Wednesday 25 June 2014

A walk in the park?

Day 5, Chatillon to Issonge, 20 km (plus 2 km being lost and 2 km in search of dinner.)
Day 6, Rest day (but 6km to get to chemist, shop etc)
Day 7, Issogne to Pont St Martin, 13 km
Day 8, Pont St Martin to Ivrea, 22 (excruciating) km
Days 9, 10 & 11, Rest days (short walks to get gelati and pizza)
Day 12, Ivrea to Piverone, 16 km
Day 13, Piverone to Santhia, 22 km
Day 14, Santhia to Vercelli, 28 km (Nick- 7.5 hrs by foot, Liz-11 mins by train)

Walk 1008 kms, they said. It would be easy, they said.  Actually, they didn't. I did. And I was wrong.

By Day 5 my sandal and sock combination seemed to have done me in (I think it was in retaliation for all the mean comments on facebook) with new blisters arising in, oh, about a dozen places. This was exacerbated by an additional 1.5 hours we spent wandering around after walking PAST a signpost cannily hidden behind an olive tree. I can't tell you how I cursed when we finally found it. 

Day 6 we rested, both to give my feet a break, and to allow some space to reflect on the passing of Nick's Granny and to make phone calls, send emails, make some toasts etc. 

We set off on Day 7 (me back in boots) in light misty rain, which soon brightened into clear blue sky as we walked further down the valley. We passed Roman era terraced vineyards, still in use, and an old Roman road where the wheelcarts of generations of travellers had carved permanent grooves into the rock. That night our hotel overlooked an amazing 2000+ year old Roman bridge.
(Terraced vineyards)

(Modern day centurion. Note wheel tracks in stone leading up the arch. Via Roma, the Donnas)

(The view from our hotel of the roman bridge, or 'Ponte Romano')

There ended the sight seeing, as by Day 8 I couldn't comprehend any of the amazing scenery we were passing through but was totally absorbed by the excruciating pain radiating from my feet. We got through 22km. The last eight km being particularly hysterical with me in tears and close to waving down cars for a lift and Nick not knowing how to help me.  A friendly dog walker gave us a short-cut tip and we arrived in Ivrea. Me with broken feet. Nick, still feeling perky.

So, what's the deal with your feet Liz, you may ask? Well, dear reader, as 'Dr.' Anna suggested via a skype session that night, and the pharmacist confirmed in the morning with a step back and sharp intake of breathe, I do indeed have the 'funghi.' That's right, I have tinea. What. A. Fuckup. 
(Fancy Bidet Footbath)

Days 9, 10 and 11 were therefore self-imposed rest days as we waited for my feet to start healing from both the tinea AND the friction blisters. Anna made a suprise, and greatly appreciated, sortie across the Swiss-Italian border bringing extra socks, tape, foot cream, chocolate, a change of clothes and other great stuff. She also kept us company for two days and saved us from killing each other from boredom. (Anna- we are forever grateful for your generosity!) Her visit also highlighted how far we'd come: far enough for her to drive to us in just over two hours. It took us seven days to walk. 

In some ways this makes me feel sick and like a bit of an idiot. But it's also the whole point really, to consider and experience what it's like to journey a long distance by foot. Lately i've thought about people, such as refugees, who have to walk long distances to save their lives. From the comfort of our middle class backgrounds Nick and I can make a choice about this novel form of travelling, but for others walking is often the only way out of desperate situations.  It just makes you think. And be thankful.

But still, I can't be thankful for the tinea. The three days of rest sorted my feet out somewhat. Day 12 started with a walk in the humid rain through woods and open fields. But 8 km in, my pinkie toe starts to burn and then I'm sitting on a wet log in the middle of a paddock changing back to sandles and socks. 

(Honestly- WTF are we doing?)

Day 13 the mega sandle blisters start again and it's like groundhog day, but with no Bill Murray, so really what's the point? On this day however some nice things happened: we still walked 22 km; I didn't cry at all (except in the morning when I couldn't put my boots on but I don't think that counts); the walk was flat and beautiful through vineyards, beside a lake, then leading into corn fields; friendly farmers on tractors waved to us; and I also saw kiwi fruit trees/vines for the first time! So I'm thankful for the small things.
(Lake Viverone)

But really, this foot rubbish is getting to be a joke, so we made the executive decision for me to skip stages and properly rest until my feet are sorted. And also see a dr about a possible infected pinkie toe nail and get some different shoes if need be. This trip we are spending all our money on sports gear and medical supplies instead of beer. Something is really wrong.

So this morning, Day 14, I bid farewell to Nick from a small cafe in the town square. He walked the 28 km to Vercelli (which is an amazing effort!), while I took the train.  It took him about 7.5 hours. The train took 11 minutes and cost me €2.70. 

We have hit the Po river valley so for the next week it is just flat rice plains.  I'm not particularly sad to miss this mosquito-infested part of the walk but in some ways it's hard for me admit I need to stop and take a break. It will also be hard and tedious for Nick as he wanders this 'waiting for godot'-esque bland landscape by himself for hours. 

So for the next while it will be Nick walking, with me acting as support crew and training/bussing from town to town to meet him. I wonder who will have more fun?....
(According to Nick, today's scenery included a tree and a telephone exchange building)


Tuesday 17 June 2014

The Dedication

Yesterday Nick received some deeply significant news. This is his post.

On Monday morning I was awoken with a 6:30am phone call from my Dad in France. 
He'd just recieved a call from the police in Adelaide advising of my Grandmother's death earlier that day.

By all accounts she died peacefully in her sleep, and was found by a staff member at her retirement village on a regular check-in round.

The shock, denial, anger, sorrow and guilt of this news is still coursing through my veins.

Partly because I didn't return her voicemail she left on my birthday while we were in Bali. Partly because 6 days ago I sent her a postcard from Switzerland excitedly sharing our adventures that she now won't receive. But mostly because Liz and I are on the other side of the world, so far away, and at the start of a life changing pilgrimage.

The big question now is what do we do? Do we go back to Australia for the funeral and start the walk later on? Do we continue, and pay our respects in another way?

The way we dealt with this yesterday was to lace up our boots and walk 22km from Chatillon to Issogne. I don't think I could have coped sitting around in a strange hostel on an enforced "rest" day.

In retrospect it was the right decision to make. However Liz's feet didn't seem to think so. 

Today we spent the day resting in Issogne, reducing our weight by posting our sleeping bags and surplus clothes to Anna in Switzerland, stocking up on blister care supplies, and letting Liz thread her blisters with betadine. This should hopefully make her a happy camper. Or happier at least.

The question about what to do is still up in the air. My Granny was not an overly sentimental woman, never wanting a fuss to be made of her. 

All I know is that her strength and tenacity, illustrated by her training as a Doctor during WW2 (a feat for a woman in those days), emigrating from England to Australia in the 1960's and then teaching medicine at Flinders University late in her career, laid the foundation for my attitude to life. And one never to suffer fools, she always listened and offered advice to her frequently naive ( read foolish) grandson, Nicholas.

Her love of both France and Italy was what in part inspired this whole journey, and it may be only fitting to continue on our quest, and honour her with a lighted candle at St Peters in Rome.

    Vale Marjorie Dubberley

    Semper in corde meo.

    To you we dedicate our walk!

Sunday 15 June 2014

Up and down the ups and downs

Day 1, St Bernard Pass to Echevennoz, 14 km
Day 2, Echevennoz to Aosta, 14 km ( plus extra 2km wandering the city looking for accommodation)
Day 3, Aosta to Nus, 15 km 
Day 4, Nus to Chatillon, 14 km ( plus extra 1.5km due to a wrong turn)

My wonderful friend Anna dropped us at the St Bernard Hospice, on the border of Switzerland and Italy, late on Wednesday afternoon. As she drove away, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. I had a cry, and then a beer, and felt immensely better.
(Three dorks at St Bernard Pass)

This is a pattern (give or take the beer-though it does help) that has started to develop on this walk- the days are full of ups and downs. 

Day one was glorious, a gentle descent down the pass into Italy with the sun shining on streams of melted ice. Below the snow line we crossed open slopes filled with wildflowers before decending into woods and tiny towns. We made a cracking pace, and even walked an extra 2km than planned. 
(Day 1- We spotted a Bond-villain lair!)

Day two dawned with my feet full of blisters.  The walking was slow. We laboured up and down through forests and towns with the sun beating down and not enough food to keep up going. By the time we arrived in Aosta I was a mess, with an additional three blisters, low blood sugar, no accommodation where we wanted to stay, and really low decision-making capabilities. We finally found a room, I had a cry, cleaned my feet up, then had a beer, and a ginourmous pizza.

(Day 2- Big pizza deserves a serious face)

By day three I could barely hobble. We waited for the sports shop to open. I cried. Then was over the moon when they had sports sandals which fitted and I could wear pain free. We walked through vineyards and little villages which dotted the side of the valley, until descending into the tiny town of Nus for the night. 
(Looking back up the Aosta valley towards France and Switzerland)

The descent had me in pieces again, but this was soothed by dinner comprising beer and the free snacks (savoury pastries, breads, weird hot-dog type things etc) you get with alcohol in bars. We ordered enough to drink so we didn't have to buy any dinner. 

Again, today, day four, had it's hard bits and it's beautiful bits.  A wrong turn that added some distance, but a nice chat with a local farmer who offered us a lift. Searing blister pain on some downhills, then amazing views down the valley with mist hanging over the mountain and old abandoned stone hamlets. A excruciatingly long wait for dinner (I cried again- I think its a blood sugar thing...) but a BATH at the hotel!  

So the days have been full of ups and downs. But i guess these blisters give me a good excuse to wear socks and sandals...
(Socks and sandals)


Tuesday 10 June 2014

I really don't like walking

Walking 1008 kilometres is not something I thought I would ever do. I'm not a big fan of walking. In fact, I really don't like it.  

Back home in Melbourne, I would make the most convulted tram connections to avoid walking a few blocks. Any chance to take a taxi instead of walking those last twenty minutes home, I would take.  I have been known to stay at home at night if going out meant a walk too far.  

So why, now, am I and my husband Nick walking an ancient pilgrimage trail to Rome? 
(Nick's big boots, my bossy ones.)

To be honest, I'm not really not sure how this happened. We were planning a trip to Europe, and briefly (I mean a five minute conversation) discussed walking the Camino Santiago in Spain. Soon after, we heard about the Via Francigena as a less travelled, but equally rewarding, alternative. Suddenly this was the backbone of our Europe trip and the focus of our year of travelling.

It's not necessarily for religious purposes, but may border on the spiritual, or at least wanting to consider a different way of living, for the time being at least.

I am a notorious rusher: rushing around, hurrying, always having too much on the go, taking-on too much stuff, doing things fast, but not necessarily thoroughly.

This is my attempt to slow down for awhile, to smell the proverbial roses and to be a bit more in the moment. Also, I could afford to lose a few kilos.

I don't expect it to be easy.  On our first practice hike outside Melbourne, a reasonable incline had me unable to talk to the others for about an hour, fighting back tears as I struggled to get to the top with an aching hip and weighed down shoulders.  Our hiking buddy Antony (big shout out) pulled Nick aside and said "Are you sure you are going to do this walk. Liz REALLY doesn't like hiking!?"

(Our first practice hike- so relieved it was over)

Our days will range from 12 to 32 kilometres.  We have discovered that I am terrible on the uphill, and Nick is slow on the downhill, so all-round we will be plodding.  We will stay in monasteries, refuges, hostels, B&Bs and anywhere else we can find.  We will eat heaps of pasta, cured meat and cheese.  We will get lost, and angry, and probably cry a bit (or a lot).  But hopefully we will meet wonderful people, see amazing sights, test ourselves, and find out new things about ourselves and each other.

So, this blog will be the account of our slow progress towards Rome, and some thoughts, descriptions and musings on the journey so far.  I hope you enjoy following us on the journey.

(On our practice walk in the Swiss Alps)