Via Francigena…
Sunday 15 September
On leaving Pistoia we passed by Prato a city’s name we have constantly been seeing since crossing the Appennini. Another cute little town with a dark history. We stumbled upon the Emperor’s Castle and found that after a strike in March 1944, many of the workers and anti-nazis of Prato were captured and enclosed in the fortress by the fascists who then handed them over to the nazis and sent to the Mathausen concentration camp. It made us all feel somewhat sick as we wondered whether the Italian guy who was mauled to death in Mathausen was perhaps one of those captured and kept here. Of the hundreds of workers that were captured only 20 survived. Having experienced Mathausen, reading the plaque took on a very different meaning.
We continued on and eventually made it to the outskirts of Firenze. It was an ugly industrial zone where mostly immigrants live. Crammed on balconies, kids roughing it up on the dusty streets overtaken by haphazardly parked cars. A far cry from the manicured green streets of affluent cities. No doubt many of these people work in the textile industry for peanuts. There were many languages being spoken, including Arab and what may have been Vietnamese. It was very telling of a city to push all these people to the outskirts. It feels like a very hard, unforgiving, sinister place from this angle, so they can be abused by a foreign country.
We rode a very short 25kms to Firenze. First impressions – dodgy. We are well and truly in flight through the circles of sublime and dark matter. There is a beautifully large rectilinear park that seems to be a grey zone between the edge of the city and the more cosmopolitan city centre. Here the predominately black people, most likely refugees from North Africa, accuse one another, fall apart, feel abused and in danger. They exist in a parallel world to the Italians who seem to float on by the misery. Are they accepting? Profiting? Helpless? It doesn’t feel like a disconnect. They are all in this together, but how? There is a dark energy in this part of the world that is masked by the big tourist attraction of the city centre. The mosquitos too are ferocious. The best place to avoid them is on your bike. Keep moving.
We came to the youth hostel which brags being in a beautiful villa. The reality is quite the contrary. It is on the verge of ruin. The villa itself is and could be gorgeous but it has become victim to the worst of the Italian anarchic ‘don’t give a shit’ attitude. The villa, the grounds, the greenery, so much potential to be absolutely splendid, but no. All is left to die a slow death despite the money that is here. We were riding through the centre of town and a private garage giving off on to the street was open. It was full of many new expensive cars. All being hidden behind banged up doors.
The roads are the worst in Europe by far. It is a country that has the potential to be so beautiful. Even more beautiful than what cultural history has already endowed it with. But just having it isn’t enough. The Italians are way too concerned about petty lives, not paying their taxes and trying to outdo the other that they can’t move beyond themselves. There are certain aspects of Italy that remind us of Australia. The greenery is by far the most comparable but only in the more natural untouched areas. The lack of huge advertising boards, the strange confidence in each other that exists here and the ease with which people move in busy streets is certainly not something to compare. The greed however is.
The youth hostel we are staying in has an awfully heavy vibe. It feels like it was either a villa in which people were tortured and murdered, or maybe it was a hospital or a prison. In any case, it’s a place where people didn’t live happily. The bathrooms look like a crime scene. The laundry looks like a torture chamber converted and the place is infested with mosquitos. Its an edgy place with an edgy clientele. Some backpackers wondering how they got there. Women and men are divided. Lights go off in the middle of a shower at night. Not very relaxing at all. A group of refugees struggling to make sense of this day, weighed down by the unknown of tomorrow, leading to hopeless arguments about who deceived who.
We cooked in our room – not the sort of thing you’re allowed to do normally but no one cares here and we are really sick and tired of being eaten alive by the mozzies. We had the left over bolognese made last night that we packaged in cereal resealable bags that we have been holding onto in case we needed them. We’re very pleased with ourselves when we are able to recycle the packaging again. The wifi doesn’t work so we have no contact with the outside world. It’s not the sort of place you want to stay in too long.
Monday 16 September
This morning we had breakfast – inside of course, and then went to visit the town.
The first mission of the day was sourcing the ‘passport’ for Il Camino de Santiago de Compostela. We’ve been trying to get it since Ulm and finally today we had success.
After a 20 minute climb into the tops of Firenze we reached a big metallic door and had to seek special permission to enter. Once we got in there it flowed so easily. We met a man who is writing the history of the walk in the Firenze area who was a geologist and cartographer, who himself had done the walk several times. We also made the acquaintance of his colleague originally from Madrid who helped us understand what we were seeing on the bike map in Spain. With our ‘passports’ in hand we bid them a very warm and heartfelt farewell. We then descended into the city.
From up there, we had a fabulous view of Brunelleschi’s dome. We cruised down to La Piazza de la Liberta for lunch. Ironically, the place of liberty was strangled by traffic all around it, like a noose. Alongside pedestrians, we had to wait for ages at the crossing to find the calm of the piazza. Once we reached what felt like an island, the centre piece of the piazza was also ironically a statue of a woman gouging a man’s eyes out. After having been mosquito food for another forty minutes we made our way through the crazy, nonsensical, busy, congested streets of Firenze. There is no doubt that the thing that is killing this country is its inability to get rid of the car. You look in each car and there is often only one person. Tourists are often blamed as the cause of congestion in this country, which is true to a certain point but the people in cars are not tourists. We finally got to the train station to buy our one way tickets for Pisa tomorrow after we visit the Uffizi. It was another opportunity to experience the organised madness of Italy. No signs. You just have to keep asking until you find what you’re looking for. We made our way back next to the Uffizi so we could spend time with the sculptures just outside. The most incredible sculpture is that of the bronze Persus holding the decapitated head of the medusa. Such an unforgiving, uncomprimised powerful piece, over 500 years old. The strength inherent in the pose, the sense of accomplishment and energy is as alive today as it was intended by its maker.
On the way back to the dingy youth hostel, a horse helped itself to the bread sticking out of Lisa’s back bike bag while she waited for pedestrians to pass.
We cooked inside our hotel room again and prepared for an early departure in the morning. We enjoyed the very classic Florentine scene just outside our window of hills – palaces and pine trees.
Tuesday 17 September
The day started early. Our bags were on our bikes and ready to go to downtown Florence. We deposited our bags in a safe and then locked our bikes close to the uffizi. We were in the queue at 8:15. It was somewhat overwhelming to see all these master pieces in such a short moment of our time. Thinking about all the people who had set eyes on these fine art examples including Vasari and Durer. An englishman was in tears before Botticelli’s Venus. A tourist guide dressed in bright pink was painfully slapping her hot pink fan up against the glass protecting Botticelli’s four seasons.
We left and headed straight for the station to get out of Firenze. We made it to the train with only a minute to spare, which of course didn’t help Arsène’s nerves. We were late because when we got to our bikes, they had been picked up and dumped in a tangled mess. Go figure how they picked all the bikes up that were chained together and simply dumped them. Lisa went into a furious cursing spin. Who did these people think they were? How dare they. If only they knew what these bikes were doing, the adventure they were on. Not to mention how expensive they were and the sheer efficiency of their brilliant design. Arse protectors were damaged, chains had come off, handle bars needed realigning. Lisa went over to the small electric van which was parked where the bikes had been. She ripped out the cord, folded in the side mirrors, pulled out the windscreen wipers and undone all the ropes. She was freaking white hot.
Once on the train, we had to do a bit of a dance in the cabins to rearrange the location of the bikes and bags and eventually able to enjoy the sandwiches made in the room last night. Xavier found himself in the middle of a nasty scene. Three refugees that ticket officers spotted in the crowd and went straight for them. The racism is so obviously clear. Shortly after, a weasel of an undercover cop appeared wanting to take them off the train because they hadn’t paid their full fare. So when Xavier offered to pay the difference he was frowned upon. By paying the difference Xavier did a whole lot of people a favour including the Italians who really should be spending their time on more constructive crime fighting rather than occupying themselves with paperwork and fines for people who don’t even have a job to pay the fines they are about to be issued. A total waste of time, money and resources. Not to mention simply wrong.
After a short trip, we arrived in Pisa which is in many ways similar to Firenze with its river and bridges and architecture but it is clearly not as populated meaning it is much nicer to ride and simply be in. Oreste spotted a fabulous gelato bar where Xavier had an exquisite pinolo flavour gelato. The fruits of the forest and passion fruit was heavenly and the dark chocolate, more than just divine. Léon licked his ice cream so hard that it fell off. He picked it straight back up. Plonked it back on his cone and kept licking! We visited the leaning tower which we did simply because we were there, but it really was so much more impressive than we thought it would be. How such a thing can still be intact while leaning at such an angle is on the verge of mind boggling. We rode around the inner city and stumbled slap bang in the middle of a film set set in 1963. It was great to see the costumes, cars, vespas and even the newsagent decked out with journals and newspapers from that era. Sophia Loren, the pope, il mattino newspaper … We went back to the backpackers we’re staying in tonight. No camping grounds in this part of the world – and we played pool all afternoon and into the evening, did the washing and simply relaxed. It’s a much better vibe here. Lisa called the family in Castelgandolfo, Montelanico and Rome to start making plans for our arrival.
Beautiful moments today that couldn’t be captured were many. The sun penetrating the stain glass windows leading from one building to another in the small alley way. Oreste reaching for the mist spraying in the streets.
Wednesday 18 September
We left Pisa after going to get our ‘passport’ stamped at the church which is a recognised stop for pilgrims on the Camino. Xavier was going through his bags and forgot to repack the tarpaulin and rods needed for the bag holding area of the tent which really sucked. We rode along an aquaduct for a few kilometres before riding alongside the Appennini. We rode along a cliff face with a castle perched on top which reminded us of some of the paintings we saw yesterday. We didn’t ride very much today. Some 40 odd kms – irrespective we felt the heat and humidity. But then we arrived at the camping ground and all hell broke loose when the boys threw a hissy fit because the pool was closed for maintenance. They were ignored to begin with and were allowed to distance themselves. Lisa was preparing dinner, Xavier was setting up the tent by himself because the boys refused to help. The tent was done. It was time for the boys to prepare their beds and go have a shower before dinner, as every other day’s end. The resistance was coated with a thick layer of foul mouthed cursing. Léon, along with his brothers, were grabbed by the scruff of the neck, hauled to the tent and received crystal clear instructions. It was a raw recalibration of roles.
The intensity of the situation was too much to bare for a new age dad perched up high on the camping ground platform overlooking us. With babe in arms, standing next to his SUV and delux tent fit for 10, despite only being 2.2 and a small, yelping dog, he was compelled to spray us with what he clearly perceived as an opportunity to proclaim his superior consciousness and proactivity in the face of perceived injustices. Surprised and flabbergasted by his imposition, sense of self-righteousness, unsolicited opinion, Lisa told him to remember us in about 13 years.
Over dinner the boys continued the offensive. Convoluted fairy floss. One thing is certain – “It’s hard having parents that give a shit” as the boys pointed out. You want your independence? It’s in the form of being in the world around you, engaging with it, without using others as punching bags.
Thursday 19 September
Today we left the campground at Fornoli. The tension was still palpable. But we were all looking forward to another day.
The first 20kms seemed long, but perhaps that was just because we didn’t eat a proper breakfast. There was a bit of a weird moment where we heard some awful screams coming out of a house. The house was screaming. The hope was that someone accccidentally hit their big toe on a corner, but they were ugly screams. One’s thoughts easily descend into to the darkest corners of the imagination.
After yet another serious climb we had a pit stop in front of a small 12th century church that was built at the time of the plague to help people. Powerful, simple, accessible, immediate. The layering of histories in front of your very eyes. As we were exploring the inside of the church we realised that we were also doing the pilgrims Camino Francigena from San Marino to Rome. The boys went to the Church – San Francesco to have the ‘passports’ stamped.
We set off again shortly after and it was a difficult, hilly ride all the way to San Gimignano – a world Heritage site. The scenery was iconically Tuscan with its undulating hills, pine trees and villas perched in mountain sides or on their peaks. We stopped for lunch in a park and discovered a packet of mozzarella in Arsène’s bag that we’d forgotten about. The park was in an unattractive part of an unattractive suburban area. It was the lack of greenery that made it so ugly. It was like looking at a suburban scene in Sydney. Blocky, lifeless houses. No one on the street. A sad silence. We opened the mozzarella and yes, it had fermented over the last however many days, in the heat of the bag. We decided to try it nonetheless and it was actually really tasty! Together with the corn bread, tomatoes, aioli and salad, it was a surprisingly impressive lunch. We continued through endless groves of vineyards and olive trees. Had to administer some first aid on Oreste who managed to scratch himself on the bike and then when we finally got to San Gimignano, we were rewarded with another of the most fabulous gelatos. Lisa tried a chocolate that had cinnamon and spice, while Xavier and Oreste had a lemon flavour that was simply unique. Along side the pinolo in Pisa, this was another masterpiece.
While deeply charming, we didn’t want to spend time in San Gimignano because it was such a tourist trap. It was dislocating and disappointing to stumble upon the Disneylandification. Within the walls of this old city we ventured to the nearest supermarket to buy supplies for dinner tonight and then headed to the camping site a few kilometres out of town. To our surprise, the camp ground was also a pilgrims village which meant that we were able to enjoy the little bungalows, specifically for pilgrims at a very reasonable price because of our ‘passports’ which we’ve had stamped in every town since Firenze. It was a glamping moment. We had a wonderful home cooked dinner with polenta and tuna accompanied by a stew of cauliflower, mushrooms, courgette, lentils, onion, garlic, tomato passata, and seasoning. It was truly delicious. Dessert was a small watermelon. This night was the first night in Italy where we were able to cook outdoors and not be ravaged by mosquitoes. We realised how stressful mosquitoes make everything. This constant paranoia that you’re being eaten alive while trying to do something as basic as eating, cooking or going to the toilet.
Friday 20 September
The day started at 7am realising that if we wanted to get to the coast over the weekend that we had to leave today because we were told that in Tuscany you can’t catch trains with bikes on weekends. We rode out of San Gimignano and were faced with a beautiful 360 view of the Tuscan landscape with its soft inclines and declines – on the eyes in any case – the brown, rusty colour of the earth which gives life to the thousands of olives and pine tree lined roads. Within a few minutes, we were on a dusty rocky descent which eventually led to a road and then found ourselves on the Camino Francigena Sud. This camino took us into beautifully undulating countryside which put on a wonderful display of colours. Most frappant was the deep rich red colour of the soil which reminded us all of home.
Just out of Siena, we rode through farmland. The track became thinner and thinner until we eventually reached a narrow walking track carpeted by twisting roots and limestone rocks. It was a beautifully green path with doppled sunlight but difficult getting through with the bikes, although we all agreed that it was a nice change of scenery and not such an issue that we had to push and pull the bikes. These trusty bikes that become your companion, someone you confide in, something that moulds itself to become an extension of your body, allowing you to fly and breathe, and think and challenge. It’s such an incredible machine. Each person free to choose their path through life on these simple, sophisticated, poetic ushers. A complicit, natural, love affair that once tasted, changes you chemically – a trip from which you never return. The bike is the most life inducing invention ever made. Thank you Baron Karl von Drais. This man from Karlsruhe, who invented us and whose truly liberated spirit freed so many others while empowering their bodies, minds and souls.
After an 11km ascent we made it to Siena another beautiful medieval town, declared a UNESCO World Heritage site which we were interested in seeing for its main Piazza del Campo. Typically narrow streets, il Domo, the piazza was all very pretty but the Disneyland factor was really off putting. Before we went into the town we sat in a park for lunch where we tried a local cheese which seems like a cross between yoghurt and vacherin otherwise known as “Lo Stracchino Di Sorano” very nice with the roast chicken, salad and tomato in sandwiches. As we were having lunch and Oreste lost his a second tooth (#1 Vienna, #2 Siena), we were watching the bus loads of tourists arrive and depart, the cars squeezing themselves into any available gap to park, despite the tight squeeze posing a problem for the car passengers wanting to get out. As we ate we watched a ballet of a group of middle aged, well dressed Italians trying to squeeze out of their car without scratching their or the other car they were right up against. Reversing in and out to let all others out first, leaving the ultimate challenge for the driver, who had to rearrange her clothes after having to contort herself out of her car. It was like watch a rat deforming itself to get through a narrow sewer pipe. Many of the tourists seem to be Italian with a few being from Austria and Germany.
We left Siena by train and had to go down about 10 levels of escalators with the bikes which was heavy going but we got the hang of it. We finally got to platform two and with 13 minutes to spare we had to the get tickets and get our bikes and bags into the platform via stairs. That’s when great team work kicked in. Lisa dealt with getting the tickets. Xavier and the boys started the grunt work of lugging bikes and bags up the stairs. Arsène was trying to open the train door to get the bikes on board but it was closed. I asked the man when it would be open and he asked where we were going, Lisa said ‘Grosetto’ and much to our surprise he pointed to another wagon train and said, ‘No. That’s your train.’
With only a few minutes before departure we started throwing bags and bikes into the train on the opposite platform and clearly were taking up a lot of room in the entrance/exit. The train master of this train came over to tell us, “You can’t travel on this train!” Lisa wasn’t having it. She explained that the ticket office sold her the tickets on the basis that this was one of the two trains left for the day going to Grosetto and we had to be in Grosetto tonight. They’re happy to sell you tickets, bikes included, but not happy for you to get on the train… go figure. The train by this stage was running two minutes late. Clearly flustered the train master got on the phone to see what she could do because we were not getting off the train. There we at least seven extra people who took advantage of the late departure and jumped on board, making matters worse because there wasn’t enough seating room. In the end she was given the go ahead to take off with us on board. The train was packed so to try and make it a little more pleasant for everyone, Lisa asked a woman travelling with her 10 year old son whether she wouldn’t mind putting her bags above her head where there was room for luggage so the two Indians and one Arab guy could sit down. She was insulted by the suggestion and proclaimed that she would do it but that it be very clear she paid for all four seats! With attitudes like that, there’s no surprise why there is this notion that there isn’t enough room in the world. A few stops in, the train mistress finally came over and told us about another section of the train that was for luggage where we could put our bikes! We couldn’t believe that she was about to kick us off the train when there was an entire empty section for the bikes! Astoundingly bad use of resources coupled with an inability to offer the solution straight up. Mid way through, the train master came over to apologise. Lisa asked why that space wasn’t made an option in the first place. While the train master didn’t offer an explanation, she wanted to make sure there was no bad feelings between us. It became a wonderfully warm exchange that reinforced the beauty of all our contradictions and why we need broken pots to water the flowers.
An hour and a half later we arrived in Grosetto. We still had 15kms to ride before getting to the camp ground so we had a quick disappointingly dry kebab and then made our way. We rode as the sun was setting with the last 5 kms being somewhat hair rising as we rode on a long stretch of highway at dusk. We were relieved when we finally were able to turn off. Arsène then had a hissy fit because he would not be patient and let the other two finish their beds before preparing his. He was already in the bad books because this came on the back of a day where he ate the inside of a bread roll leaving Xavier with nothing to eat except the crust, then he threw Léon’s grapes on the floor.
There is a beautiful bird in this part of the world that has a very soft toot. It’s a soothing, almost meditative sound. Tomorrow the Mediterranean. The perfume of the pine trees was intoxicating. The boys have collected pine cones to mine for pinoli in the morning. The taste of the pine nuts is exquisitely rounded and musky. Calls were made to the family who are waiting for us. We’re going to Castelgandolfo first.
Saturday 21 September
The boys were up early and dismantling tents while Lisa was still sleeping, only to reveal a praying mantis that had snuggled in underneath the cover of our tent overnight. On waking we found ourselves in the uplifting heights of the Italian pine trees. It felt like we were in a tree house and amongst the branches. The cool, damp air was being warmed up by the rising sun, hinting at all the perfumes just waiting to unfold. The pine needles, the soil, the sea breeze. And then looking straight ahead, the magic was broken. Broken by one of these hideous monster camper buses. The deluxe ‘Empire Liner’ that looks like a grotesque cruise liner burdening the gentle, modest skyline of Venice slowly ramming its way into the dwarfed city. We’d seen another one of these in that camping ground in Germany where the guy charged us more than anyone else. All of that for two white nomads. So much energy, so much space for so few people. It’s just grossly over the top. The one in Germany had a picture of the grandchildren that took up the whole back panel of the bus framed by a love heart. The hypocrisy is blissfully ignorant. But someone will say, it’s big business in Europe. Not only are the roads lined with caravans over the summer period, but during the winter, you have vast perfectly good land for many other uses occupied by sleeping, if not dilapidated caravans, which may or may not be brought to life next summer.
Today was a day that felt like we were riding off the beaten track and it was beautiful. The muskiness, the dampness in the air, the cicadas chirping, the pine tree lined back roads, the silence, only us and the birds gnawing at the silence with their wholesome deep calls. This patch of land where the Tuscan mountains meets the Mediterranean is dynamically yet simply rustic and refreshingly beautiful. There were no tourists – aside from us – cows and sheep. We had the impression we were witnessing a typical Saturday, with teenagers leaving school at around midday, groups of morning cyclists doing their weekly run and people just moving about in a different fashion to the usual Monday to Friday grind.
As we rode we could hear this constant small plane circling above and then Léon spotted these black spots in the sky. They were sky diving. We stopped to watch the full cycle twice. It was enthralling. So exciting and very scary. That moment of watching these tiny black dots leap from a small plane way up high and then watch them rip through the vaste majority of our vista – so much space in seconds. Our hearts were racing for them. We were bitting our nails as their parachutes started to release in the hope that they all released without a hitch. The parachutes opened. It was like watching kittens being snapped up by the scruff of their necks by their mother. We breathed a sigh of relief.
We stopped at a supermarket in Fonteblanda to stock up on lunch and ate the most deliciously textured Tuscan pears which seemed to have a hint of vanilla. We stocked up on kilos of devine sweet grapes. We were so hungry on looking at all this food that we parked ourselves in the parking lot, took up a curb side and started making lunch. There weren’t very many people but those that were there didn’t know what to make of us. All of them preferred to keep their distance except for the African guy selling his “family’s” wares on the corner. On our way to the bin, we stopped to speak to one another. He was from Senegal and had been living in Italy for many years. He was selling jewellery and other craft pieces to make his way through this unforgiving suburban world. Difficult to decipher how someone like this lives, particularly when the peak tourist season is over. We bought a geometric, block coloured beaded leather bangle from him. Not that we had any need for it, but it was the gesture that counted and another memory trigger in the making. A memory of compassion and solidarity in our common humanity. We bid each other farewell and continued on our way to Orbetello, although we only made it to Albinia which is not too far.
Sunday 22 September
Writing to you from the tent which is being pelted with rain, lightning and thunder. It started at about 3am although we were woken up by the big wind heralding its arrival as it lashed through the pine treetops overhead. Not a good time to be in a tent. The thunder went deep. There was a sense that the earth and the sky were having an argument. We felt to deep growl of the sky translate into a profound base movement in the earth beneath us. One was almost too afraid to touch the ground. The lightning lit up the tent for seconds at a time. With the light so bright in certain instances that when you closed your eyes there were shades of bright yellow that were visible, followed by greens, oranges and mauves with every blink. The tent was in a pool of water. Poor Leon had to hold his side of the tent by himself because his brothers did a runner to the toilet just before all hell broke loose. Then the lightning struck and they had a black out and were stuck. Lisa and Xavier were supporting the structure of the tent on their side which was being thrown around by the wind. We knew there would be rain but the Italian meteorology certainly didn’t prepare anyone for this.
When we woke up around 8am, Lisa had already been to the reception to secure a bungalow for tonight because we can’t ride out in this weather with 40kms per hour winds expected. Can’t ride in that loaded as we are. Not that we would have been able to catch a train today because it’s Sunday and we’re still in Tuscany. So we are forced to stay in Albinia another day. Today the authorities have issued a warning – an orange alert for tonight.
We spent the entire day moving into one of the bungalows just opposite the camping where we were last night. The parasol on the front porch was destroyed by the wind last night. The area is in preparation for the civil protection orange alert, with workers making necessary adjustments and removing whatever debris they could from last night. The tempest is expected tonight. Luckily we still had enough lunch left from yesterday to get us through the day. It was a lazy day where we managed to do some homework and plan the first leg of our Barcelona to Zaragoza trip which is fast approaching.
Thank god for restaurants on camping sites. With no food left for a dinner, we went for a delicious pizza dinner tonight. We went back to the bungalow just before the weather unleashed another spectacularly sensory storm. You could again feel the rolling thunder in the earth beneath and see the bright white light of the unceasing lightning – even with eyes closed. While listening to the pouring rain, you could smell the perfume of the pine tree grove that was rising from the ground which was quickly being turned into a swimming pool. It was pure pleasure experiencing these wildly profound European storms that echo within and beyond. Tomorrow morning we head for the family homes in Rome.
