Stage 11: To Trevi nel Lazio

The weather was distinctly Scottish this morning as I left Subiaco, low clouds and drizzle. Italians wrapped up in coats and scarves and there I am in my shorts ready to hike. This was a Scottish Summer for me. Having fuelled up with a double espresso and chocolate cornetto, knowing there wasn’t going to be much food between then and this evening. I filled my camel pack and nearly drenched myself at the same time as the water came pouring out.  Around 13 miles lay ahead of me. 

There is something helpful about departing a small town and heading into a forest walk, it allows one to shake off and walk away from worldly things. Slowly you leave the restaurants, cafes, shops, garages on the edge of town, the frequency of the cars slows and then there are no roads. Just you, the trees and the fast flowing river Aniene to your right. All I could hear were the birds going about their business, the river and the noise of my footsteps, trespassing on their land.

I took a detour towards a rather wonderful lake that St Benedict apparently used and performed the miracle of the sickle there. This miracle was when he raised a sickle blade from the bottom of the lake. It was extremely peaceful there, I washed my face in the water and reluctantly left. It was very early into the walk, and I knew I had a good way to go.

The thing that struck me the most was something I may have written before, but I will say again as I had forgotten. Each day on a pilgrimage such as this, on one’s own, up and down mountains, is a whole life in a day. You start off with hope for what lies ahead, what beauties you will see, you are energetic. Then you find yourself wondering, more often than not, why you are doing this at all, and are you even on the right path. Then there are the little deaths and mortifications along the way, the slipping down a small bank in mud, wanting to lie there and give up, but after a second of that indulgent thought, you have to pick yourself up, and then you fall again, this time sliding down, and you have to just give into it. 

Do you even bother to try and clean yourself up? When you don’t know what is around the corner. You look for short cuts, or alternative paths, only to find them strewn with thorns that tear at your skin.  You go through it all, and then there is a meadow full of flowers and grasses and you remember to look up, see the view ahead. Perhaps more importantly you remember to look back, and see just how far you have come, how those mountain tops seemed impossibly high, but now you are on them. 

Finally, when you begin to wonder if you can make it you see the village on the hill top. And even though you know you will have to go down a hill only to go back up another, it is a joyous sight, for this time the end is here. The end of finally within your grasp. 

Rest is yours knowing that tomorrow you will do it all again.