&B’s housekeeper, the B&B housekeeper, and the owner’s Aunt (age 83) all follow us to the tiny B&B — like a scene out of Chicken Little or The Little Red Hen. We finally arrive, with our overjoyed welcoming committee, and the sign over the door reads, “Chez Angelina; S. Francesco Suite.” Enough said. 9/26/15

Contrasts

Judy: Yesterday’s trek prompts my knee to give me clear signals that a bus ride to Rieti would be just the thing. Our incredibly accommodating host (who must be used to this pattern: San Lorenzo is between two very challenging days on the Cammino) offers to drive me to the bus. So Denis sets off on foot, while I relax for an hour looking over maps (no more getting lost for this pilgrim, if I can help it) before catching the bus — a 40 min. ride versus Denis’s 6 hour walk.

Rieti is a gorgeous little city with charming piazzas emerging from twisting streets. I find our perfect rental apartment and leave my backpack there so I can explore the town, hit the tourist bureau for maps (really trying to eradicate this getting lost thing), find the best gelato place, and pick up lunch to have ready for Denis — who arrives (surprise!) an hour ahead of schedule. I should point out that we lightened his pack a bit in the morning, knowing I would be taking the bus. My experience at the Post Office to mail a small parcel of our unneeded clothing to Assisi (we are going minimalist, like the Dutch pilgrims we met) could be its own blog. Fortunately, Italian hospitality among folks we have met far outweighs my postal woes.

Denis: I follow my spiritual guide and don’t look at the map once. There are some very questionable intersections to test my resolve. Fortunately, I choose the correct turns and breathe sighs of relief when Cammino signs confirm my instincts. The walk is long but 80% flat through the valley. I meet no one–not a great place to have a heart attack, so I don’t. What joy to arrive in Reiti with lunch already prepared and an amazing place to let go, so I do! Judy welcomes me with open arms and I appreciate the hospitality, apparently not the training the Italian postal workers get. 9/25/2015

Up, down, and around; lost, lost, lost and found! 

Wandering the hills of Lazio province sans GPS is like visiting the Paris Catacombs without a guide. We leave our lovely host Giuseppi at 7:30 hoping that our downloaded maps will serve. Wrong! They don’t. Not even the six wild boar hunters in the back hills can easily explain how to get to our midday stop, Poggio San Moiano. Then there is that pesky we-don’t-speak-Italian issue. We finally arrive (unwounded!) at this medieval hamlet perched high in the mountains. We snack in the town square, enjoy a well earned cafelatte, watch a Middle School field trip pass us by, and buy lunch provisions before moving on to the beautiful Romanesque Church of San Martino.

Cammino signs become more common but face the wrong way (pilgrims traditionally walk to Rome from Rieti, not vice versa.) We get lost at least four times in the afternoon, and an already long day becomes even longer. We meet three German pilgrims at 2:00 who are heading to Ponticelli, where we left this morning. We compare Cammino notes, and theirs worry us a bit since they left at 11:30 and still have 6 hours of twisting unmarked trails await them. And then there are always the infamous boar hunters who spared us this morning but who by evening may decide that going home with a pilgrim is better than returning empty handed.

We picnic at St. Vittorio, another Romanesque gem on the opposite knoll with Roman ruins built into the walls, definitely farther away than it looked from the opposite ridge. Revived by a lunch, we set off again with determination, much of which evaporates after a series of wrong turns. Poggio St. Lorenzo finally welcomes two very weary Americans during evening cocktail hour. A sweet high school student leads us on his moped to our Agritourismo B&B. Deo gracias–a 10-hour walk without being run over by a car or a herd of errant sheep, forced to sleep in the woods, or terminated by boar hunters. The miracles of the Way of St. Francis are present.

We are the only guests in the beautiful country hotel, Agrituristico Santa Giusta; apparently two other guests didn’t show up and we don’t ask why. A delicious dinner and early bed are tonight’s program–no Internet connection to mess up our biorhythms. Let see if it’s true that the pains of a day’s walk on the Cammino melt away after a good night sleep (and some medication). 9/25/2015

Revived!

A fabulous day compared with yesterday. Judy recovers thanks to Denis’s delicious omelette dinner prepared in our “vacation apartment,” and the miracle of a good night’s sleep (oh, and some drugs: Alieve). Today, we figure out how to save Google maps offline, so we don’t get lost, and while walking, we stop frequently to eat (something we neglected to do the day before).

It is amazing how the mind works. Two hours into our walk through gorgeous olive groves, vineyards, and farms, we find no cafes for our morning coffee. Then Denis sees an autoroute ahead with “BAR” written on the side of a large building at the intersection. This surely means two cafe lattes are awaiting us. We are pleased, until we get closer and see that the “BAR” is someone’s home and the letters are actually laundry draped over a balcony. It’s a coffee mirage! Fortunately, a ristorante further along provides our fix.

We meet our first fellow pilgrims, a middle-aged, lovely couple from Holland who are walking to Rome from Bologna — 600 km over 6.5 weeks. Impressive! We are struck by the small size of their packs. “Only one change of clothing,” the man says, “I shower with the day’s outfit on to wash it.” We may very well mail off a package of our extra clothing to Assisi at our next stop.

Air B&B Due Gelsi (Two Mulberries) is a perfect home away from home with the place to ourselves, including a fully equipped kitchen. Once the stores open up after the 1-4 closure (imagine THAT in the U.S.A!), we will prepare a feast. This fountain in the town square provides ice cold water. Yes! 9/22/15