Stage 9 Orvinio to Mandela

After an early breakfast with my delightful hosts Maurizio and Simonetta and discussions about physics it was time to head off. Temperatures seem to be rising and I was keen to head out as I knew there was a large hill to walk over and down the other side of and 20km to cover.

As I climbed the hill I found myself been rather glad to have been a farmers daughter. First of all when I came across what can only be described as a World War I esque collection of barbed wire and bits of tree held together under tension between two other trees as a form of gate. My knowledge of physics and my (limited) upper body strength came in useful here as I was able to prise open the gate, pass through and re-secure it however did cross my mind if my tetanus injections were up-to-date…

Next I came along a group of horses who were happily munching on the side of the path, but sadly taking no consideration that they were blocking my way. Some of the horses had foals and I know how protective mothers can be of their children, if they think they’re in danger, they will do what they have to do. So when one horse started to stomp its foot, I immediately raised my highly mirrored sunglasses to let the animal know that I was in fact, not a strange creature, but just human. I gently raised my hand and spoke, in the most steady calm farming voice I could possibly muster in Italian to these Cavalli. In time they realised that I was no threat, and I just wanted to pass by, and so like the waters of the Red Sea they parted to either side, and allowed me to pass.

It turns out that for an averagely fit person that day 9 is where it begins to bite. The trek was making me lose interest and my tendon in my right foot around the ankle felt like it was either going to seize or snap and this meant frequent stops to try and stretch or elevate. At one point I found a lovely bench near some running water under a tree and I could have stayed there. I would like to have given up, and just not gone anywhere. The thing is, no one was coming to rescue me, no one in this land was terribly bothered if I was in pain or if I just lay down and didn’t move again. So one has to keep going. There is a balance to be found between persevering through pain and stubbornness, and giving in at the first sign of difficulty, at this point I decided that once I had rested I would walk along the tarmac to Mandela instead of trekking through the hills. The even ground would be helpful, the heat of the tarmac less so.

When I arrived in Mandela, I had run out of water and my phone battery and then I realised I had a considerably slope to climb in the peak of the heat. Determined not to just sit down and weep I found a bar, ordered myself a cola and sat there until I could face going on.

When I did decide I could continue the last uphill kilometre the Good Lord saw me struggling and sent my hostess who had just been out to get eggs and was driving past. It was pretty obvious who I was given my generally exhausted appearance. So I hopped in the car and reached the hostel. I had completed 94 miles of walking over 9 days, but I knew the next day was an 18 mile day in a heat wave.