Viterbo to Vetralla 14/9/17
14/9/17 Thursday
Day 41
Viterbo-Vetralla 17 km
Blue sky
Breakfast 0630 as arranged by the nuns;
needlessly I worried I was late- as is so often the case, the menu
consisted of dry and packaged bread and lukewarm coffee.
I visit the Pilgrim Quarter of Viterbo:
Santa Maria Nuova with the 12th century outdoor pulpit and
the Papal Palace, court and church where seven popes were ordained
and excommunications took place.
Etruscan foundations bear signatures.
One wrong turn before Porta Faul.
Three times self defense tactics with
walking pole against vicious dogs.
Excitedly anticipating the acclaimed Catacomb Christina;
the entrance is locked but I see a way in through a smashed panel of
glass. I clamber through, inch my way along the ledge overhanging the
dark steps down. With trepidation tingling in my spine, I reach the
cave at the bottom and lose my nerve to go further- I have forgotten
my headlight and looking through the crumbling space at my feet, I
can see a cavernous drop way below.
It would be too ironical to die in a
catacomb.
Easy walking along wooded lanes.
Rubbish heaps- even beside a pilgrims'
rest area.
Wide gravel road following alongside
the busy Via Cassia.
Reached a plain from where the sea is
visible in the far-off distance.
Arrive in the crumbly town of Vetralla
after passing ancient Etruscan tombs.
I visit the dim and dusky San Francesco
church. It is Romanesque with beams, mosaics and frescoes. Here I
encounter a pipe-smoking priest and we hold a confusing conversation.
He heads off and pops up again; urging me to follow his lead by car
to the Ostello San Francesco. We reach this target, Priest disappears
and I'm beckoned in off the street by a slightly peculiar individual.
Then an Italian-speaking dude from Slovenia with long hair and
misshapen teeth bids me welcome, asks if I am vegetarian, and
invites me to lunch.
The chef has crossed eyes.
Priest pops up again.
Reassuringly there are religious items
about.
A bunch of odd kids who misbehave come
to lunch.
Reassuringly the priest says Grace.
Clouds are gathering.
I walk up through the town: peeling
paint, vacant properties, faded shop facades and rubbish. There are
dark and foreboding alcoves leading down either side of the street.
I meet a young German couple while
eating ice cream who tell me 'this is the Real Italy'. They are
walking the VF because it is a cheap holiday. Groups of men and women
sit idly on benches and talk.
I meet three kids and a dog; they're
entertained by me as I stumble over the few Italian words I know.
There's laughter and a photo; the sun emerges from behind the
oppressive clouds and suddenly Vetralla is lit up with colour and
life.
I meet
Danish pilgrim Tilde, two Germans and two Italians (one is a US
citizen whose Masters is on the VF). Five of us are vegetarian. Three
plates of Minestrone are eaten by one of those: me.
I am fortunate- I have a four-bedded
room to myself; the other pilgrims share a room.
The windows bang, the doors rattle and
slam.
All night long at The Hotel California.
All night long at The Hotel California.
6 Food
13 ' Donativo' given to cross-eyed chef
with out-stretched hands, after dinner, for accommodation and food.
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