When I awoke, Poggio Bustone was enveloped in dense fog, so thick that it was difficult to see what lay in the distance. I could only make out my immediate path, so I began to walk and reflect on my life. This journey is, first and foremost, a pilgrimage of Christian faith. I haven’t shared much about that yet, partly because I am still trying to discern what God is calling me to do. As I walked, the fog that covered this town and the surrounding valley dissipated. It was then that I realized my uncertainty had also begun to fade. The words of Saint Paul to the Corinthians provide comfort in my confusion. “For we live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7 NABRE)
Poggio Bustone to Rieti
Cantalice
As the sun rose high in the sky, it burned off the low-lying clouds. My steps became unhindered, and I felt confident as I walked toward Rieti. The fact that the 12.5 mile walk was mostly downhill also boosted my mood. Initially, the mountains bordered the left side of the path, leading to the village, Cantalice. I followed the path upwards through the town that was quiet and under repair. The trail signs pointed through sections where renovations had halted, however, handwritten detour signs guided me back to the route. I find it curious why some medieval hill towns are flourishing while others are nearly deserted. I imagine that many young people choose to live in the larger nearby cities of Rieti or Terni.
Convento Santa Maria de La Foresta
From Cantalice, the roadway moved westward away from the mountains, thus the landscape changed. Rolling hills and forested sections still accompanied me on my walk, but I could feel that urban Italy was closing in on my journey. I passed several rural churches and then came upon a convent, Convento Santa Maria de La Foresta. The grounds are well manicured and adorned with statues and mosaics. The Stations of the Cross are depicted along an expansive entrance wall. The sisters of the convent maintain a large garden, complete with grape vines and olive trees.
As I wandered the grounds, I noticed a statue of Saint Francis through an opened courtyard door. Peace and quietude pulled me into the building and I found the small chapel where I paused at length to pray. The longer that I journey, the more I seek a life of simplicity and prayer. I finally understand why some men and women choose the sequestered religious life. Without the busy world distractions, one can devote all day to nature and living with God’s simple, yet plentiful gifts.
Rieti
The trail markings were hard to find on the convent grounds, therefore a day hiker joined me since I had a map. Together we walked along the road to Rieti, passing the time with conversation. She told me about growing up in Eastern Europe and moving to Poggio Bustone three years ago. Her job allows her to work remotely, so she thought, why not live in Italy? At that moment, I wished I could do the same, although I knew I could never leave my family permanently.
We parted ways at the wall of Rieti and I began exploring a city larger than I had expected. Many people gathered in clusters at bars and in parks. It felt like the “First Friday” events in my hometown, only grander. I found the B&B that I had booked for the night and was pleasantly surprised that it was an entire apartment. My landlord explained there was a festival in the city and encouraged me to visit the Basilica di Sant’Agnosto, which was already on my list. I didn’t completely understand his explanation (in Italian) until I entered the church. It was the Feast day of Saint Anthony of Padua and I was fortunate enough to have arrived in time to find a seat for the mass celebration.
Following mass, I stopped in the various piazzi to watch the sports games and demonstrations: volleyball, martial arts, dog obedience and the like. I finally understood what my landlord-for-the-night was trying to share with me earlier. Aha! The city was hosting 2 events: the Feast of Saint Anthony and the Rieti Sports Festival. After roaming the streets for an hour and searching for a restaurant, I decided to pick up some food at the grocer. It took awhile to figure out how to turn on the fancy stove top in my apartment, but I eventually cooked my first meal in a month. There was plenty leftover, so I packed up some for breakfast and the remainder for lunch on the trail. I was all set, food-wise, for the next day. My backpack lay on the kitchen table, with all supplies ready to be stuffed into it in the morning.
Via di Francesco to Brian (and Poggio San Lorenzo)
I awoke early and was very eager to hit the trail. After dressing and choking down the leftover cold and semi-dried out gluten free pasta, I stuffed my pack and strapped it onto my back. This was a big day! The anticipated mileage was 15 miles, with just under 2,000′ elevation climb. My attitude was that of one who felt invincible and I rushed out the door and through the city.
Just like other mornings along the route, a kind Italian gentleman called to me to offer encouragement and directions. We chatted briefly, me ending the conversation with “grazie mille” (a thousand thanks) on repeat, as this man was in the mood for a long discussion. But I had places to go and a person to see, therefore I rushed on much quicker than had been my habit over the past few weeks. This journey included making acquaintances and learning about the culture, therefore I felt a pang of guilt as I scampered down the street and onto the city limits.
Immediately after escaping from one conversation, I was pulled into another with 2 “lost” hikers. Lost in quotation marks, as these fine Austrian ladies were actually just uncertain of the path. Thus, I became their guide for several miles. They were kind and appreciative of my assistance. Hiking etiquette required polite conversation. I was interested in their stories, their hiking history, their families, careers and so forth. Really, truly I was. But, I wanted to hike fast and my legs were quite a bit longer than theirs. I continually slowed my pace to stay with them, and my impatience was gnawing at my gut.
Hurry!
Why the rush? What was the hurry? Why not slow down a bit and make some more friends?
I wanted to get to my next location because … my husband was meeting me there! As soon as my new friends stopped for a drink and snack, I wished them well and rushed on. I was practically running, maintaining a speedy 11 minute mile for the next 5 miles. Nothing was going to slow me down today.
The heat was rising and the full sun beat down on my head and shoulders. I was thirsty, but didn’t want to take the time to stop for a drink. I saw a fountain ahead where I could sip the cold spring water without having to take off my backpack. Ugh! It was dry. It was the first spigot of the pilgrimage that didn’t provide me with refreshment. I pulled off my pack and pulled out one of my bottles. It was empty. In my rush to leave the apartment, I forget to fill up my water. This was not a good time for my inaugural bad sloppy mistake. My second bottle held only 2 cups of water and I needed it to get me through the remaining 8 miles.
Water
The route moved from a grassy pathway to a freshly black topped road. The heat reflected off the macadam and its odor assaulted my nose. I felt like I could taste the road which increased my desire for a drink. I pushed on to the peak of the mountain road, where I stopped for a few sips of water. Hopefully, I thought, the remaining miles will be in the shade, downhill and by a fresh water stream. My mental outlook went from sheer excitement at the prospect of soon seeing my husband to disgust at my lack of preparation. Positive self-talk ensued and I walked on.
It wasn’t long before I heard voices coming from a house further up the road. A child giggled and a women laughed in reply. Another sound gave me the courage to knock on the wooden gate of their property. The mother opened the gate and smiled warmly. I pointed to the hose in her hand, its water splashing loudly onto the flagstone walkway. The child peered at me for a few moments and then returned to splashing in her kiddo pool. I requested water, and the joyful mom obliged, first rinsing out my bottles and then filling them to the brim.
A kind stranger blessed me, and luck was on my side with a shaded, downhill stretch for the final 4 miles. I cruised along grassy paths, passing herding dogs, goats, and ancient farmhouses. My spirits lifted, and I forgave myself for the earlier mistake. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was reaching Agriturismo Santa Giusta, about a mile off the Via di Francesco trail.
Agriturismo Santa Giusta
An agriturismo is a farm-stay. The rented room or apartment or cabin are located on a working farm, with the farmers doubling as the hosts for the stay. I arrived at Santa Giusta and was surprised at the large size of the farmhouse. Instead of a dining room, the owner referred to the eating area as a restaurant. There were many white cloth covered tables complete with place settings in preparation for the evening meal. My second floor room had a rustic, homey charm. I sat to remove my boots, when a text buzzed my phone. Brian’s uber was parking outside the building. I had the wits to tuck my messy hair more into my hat, and splashed water onto my face to attempt to clean up.
Better together
I literally skipped down the steps and threw my arms around my husband as he entered the lobby. My grin spread across my face and I felt giddy. We dropped his backpack in the room and then explored the farm. Fruit trees bordered the in-ground pool. Lounge chairs beckoned us to relax, but I still needed to complete my evening chores: shower, wash clothes, FILL my water bottles and plan for the next day’s journey. Brian remained at the pool and took a cat nap. As I returned to my room, I ran into the 2 Austrian hikers from the morning. They had just arrived and I apologized for not taking more time with them earlier. They completely understood and then side stepped me to watch the soccer World Cup on the TV. All was well between us hikers
The little restaurant was filled with guests. The farm fresh meal, delicious, and the company, outstanding. My best friend was back by my side I fell asleep with a very happy heart.
Poggio San Lorenzo to Ponticelli Sabino
Poor Brian. Not only did he have to navigate jet-lag, he had to listen to my incessant ramblings while I walk-ran up the mountain trails. The faster that I spoke, the quicker my pace. After all, I had a lot to tell him!
The Agriturismo Santa Giusta is located a mile north of the village, Poggio San Lorenzo. Had we not eaten breakfast at the agriturismo, it would have been fun to eat a meal in the town. It was the weekend and there were many people milling about the streets, greeting each other with hugs and joyfully gesturing hands.
This was the second day in a row that the Via di Francesco trail signage was different from my book and downloaded GPX maps. The day before, I trusted the signage with good fortune. We opted to follow the reroute which took us away from roadways and onto dirt trails. That suited me far better except for the fact that the roads traveled in the valleys. The trails, however, went up and over the mountains, down to the valleys and back up to the peaks. We ultimately ended our day with more miles and more elevation than expected, but at this point in my pilgrimage, I didn’t really care about quantifying numbers.
Day hikers on the Via di Francesco
We stopped for a drink break at a fresh water fountain. A cemetery of sorts was positioned across the country road and we wandered over to look at it. An Italian voice in perfect English called to us, “Are you Americans? That is a memorial for local innocents killed by German soldiers in 1944.” And thus, we gained 2 hiking tour guides for the remainder of our day.
The husband-wife couple are the same age as Brian and me. They live near Poggio Bustone and decided to take a day hike to visit his mother 35 miles away. They had completed this walk once before during the winter months, but the summer heat made this trek far more difficult. We were in awe of our new hiking companions, and spent the day walking, talking and occasionally stopping in towns for beer. They educated us on history, geography, politics and the military. But we mostly spoke about plants, animals, local food sources and the environment. As we climbed a steep path, they began to sing a folk song, their voices in perfect harmony. It brought me joy to spend time with a couple who clearly were meant for each other.
Ponticelli
They paused for another beer in Ponticelli, our stopping point for the evening. They didn’t stay long, as they still had several more miles to walk. I was a bit sad to see they move on, as I had genuinely enjoyed their company. Ponticelli is small and it took less than 10 minutes to walk to our rental on the other side of the town. We were barely in the apartment when we heard singing. From our 2nd floor window, we watched a parade of people marching through the narrow streets, singing Catholic hymns. The group disappeared around the corner of an old home and the music died. Rifle shots pierced the air in a salute to the unknown cause for celebration.
We ate dinner at the only open restaurant, a pizzeria in the town square. Majorettes and other parade participants gathered at the same location for food and fellowship. Local residents carried stacks of to-go pizza boxes to their homes , perhaps to continue the celebration. I was celebrating too—my journey was no longer solitary, as my best friend had joined me for the rest of the pilgrimage.
Continue for the end of the journey:
Via di Francesco Pilgrimage – Ponticelli to Rome
Via di Francesco, days 27-28. Ponticello Sabino to Rome and the Vatican. The end of the pilgrimage: tears of sadness and joy and gratitude.