Ten Days in Lazio, Via Francigena Sud

One fine spring morning, we stepped out to walk the Via Francigena Sud. It’s a 950-kilometre route following the ancient Appian Way from Rome to Santa Maria di Leuca. Emperors, poets and popes have gone before us, as have pilgrims and crusaders bound for the Holy Land.

Rome is the principal city of Lazio, the first region we traverse. With its skyline of domes, towers and monumental winged angels, it’s an enchanting city. Strewn with fragments of its ancient past, it’s an intriguing puzzle of antiquities. Our guide at the Vatican Museums says that the statues we’re looking at are not what they seem. They are in fact a pastiche of different works. After the sacking of Rome, parts of the statues destroyed lay buried for centuries and are still rising from the earth. An arm or a leg found in a 2nd hand shop challenges an assumption or solves a mystery. The truth is ‘unveiled by time’.

A last glance back at St Peter’s Basilica. Crossing the Tiber River, we wind our way through narrow streets of pink and yellow ochre buildings that glow in the early morning light. Taking the grassy route across Circus Maximus, hills on either side, we leave the eternal city and join the cobblestoned Via Appia Antica.

It’s a way of monuments and trees. We walk under Roman arches, past catacombs dug deep underground and the ruins of the temples, mausoleums and villas of a collapsed civilisation. Less than 5 kilometres from Rome, we come across a shepherd driving a flock of sheep. Bells tingling. The shepherd calming the skittish animals. People out foraging for wild asparagus. Downy oaks, lovely in their twisted beauty. The hammering of a woodpecker.  

Flanked by pines and cypress, the cobblestoned Roman road gives way to dirt, the fields of carved relics to grapevines. We continue on past a vast Trappist monastery, climbing in the heat of the afternoon to Castel Gandolfo. From up high, the ocean is a pale silver shimmer on the horizon. The noble Gandolfo family built the castle which gives the town its name in the 12th century. In 1604, Pope Clement VII annexed the castle and made it his summer palace. It remains one of the properties of the Holy See and outside of Italian jurisdiction. Even though we’ve walked from the Vatican, the summer palace is closed to pilgrims so we make do with a studio apartment for the evening.

Bells ring as we leave town in the morning. The air is damp and sharp with mown grass. We walk on a forest track through the Alban Hills, high above the glittering waters of Lake Albano. Views out across the plains to Rome. Daisies and wild cyclamen fringing the track. It’s Saturday morning and a stream of mountain bikers pass us. They maintain their loud banter even on the steepest sections of the trail.

We stop for coffee and sweet tarts in Nemi, the pretty pink hill town famous for its strawberries. Just out of town, we stop to chat with a trio of lost Italians. When we reply to the question of where we are from there is general astonishment. One of the women exclaims: ‘You’re from Australia, and you’re in Europe. It’s a miracle!’

A track lined with bright yellow broom and coppiced elder trees. The scuttling of lizards. Up and down through a scrappy forest, logged recently and struggling to recover. Goethe wrote about the wonder of these woods. It would sadden him to see their diminished beauty.

The mountains we’re walking towards start to reveal their ruggedness. At Seminario Don Orione we meet John O’ Donaghue, a Scottish pilgrim who lets us in as he is leaving to go into town. He tells us that to secure a bed, we need to find the priest or the young boy. They are the only two people residing in this sprawling complex.

On through rural Lazio. Spring flowering camellias, a show of creamy white and bright pink. Olive groves. Olive pressing plants. Vineyards where, rather than a rose bush, there’s an artichoke planted at the end of each row. Orchards. Hillsides a mass of white lupins. The mystical Lake of Giulianello, its tranquillity ruffled by mating geese.

Giulianello has a rich folk culture of singing. The women sang when they were working in the fields and when they arrived back in the village each day. They sang songs of love and loss at weddings and funerals and still sing the passion of Christ every Easter.

Past Cori’s impressive Temple of Hercules, we navigate a path through a maze of steep staircases and arrow stone passageways. The only voices seeping out of the houses are those of old people. From here, we walk up into the wild Lepini Mountains. It’s steep, stony country but on this warm afternoon, the walking is mesmerising. It takes a paraglider whirling birdlike across the sky for us to slow our pace. 

Wind howling throughout the night. At daylight, dark clouds give way to rain. We delay our start and enjoy breakfast on the covered terrace of our B&B. Coffee, homemade cakes, pastries, cereals, fruit & yoghurt; it’s a feast.

From Norma, we follow a winding path up to the mediaeval village of Sermonata. Then it’s up and down across the Lepini Mountains and out onto a beautiful plateau. Green fields, cows and sheep grazing, cuckoo’s calling off in the distance. When we arrive in Sezze, we find it deserted. According to legend, the mythical hero Hercules founded the city. It’s now known for its gastronomic specialities, none of which are on offer at the only bar we find open. A municipal worker in fluro orange recognises us as Via Francigena walkers. He’s only the second person to date to do so. 

There’s a group of nine Italian weekend walkers staying at the same albergue as us this evening. On hearing that we’re walking the Via Francigena Sud, they invite us to join them for dinner. Full of lively chatter and with a hundred questions for us, they are the most convivial of companions.

It’s Liberation Day today. According to one of the women walkers, it’s an important but somewhat contentious public holiday. It commemorates the end of the WWII Nazi occupation of Italy and the victory of the resistance movement. But the recent election of a right-wing government has heightened tensions between those who spend the day celebrating the end of fascism and those with fascist sympathies who refuse to honour the occasion.

An undulating rocky track and then out along the river until the climb up to Priverno. A white heron following the flow of the river. A woman out foraging for wild greens. The river gurgling with the call of frogs.

We walk on to Fossanova Abbey, once a great Cistercian monastery and now a rural village. The church, the graceful cloister and the chapter house hold their authenticity. Giuseppe, one of the local friends of the Via Francigena Sud, finds us at the Abbey and greets us like long-lost friends. We sit in the sun and, over a coffee, talk about taking the 950-kilometre walk step by step. In Italian, this translates to ‘passo dopo passo’. Giuseppe believes that said slowly, these three words are a philosophy by which to live your life.

After we leave the Abbey, we begin what becomes a hot seven-kilometre slog uphill on asphalt to Sonnino. It’s more difficult than we anticipated and we half wish we had accepted Giuseppe’s offer to drive us up to the town.

We stay opposite Bar San Francisco. Gino, the proprietor and qualified sommelier, has shelves of fine Italian wine for sale. This pikes our interest but not that of his local customers. They seem to want to drink only the beer and strong liquor available.

Up into the wild limestone hills; spiky with Mediterranean shrubs. This was once home to bandits, including the infamous brigand, Gasbarrone. The way is rough and rocky until the landscape softens to one of trees, moss-covered rocks and wildflowers. Climbing higher, we have views of the Ausoni Mountains, a verdant green valley, and a river winding its way to the sea. From the summit of Mt Tavanese, the highest point of the Via Francigena Sud, we see snow on the distant mountains.

In the cork oak forest, we meet Cedric, sitting among the centuries-old trees and taking in the beauty. He left home on foot a year ago to visit friends he wasn’t able to see during the COVID years. He’s homeward-bound now. By the time he reaches his village in the French Alps, he will have walked 10,000 kilometres.

We continue on the graceful hilltown of Monte San Biago with its mediaeval centre, castle and stone stairways. Before the unification of Italy, the village marked the border between the papal states and the Kingdom of the two Sicilies.

Clear blue skies. Quiet back roads flanked by citrus groves. Oranges, lemons, cumquats and cedra (an old misshapen variety that makes the bitter-sweet drink, cedrata).

In Fondi, we walk through the ancient Jewish quarter. Jews and Christians lived here in harmony for centuries until, in 1540, Carlo V drove all Jews out of his kingdom. Fondi persisted as a surname amongst the expelled jews and now there’s a Jewish museum where once the synagogue, a house of spirits, stood.

We follow the old Appia Road that used to connect Fondi and Itri, walking the same path people have walked for centuries. Appius Claudius built this road in the 4th century BC. Along with the original basoli paving, there’s an arched bridge and stone terraces. It’s all a testament to the engineering and architectural genius of the Romans.

A brief skirmish with a busy road and then back onto an earth track. We breathe a sigh of relief and settle into the slowness of the day, eventually arriving in Itri. During WWII, bombing damaged 75% of its buildings. You can still see it in the fabric of the town, 80 years later. Concrete replacing stone; the stone that survived bearing the scars of war. 

Breakfast at a workers’ bar and then off towards the coast. Gnarled olive trees, wild fennel, artichokes in season. Bald hills, rocky terraces, farms nestled in groves of trees. Small settlements clinging to hillsides.

Climbing the gentle hills of the Aurunci on a quiet back road, the sun shining, the earth still. A day born for walking. Through the arch of the Madonna del Colle and then downhill, all the way to the sea. At a beachside lido, we take our shoes off, walk across the warm sand and soak our feet in the Tyrrhenian Sea.

Perched on the spur of Monte Orlando, Gaeta is a mediaeval town with an Aragonese castle. A mythical place for Dante and Virgil, it was once a holiday destination for Roman emperors and senators.

We follow the coast around to Formia. Past shipping yards, fishing boats and beaches under stress. Artificial rock walls attempt to keep rising sea levels from swamping seaside houses and hotels. Further south, the buildings are in a state of decrepitude. The sand is dirty yellow and littered with the detritus that comes in on the tide. Seagulls circle and people wander. The scene is more down-at-heel film set than idyllic beach setting.

A woman hears us say that we’re Australians and introduces herself. She spent nine years of her childhood in Lake Illawarra before her parents returned to Italy. When she arrived back in the land of her birth, she found herself without language.

We follow the arc of the sea for as long as possible, reluctant to give up its calming ebb and flow, the glint of sapphire light and the heady scent of orange blossom. 

Once the beach runs out, we turn inland and follow the Garigliano River on quiet backways for several kilometres. Past market gardens, wheat fields and siesta-slow hamlets. Clouds descend on the mountain range. The humidity builds.

Our host gives us specific instructions for rejoining the trail in the morning. To ensure we’ve understood, she rings her niece in London and asks her to explain each step of the way to us in English. Breakfast is an espresso and slices of homemade love cake. Almond blossom scents the warm air humming with bees. 

There’s a big football match today and everyone in this region is going for Napoli. If they win, they’ll be the champions of Italy. The towns are a sea of blue & white (the colours of the club). The air of anticipation is intense. After a coffee at Bar Moderno in Lauro, we follow the way of the cross out of town and into the foothills where oaks, olive trees and peach orchards flourish. In Cupa, young men sit around chatting, waiting to escort their mothers home from mass.

The stone of the houses is dark now, like the volcanoes it is quarried from. The Roman Theatre in Sessa Arunda, built in the 1st century AD, is impressive. As are the Byzantine-style mosaics in the 12th-century cathedral. Built on the slopes of the Roccamonfina volcano, the town is the birthplace of Gaius Lucilius, poet and the father of satire. 

By early afternoon, the roads are empty and the villages deserted. The game is about to start. Two hours later, horns blare and firecrackers explode in the sky. Then all goes quiet. The game is a 1:1 draw. The fans face an agonising week’s wait before their team plays for the championship a second time. 

The trail winds around the slope of an extinct volcano, following the undulations of the land. Higher up there are vineyards and olive groves. In a forest on the outskirts of a semi-abandoned village, we come across a deconsecrated chapel. It’s decorated with fading frescoes and hung with the strangest of icons.

The basoli-paved Via Adriana leads us into Teano, once a city of great power and splendour. In 1860, it hosted a historic meeting between Guiseppe Garibaldi and the King of Sardinia (Victor Emmanual II) that paved the way for the unification of Italy.

We spend the evening at the Monastery of Santa Catarina with Sister Cecile. She invites us into the nuns’ chamber where we meet the only other nun living here. It was once forbidden for lay people to enter this chamber, as it was for the nuns to be visible at mass. When they attended church services, they hid behind an elaborate gilded grill. Sister Cecile takes us on a tour of the monastery. It’s a labyrinth of rooms and chapels that still hold great treasures, including illuminated manuscripts and gold-encrusted icons.  

To date, we’ve met only two other people walking the full length of the Via Francigena Sud; a French and a Scottish pilgrim. We’ve walked 245 kilometres and spent 10 days absorbed in the history and culture of Lazio. Today we’ll walk into mountainous Campania, hoping its landscapes are as captivating and its people as welcoming as those of Lazio.  

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You can continue our Via Francigena Sud journey as we cross the Apennines to the Adriatic and then on to Santa Maria di Leuca in Finis Terrae: to the end of the earth.