The Grapes of Wrath

It's hard not to sample some of the grapes even though they aren't fully ripe yet as you can see per picture below. I stick two in my mouth, garner whatever juice I can and then spit. In this way I travelled across Tuscana and gained a vast appreciation of acidity. Of course, this can have some adverse results....

Unlike Steinback's American Classic about troubled dyslexic Mexican youths going on holidays in California, the wrath of the grapes I experienced was somewhat different. You can imagine. I suppose the lesson to be learned is not to eat un-ripened grapes even though one might be parched something terrible. 

Lucky in Lucca

I'm now in the ancient walled city of Lucca (like Luka Bloom) which means ancient walled city in Italian. 

The city was founded back in the day by a bunch of roving youths who liked the look of the walls for playing Cowboys and Indians and never left.

Also, the Roman Legions used the city for their decimation sacrifices. As many of you will know if a Roman legion performed badly in battle it was subject to a decimation review afterwards - a kind of 'lessons learned' exercise, but with dire consequences for 10% of those involved - whereby all the soldiers were line up on the wall and the centurion then started at a random soldier, kicked him off the wall to a horrific death and then counted 10 more places and kicked that guy off and so on. Hence the word decimation and also this is the source of our current decimal system. 

More recently Lucca has become know as a den of iniquity with its never ending Irish weddings. As the saying goes "If you can't get lucky in Lucca, you might as well try Limerick". Of course it doesn't help that, in a bizarre twist, many locals call their first born daughters Lucia thereby further diminishing the city's reputation. You know, getting 'Lucky in Lucca with Lucia'. 

The  picture below is a local 'cimiterio' taken at 510am. 

Italian Wedding Traditions (2)

The other quaint tradition is that if you don't bring at least a gift of €5,000 for the new couple they will suck the flesh from your face (as in the lad below) over a 24 hour period before tying you up and leaving you for the fire ants. 

Weddings are a lot of pressure in Italy. Same as everywhere I guess. 

Italian Wedding Traditions (1)

Because food is the most important thing in Italy - that much is at least clear to me now -  at weddings they have a great way of ensuring people can find the restaurant after the ceremony. It's slightly cringy but they pin pictures of the married couple (in a classy A4 plastic cover) along the route from the church all the way to the restaurant. 

 

The Philosopher Kundt

Many of ye have recognized the title of this blog as coming from the writings of the eminent Austrian philosopher and nihilist, Otto Kundt. Apologies, I should have given Kundt appropriate credit from the get go. Here's the full quote: 

A body, racked with pain,

A mind, close to insane, 

This task I do, not for my brothers, 

But for the sins of others...

I know the feeling. 

Half Way - Part 2

Mind you if I hadn't been stranded I would have met not Fulvia or Gerard or the Mayor of Orio Litto so every cloud and all that. 

The final area is the Appenine mountains between Fidenza and Avenza. Definitely the best part for me although my dodgy ankle isn't quite up to some of the descents. Staying in Cassio (pop 200) the hostel had two rooms full of food. You just pay for what you use in your own judgement. Same goes for the drink. The views are good here but nothing that you wouldn't see in the Wicklow mountains. Still, the pilgrims weren't concerned with views back then. 'Twas all about absolution from God. Indeed. Last night in Ponyremoli we had the local dish which was a crepe diced with pesto sauce on top. Delicious.

This is written from Aulla (desperate kip, but nice hostel run by the priests) which is 516 kms from Grand San Barnardo on the Swiss border and is the half way point I think. I go to these Happy Shops a lot to help ease the tension. 

Man in White Cap

I should have guessed. The Bishop of Siena got on the dog and bone to the White Cap who now intends to come and greet me at Saint Peters and wash my feet. My feeling is that it's the least he could do. 

Hopefully afterwards we can break open a few cold ones and have a chat about the churches doctrine on contraception and Christopher Hitchen's views about Mother Therese. In fairness to Francis he seems like a good guy. 

Now that my walk and burden is over I leave you with this old Italian saying: 

"Se cammini pui di 1000kms, le ragazze cadranno ai tuoi piedi, prego"

Half Way - Part 1

Is a place between Bandon and Cork and is also where I'm at right now after 16 days. The route can be split into three separate areas: 

The first part is the Val d'Aosta which goes from the Swiss border into the Aosta valley. The route is on the east side  and is mostly downhill. The only down side is that the motorway splits the centre of the valley and the sound rises. In terms of towns nothing really special to see. Arnad is nice and the fort at Bard is very impressive with the funicular up to it. Ivrea has one of the few natural water slalom courses.  To be honest, too hot to be enjoyable. The Alpes are terrific in fairness, really amazing. 

The next part is the plains. Some ok towns - Vercelli is nice - but walking on completely flat routes through the rice paddies and back roads all the time is monotonous. Again, stifling heat, and little shade. 36 degrees at 6pm in the shade is too much. The lake at Viverone was a big disappointment. Pavia does look very nice to be fair, very nice indeed.

The ferry experience with Danilo was great but you'd have to ask whether it was worth the hassle. I think not, taking the bridge at Castel San Giovanni is the better option, otherwise you can get stranded on the wrong side of the Po, like I did. 

Don't pay the ferryman

"Until you get to the other side", so says the song. That is, if the ferryman shows up at all. Yikes, how it can all go so badly wrong? I had a great plan to steal a day and try and watch the final day of the Open golf. Alas it was not to be. Let me bore you with the details. 

Headed off early as usual intent on getting the ferry as per guide books. Was a bit worried about the fact that it was a Sunday but said I'd give it a go anyway. Got there after 4.5 hours delighted with myself but no sign of the ferryman. So I looked at the map, not a bridge around for miles. No choice but to head for another village that had a hostel. 

Got there after an hours walking in the midday sun. Mad dogs and Englishmen etc. Hostel there but no key. Barman opposite rang the lad Giovanni who told me I needed to go back to the ferry village, 5 kms away, pick up a key from some mystery lady and come back. I'm looking at the hostel opposite the bar, the sweat dripping off me. I said no chance but thanks. Next thing the locals in the bar get involved. They seemed to indicate that I needed to get a shave. Time for a beer to take stock. 

Decided I had to go back to another hostel as no accomodation. For miles. Just about to head off when the barman says no, a man will drive me back. Sure enough a clean shaven man shows up and drives me back to a place I was three hours ago. The hostel is great and I meet the mayor on his bike. I also notice a load of trucks and a large stage. Big outdoor gig tonight. Am mulling over having a few. It's been a while. Also Lynch is bragging about his pool near Venice. 'Twould drive a fella mad. Here's a photo of Danilo, the ferryman, taken a day later. He's very proud of that book, also shown. And a big rugby fan, to boot. 

Po faced in Pavia with Pavies

It is rare that one encounters a town that has given, not one, but two commonly used slang words to the World. Pavia on the river Po is such a town. 

Indeed, I was lucky enough to witness some Pavian Pavies give a good hiding to a group of local Muslims they caught playing football while at the same time some locals looked on in the traditional disapproving way, in a po faced manner as it were.  It was a real thrill to see the two words- and Worlds- come together. The pissed off (the source of Po) passers by with the juxtaposition of the river and the black shoes and white socks seemed so right. And the fact that the town is twinned with Mayfield put the final touch to the perfect painting (unless you are one of the Muslins of course). Still, it is what it is. You can see clearly the po faced locals in the pic below. 

The rice paddies of Padua

Sorry, make that Piemont; it's a pity it wasn't Padua. When you think rice is mostly harvested by hand in Asia the 1000's of square miles of rice paddies in Italy are cultivated in the easier fashion of the western world, machines. The lads in Asia were unlucky I think. 

I've actually become quite addicted to the tractors that are used with their thin cogged wheels. You actually need another tractor and trailer just to bring the rice tractor to the paddy fields as per photos below. The word 'paddy' comes from the Malay word pādī meaning,in an amazing coincidence, rice grown in a field 

Most impressive is their phenomenal irrigation systems which apparently were invented before time was even contemplated by the great thinkers. 

Quick thanks

Ever since this blog went viral I have been inundated with emails from around the world. Li Zhao from the Shengu province of China described my efforts as 'awe inspiring' and 'humbling'. Maria Jesus Alcazar emails from Santiago, Chile that she prays for me every day. Thank you Maria and thanks for the photo, I'll will write back to you privately. 

On the other hand, there is Jean O'Donovan from my home country who writes 'would you ever cop yourself on, you are nothing but an indolent tosser' and she doubts whether I am even in Italy, walking for the sins of others. 

Most hurtful. I've taken a picture below of my most recent blister but decided against showing you some of the insect bites. That foot hit the ground 20,000 times today, it wasn't pleasant. But I'm pleased to report that pain management is something I have learned over the years so I know what to do. This is a cross that only I can bear. 

The locals enjoy a good gag

The story of wine

Legend tells of the nymph Albaluce, daughter of the Sun and Dawn, who lived on the shores of an immense lake and who was loved by all people. But then the Queen Ypa decided to empty the lake to provide more arable land for her subjects causing the death of many people. The tears of the sorrowful Nymph fell on thorns and hence first spawned the golden bunches of grape. Every cloud I suppose. 

I swear to God. It says so in this brochure. 

What is kinda interesting is that some of the vine tunnels I went through in Carema had 4 foot concrete columns supporting them which I hadn't seen before. Apparently the idea is that the columns heat up during the day and then release that heat overnight making the grapes in the area extra something. Storage heating like. 

Ms. Marples and Italian death notices

There are more muderers and villains where Ms. Marples lives than almost anywhere.  God knows why anyone would chose to live in that village given the high chances of arsenic poisoning and the pervasive reek of almonds. 

And what's all this got to do with anything? Well, I'm thinking if that village used the same type of death notices as they do in this part of Italy perhaps everyone might feel safer. Having your victim looking at you for a few days from various notice boards can't be good. I wonder in the case of natural deaths who picks the photo? 

Sesame Street song

One of the great things about these hikes is that you meet all sorts of people from many countries and backgrounds. It's really terrific. And they all have very interesting stories to tell as they share travel stories over a cold beer. It's a cultural melting pot and a serious learning opportunity. 

That is, if they speak English. If not, no point. In this heat it's just wasting energy. Actually,  the cursory nod works quite well. That said, I did meet this Italian woman at the Canoe club in Ivrea (very famous) and her English is ok. Still not worth it though. There are only so many ways to say that it is hot when all you really want to know is what's the deal with the Mafia (why only located in Sicily) and why you can't get on a bus over here without a ticket in advance. 

(As it happened I ended up walking with this woman into Rome, three weeks later.  She was a lot of fun and laughed at all my jokes). Well, nearly all. 

Out of the box thinking

The town of Etroubles had such problems getting access to Broadband that they renamed their entire town in order to shame the local authorities into fixing the problem.  So Padre Enrico told me in our only common language - Latin. 

Walking through the village I had noticed that the men of the village had a distant vacant look about them, a kind of wanton frustration you might say. Anyway, every nine weeks (representing each of the letters of 'Broadband')  a young goat is sacrificed at 5pm on Tuesday and the blood used to spell broadband on a random officials car. Then they eat the goat and have an incredibly drunken and, by the priests account, promiscuous party where unspeakable things happen with the other goats and any females attending, all depending.  It's not great for the goats obviously. 

This contentious protest has been going on for years apparently and no sign of any progress. It is father against son, mother against daughter, brother against brother and mother against brother. No reports of any feuds of sister versus brother as yet according to Enrico. But he said it wouldn't surprise him. When I asked had he ever attended himself he clammed up. Well actually he said 'You gotta be kidding me'. 

32 Degrees in the shade at 8pm (fs)

Hmm.....Day one and day two down. Got the stamp on Switzerland soil at the Great St. Bernard pass and walked half way back to Aosta, and got the bus down from there. Walked half way up starting at 5.40 am.  Nice walk to be fair. If a tad steep. Day two was a 5.30 start and just made it to Chatillon at 1.15pm before collapsing from the heat. Up and down all day looking at hot air balloons in the valley. I can't believe the cyclists yesterday rode 184kms at 37 degrees. Amazing effort. 

As a quick footnote Project Cujo is in play where older St.Bernards are trained to rehabilitate sheepdogs gone rogue. Kinda interesting though when they phased out St. Bernards and what happened next. 

Via Francigena

Folks

As I think its critically important that you know where I am at all times and how I am eating I have decided to set this blog up. 

Also, seeing as I am walking under a Pilgrims Passport (and therefore have the protection and blessing of the Big Fella), I thought it time to take stock and decide over the trip what friends / acquaintances to get rid of when I come back. Also I will ask my namesake when I get to the Holy City to forgive ye all your sins. As such, I am walking for the Sins of Others. No, no need to thank me. It's the least I can do. Also I have set up a charitable foundation that supports street children in Midleton who have less than nothing. 

Anyway, here's the map of my route (and the link). If anything, it might teach ye something. 


http://www.visit.viefrancigene.org/en/map/wrap/?layer=statictrack&close=operations