A last wander along the shoreline before we turn inland to walk across the mountains and plains of Sicily on the Magna Via Francigena. Fishermen mending their nets. A large-scale mural; a memorial to the magistrates Falcone and Borsellino, both assassinated by the Mafia. It is bold in its presence and tender in its rendering.
Waves breaking on the rocky shore. Pebbles sighing. Ferries plying the waters of the Adriatic. Fishing boats out at sea. We’re walking the Via Francigena Sud, a 950-kilometre route following the ancient Appian Way southwards from Rome. After walking through Lazio and across the mountains of Campania, we arrive in the port city of Bari. From here, we’ll hug the coastline until we reach Santa Maria di Leuca on the southernmost tip of the Salento peninsula, where the Adriatic and the Ionian Sea meet.
We wake to the deep silence of the contemplative Monastery of Santa Catarina. There’s heavy rain forecast and it comes early. The beautiful Trebulani Mountains are lost to us. We’re walking the Via Francigena Sud, a 950 km route following the Appian Way southwards from Rome. After 10 days in Lazio, we turn inland towards the mountainous Campania.
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.
It’s a very good question and one that we asked ourselves when we met Helaine on the Via de la Plata in 2008. She had started and intended to finish the Via Francigena. To be honest, we thought it a crazy notion.
Then, towards the end of 2021, after two years of COVID lockdowns and restrictions, we started wondering how we should respond to the constraints; sometimes we hadn’t been able to walk further than 5 km from our home (Melbourne, Australia). As we talked, it became clear that to put COVID-19 behind us we needed to walk, and the further the better. Helaine and the Via Francigena re-entered our consciousness. To walk 2,000 km over three months through five countries felt like the appropriate way to embrace a newly re-opened world.
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Late one summer, we set out to walk the Via degli Dei, an ancient pathway travelled since the time of the Etruscans. The 130-kilometre-long path crosses the beautiful Apennines, linking Bologna with Florence. It threads through forests, across mountain ridges and in and out of old Italian villages.
Pagan divinities give names to the mountains that the route crosses; Adonis, Jupiter, Venus and Lua, the goddess of atonement. They also give the route its name; the Path of Gods.
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.
After we leave the beautiful mountains of the Alps behind, we descend through the foothills of Piedmont and enter the flatlands of the Po Valley.
For hundreds of kilometres, we walk among flooded rice paddies and follow canals, past abandoned and now derelict Cascine, farm complexes where peasant families lived and worked their entire life under the control of the farm owner.
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