Mixed emotions bubble up from my belly as the end of the pilgrimage draws near. I am ready for a physical rest but not yet ready to give up my days of walking and prayer. Furthermore, I don’t relish the return of the busy life and I can feel it coming the closer that I get to Rome.
Ponticelli Sabino to Monterotondo
Last evening I noticed something uncharacteristic about Italy and I had hoped it was just a fluke. Perhaps the excessive trash piled onto a rooftop courtyard was due to weekend of festivities. Italian folks have pride in their homes and community. Everywhere I walk, I see people washing off their porch steps, pruning their shrubs and flowering plants and tidying up the public space. They care about their neighborhood and the town spaces.
As we walked from Ponticelli, I was disappointed. Behind a historic tower was a mass of trash. It was not neatly contained in bins, but strewn in the general vicinity. The debris lined the roadway leading from the village and it dampened my spirits. Why the change in community pride? This town was far more multi-cultural than any of the other places where I had stayed. Was the trash due to cultural differences or perhaps generational indifference? The trash also reminded me that within 2 days, I would be walking through the metropolis of Rome, a city known for its expansive history and not for its cleanliness. I pushed away those thoughts and chose to focus on the walk at hand.
Our path to Monterotondo took us downhill, but the day’s heat was already climbing. By mid-morning, we were sweating and grateful to find fresh water to splash on our faces. Wells are common throughout Italy, and I find them charming. Centuries ago, someone dug a well that is still in use today. What amazes me even more is that it’s culturally accepted for strangers to take fresh water from private land. It ties back to my earlier thought about Italians—their deep care for both their community’s physical space and the people who pass through it.
Summer has arrived
I had been walking past olive trees for weeks, but suddenly they appeared different. Clusters of olives adorned the old trees lining the path. As I continued, fruit trees laden with ripening peaches and cherries caught my eye, making me realize that spring had quietly passed, and summer had arrived without me noticing. Much had changed since my first day on the trail and the changes consumed my thoughts for hours. I was so deep in thought, that I was startled to realize that we had entered the town, Montelibretti.
Brian slipped into a pastry shop to buy a piece of pizza before they closed for the afternoon. He joined me at the town’s only open bar, where we downed large lemon sodas. He enjoyed his pizza while I munched on semi-stale rice cakes from my backpack stash. We filled up our water bottles and resumed our walk under the baking summer sun.
The temperature continued to rise and had finally tapped out at a sweltering 92 degrees. There were no shade trees as we navigated through the farmland. We were both soaked in sweat and my feet burned from the heat of the country road. I walked without speaking, as it was too hot do move my legs and my mouth at the same time.
Monterotondo
Finally, we heard traffic in the near distance. Our next stop had to be close. Brian, excited and overly eager, announced that we must have only a mile or so to go. I was a bit more cynical, as I had learned a thing or two about hiking through big cities. “If your guess it is a mile, then it must be 3”, was my reply. It was a time that I wished that I had not been right.
We entered the city limits following sidewalks that shunted us around the periphery of Monterotondo. Our water bottles were almost empty and drinking cold water was all that I could think about as we trudged on. “We are stopping at the first possible restaurant, bar or store that is open,” I demanded. A tall chain link fence kept us outside the city proper. We were so close and yet quite far away as we walked behind a large sports complex and a shopping mall. Finally, we entered the city, pausing at the traffic light before skipping over the lanes of traffic. And then I saw it, the first option for a cold beverage. The gleaming arches beckoned me inside.
I hadn’t stepped into a McDonald’s since 2009. If I was going to break that streak, this was a pretty good place to do it. There was an espresso bar and freshly squeezed orange juice, with a choice between mineral or sparkling water. A server even brought our drinks to the table with a friendly smile and nod. As much as I wanted to remain seated, I was eager for a hot shower, clean clothes and a great meal. I stood up, slung my pack onto my back and led the way to the door.
We reached our B&B in the old town a mile later, each having logged 21 miles, downed 4 quarts of water, and enjoyed 8 ounces of freshly squeezed McDonald’s orange juice! It was the latest I’d ever arrived at my final stop during the entire pilgrimage. As I showered, I chided myself for letting long breaks at bars and McDonald’s push the day so late. Then I remembered… the next day marked the end of the journey, and I had no plans to stop until I reached Vatican City.
Monterotondo to Rome
The altered hiking plan
The last day. The final stretch. How had I arrived at this moment, such a significant point in my journey? We kicked off the day with a selfie in front of the B&B, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Was I really ready for this to be over? Had the pilgrimage been worth all the effort and sacrifice?
When my husband decided to return to Italy earlier than planned, I had to adjust my walking schedule. I added extra miles to skip ahead in certain towns and even took a taxi from Spoleto to the outskirts, allowing me to cover more ground that day. My goal was to finish the pilgrimage on a Tuesday so I could attend the Papal Audience on Wednesday morning. During the audience, Pope Francis offers a teaching and a blessing to the guests. I had attended one in 2023 and wanted this experience to officially close my pilgrimage. Additionally, I was eager to attend the 6:00 pm Pilgrim Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica on Tuesday evening.
In order to stick to the new timeline, I had to skip some miles between Monterotondo and Rome. After taking our selfie, we climbed into an Uber and headed into the outskirts of Rome. We were dropped off along a busy road, and as I slipped on my pack for the last time, I felt a knot in my stomach. Was this cheating? Surely, Mass was more important than the miles, right? I wasn’t ready for the journey to end, though I deeply missed my family.
Am I cheating on my pilgrimage?
My mind wrestled with these thoughts until I spotted a church. I walked toward it, climbed its grand steps, and pulled open the heavy, ornate door. As I stepped inside, peace washed over me. I knelt to pray, and all doubts vanished. This journey had always been about sacrifice, prayer, and devotion to a God I love with my whole heart. Walking those final miles would have only served my ego. Skipping them was the greater sacrifice, one that allowed me to end my pilgrimage in celebration at Mass.
Where is God?
I trudged through the stale, hot, and humid air, head slightly bowed, with my sunglasses acting like blinders to the surroundings. I barely took any photos and struggled through what was technically the easiest walk of the entire journey. The blaring car horns, construction noise, and the sound of people talking, laughing, and yelling bombarded my mind. The peaceful silence I had come to treasure was gone. How could I hear God in this chaos? I had gotten used to conversing with Him all day long, but now I could barely hear myself think. I wasn’t ready to return to the hectic, noisy world I had left behind almost a month ago.
This pilgrimage was a blessing and a gift, as well as a valuable lesson. Life is busy, full of distractions, and I can’t escape them forever. It’s up to me to choose my priorities. I need to be the one to carve out time each day to step away from the noise and be present for God. He isn’t lost in the chaos of my life—I’m the one who loses sight of Him while navigating the “demands” of day to day.
The experience of a lifetime
I walked on, feeling as if I were in a tunnel, moving through larger and larger crowds of students, workers, and tourists. Then, suddenly, I was walking in familiar territory. My pace quickened, even as my mind urged me to slow down and savor the moment. My breath caught in my chest when I saw the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica, and my vision blurred until I blinked. Big, heavy tears slid down my cheeks, and I let them fall. They were a small symbol of the emotions built up over a month’s journey.
Though thousands of people filled the square, I didn’t notice a single one. I walked straight to the church’s fence, bowed my head, and sobbed. Inside the basilica, I fell to my knees and thanked God for giving me the experience of a lifetime.
The post pilgrimage days
Amalfi Coast
After attending the Papal Audience, we boarded a train to Sorrento, planning to relax and gradually transition back to everyday life. Originally, I had hoped to include a car trip to visit several other spiritual sites in Italy as part of my pilgrimage. However, with our schedule change and limited extra time, we decided to skip the hassle of renting a car.
Heading to the Amalfi Coast seemed like a great idea in theory. According to our original plan, it was meant to be our final stop before heading home. But I hadn’t factored in that it was peak holiday season on the coast. So, as our ferry docked in Amalfi, my eyes widened, and my jaw might have dropped slightly. The shoreline was packed—people on beach chairs, dining at outdoor restaurants, carrying shopping bags, or queuing up to board our ferry to the next port.
So many people …
I gave Brian the biggest smile I could muster as we stepped off the boat and were immediately swallowed up by the crowd. My heart raced, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I would ever get used to large groups again. Sensing my unease, Brian kindly asked if I’d like to visit the Amalfi Cathedral. Grateful, I nodded. After spending some time in prayer, we wandered through the streets, gradually heading uphill and toward the outskirts, eventually stumbling upon a quieter beach. We found a table, sipped on limoncello spritz, and indulged in some people-watching.
After spending a few days in Sorrento, Positano, and Amalfi, we returned to Rome. Oddly enough, I felt more relaxed in the city of millions. Perhaps it was the familiarity that had developed over our past few visits, or maybe it was the sense that the crowds moved past me as if I were part of the cityscape. Whatever the reason, my anxiety around people eased, and we enjoyed exploring new, less familiar parts of Rome.
Home sweet home
I was ready to go home. I missed my family and my dogs, all of whom swarmed me as soon as we arrived. It feels good to be loved. My family is lively and full of energy—four kids with their spouses, six grandkids, and three granddogs. Our homecoming was anything but peaceful, but I cherished every energetic moment.
It took me two full weeks to catch up on phone calls and visit with friends. Slowly, I settled back into some sense of normalcy. But I’ve changed. After an experience like that, returning home unchanged would feel like a missed opportunity, don’t you think?
The end?
Though the miles are behind me and I’m back home, my journey is far from over. Not a day goes by without me reflecting on the pilgrimage. I revisit its highs and lows, daydream about returning, and, most often, contemplate what I’ve learned. Some lessons were monumental, others small, and a few only revealed themselves after I’d left the trail.
One such revelation led to the development of a collaborative Christian website: Holy Spirit Fruit. My reflection on how Saint Francis’ example and God’s call led me to this pilgrimage is (cleverly) titled, The Way of Saint Francis of Assisi. I’d be honored if you would read it.
Thank you for following along. Your encouragement, support, and occasional commiseration helped me complete this journey.
