Via Francigena: All Roads Lead to Rome

In Tuscany, all the roads to Rome converge. After walking by ourselves for 1,600 kilometres, we become part of a loose band of pilgrims that coalesces, embracing solitude by day and sociability in the evenings. 

In Siena, we enjoy a late afternoon drink with a small group of pilgrims. We all agree the city has the appearance of being painted into existence by an artist. Paradoxically, the plague of the 15th century saved Siena. Its population was decimated and with it, its power. Because its wealth diminished, its mediaeval heart remained untouched. Now, this terracotta-hued, labyrinthal city is a world heritage jewel.

We leave Siena under a sky saturated with clear blue light. Buildings the colour of the earth. Dusky pink, yellow ochre, raw sienna and burnt sienna; the pigments used by Caravaggio, Rembrandt and a century of Renaissance painters. Rolling golden hillsides. Rows of cypress trees, so dark green they appear black. Olive groves, vineyards, the lavender haze of wildflowers off in the distance.

The heatwave that’s been scorching England, France and Spain sweeps down through Italy. By early afternoon the temperature soars into the high 30s (100 °F). The heat is debilitating. We seek out the coolness of dawn, the shade of mighty oak trees and the lull of flowing water. Once the sting is out of the day, we re-emerge.

In the middle ages, the Via Francigena was understood as a bridge of cultures between Anglo-Saxon and Latin Europe. It’s still regarded as a path of peace, tolerance and dialogue. So from Mexico, France, Germany, Denmark, the USA and Australia, we come together to eat, drink and share stories.

Walking through the Roglio Basin, our path takes us through a landscape of barren clay hills, crater-like gullies and drought-dry rivers; the Tuscan badlands. Stone mountain villages with fortresses standing aside high ridges were once key strategic points in the conquest, defence and reconquest of central Italy. The ruins of abbeys, castles and fortifications date from the 12th to 15th centuries. They provided refuge to kings, popes, merchants and pilgrims before being sacked by invading troops in the 16th century. Some survived almost a thousand years only to be levelled by bombing raids in WWII. 

We drop down into a valley of pine trees and pastures, cows and goats grazing. The Angelus bells ring out in Acquapendente. People stop what they are doing and stand in silence, their heads bowed. Climbing gently up to San Lorenzo Nuovo we have our first view of Lake Bolsena, Europe’s largest volcanic lake. It glitters with beauty and holds the promise of a reviving swim.

Leaving our pilgrim’s lodging in the predawn, the sky is indigo blue before it lightens and reveals a parched forest, dust hanging in the cool air of the gully.  A farmer digs potatoes with a spade. Another sprays his grapes. An old couple is at work in a field, cutting hay by hand as people have done for centuries.

We walk on 2,000-year-old Roman roads then, travelling even further back in time, we follow the way of the Etruscans on a narrow track cut deep into the tufa stone. It’s as mysterious and alluring as a path into the underworld. 

Bird song. The scuttling of lizards. A grey heron picking its way along the water’s edge. A hazelnut-leaf strewn track that meanders as the river does. The ruins of three round towers, rumoured to have been built by Orlando (Roland), a favourite general of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charlemagne. 

As we edge closer to the metropolis, a snarling urban sprawl obliterates all traces of mediaeval Italy. We fear the walk will end this way, ankle-deep in squalor. But seven kilometres from Rome we find ourselves in a deep, wild valley. Fields of rolled hay; a shepherd and his dogs driving a flock of sheep northwards. We climb from the valley to a high point in Monte Mario Park. Rome, the eternal city, is spread out before us. The dome of St Peter’s Basilica reveals itself.

We’ve agreed to wait here for our companions. To gather one last time on the road and share a bottle of wine before the journey ends. We toast the path we’ve walked and the time we’ve spent together. We linger, contemplating how it will be to set aside our pilgrim ways. One stays behind, not yet ready to leave this high point. The rest of us walk on, down to a wide green Boulevard, past the Vatican City Walls and into St Peter’s Square, our final destination. 

The granting of a testimonium. A last pilgrims’ supper. Emotions tangling and untangling. Our 2,000-kilometre journey is over but the experiences had and the friendships made will forever be part of the story of our lives.

Go to the start of our journey: Via Francigena: the beginning.