Walking the pilgrim's path to Rome

The Via Francigena is an ancient pilgrims' route from Canterbury to Rome. Our writer tackles the final 100km section ? fuelled by the best rustic food and drinkAs the train finally left the suburbs of Rome and started rolling past vineyards, olive groves and umbrella pines, my husband and I grinned ruefully at each other: "This actually looks like quite a long way." Further north we looked out at the hilly and wooded terrain flashing past, and down at our booted feet: "Yes, definitely a long way."Every mile was going to have to be retraced on foot, because we'd decided to test our hiking legs on a very ancient route, the Via Francigena, which ran in medieval times from Canterbury through France and Switzerland to the Eternal City. A pilgrimage to Rome ? resting place of saints Peter and Paul ? used to be just as popular as going to Santiago de Compostela.Though it fell out of fashion compared with the Spanish route, fragments of the Via Francigena survived, and in 2009 the Italian government launched a project to reinstate the whole Italian leg of the route. To do this they used the records of one Sigeric the Serious (yes, really) who in about 990AD was made Archbishop of Canterbury and had to travel to Rome. One of his retinue noted the places they stopped, and that diary is now in the British Library, like a low-tech TripAdvisor.Last year, with the route pretty much revamped and signposted, Dublin-based operator Camino Ways added holidays on the Via Francigena to its Camino de Santiago trips. The entire 2,083km from Canterbury to St Peter's would take four months: the company offers discounts to those doing successive one- or two-week sections as part of a years-long project. It books hotels along the route, and moves your baggage on each day.We'd opted for the final 100km ? maximum payback, the Eternal City, for relatively little effort.We slowed to 10th century pace once we reached our starting point, Viterbo, in northern Lazio, swapping diesel engines for feet and legs, hydrocarbons for carbohydrates. We had a set-you-up dinner the night before we set off at the 400-year-old Tre Re restaurant (+39 0761 304619, ristorantetrere.com) in Viterbo. Old sobersides Sigeric would probably have felt right at home with the intensely savoury soup of chickpeas and chestnuts, luscious spit-roast pork, and ricotta with honey and walnuts. The carafe of red wine might even have raised a smile.Next morning, our breath misting in the sunlit air and birds singing in the olive groves, we girded our loins and headed south-west, following the Lightfoot Guide to the Via Francigena (Pilgrimage Publications, �18.99). Paul Chinn and Babette Gallard quit jobs in business for a life following and mapping, in great detail, pilgrimage routes on bike, foot and horseback.The route is also waymarked, in an idiosyncratic way. Over years individual districts marked stretches with their own signage, and this has not been standardised. Just when we'd got used to looking out for red-and-white blobs, it would change to yellow, blue or brown. Spotting the signs added interest and reassurance. Directions in the book were good, but vague enough to offer a frisson of explorer excitement. There is little Chinn and Gallard can do about farmers ploughing up the path (two occasions) or erecting an electric fence across the route (our longest detour). And often when the "official" way skirted a town, strident signs pointed pilgrims down the main street, presumably to lighten our purses a little.Rome is famously built on seven hills, but this entire region is hilly, which made for glorious walking, and continuously changing vistas: open fields with views to the Appenines, lanes between banks, forest trails and drystone walls that probably looked much as they had a millennium ago.It was the end of November as we set off: trees and bracken were yellow and gold against a cloudless sky, the distant hills purply-brown, and we walked to a soundtrack of "thonks" as falling acorns hit the ground. The olive harvest was in full swing. Dews were heavy each morning, and the air chill, but by 10am scarves, jackets, even jumpers had been shed and we walked in T-shirts.Each day brought new delights: a golden wood that could have graced Middle Earth, a plunging river valley, undulating meadows grazed by ponies.Much of day three was spent among hazel groves. Towards noon we spied a shack amid the nut trees. "Buon giorno," I called, but the place was deserted. Gratefully we sank onto a vine-shaded bench to eat our lunch of cheese, salami, bread, oranges, olives. The hut was tiny, just a place to store tools, but behind it was an outdoor pizza oven, with marble-topped table for rolling dough. The hazel harvest is clearly a convivial occasion in these parts. Like good hikers we took care to remove all evidence of our stopover, but as we set off again I almost felt we should leave a note telling the farmer how much we had enjoyed his corner of paradise.Camino Ways divides the walk into doable sections, no more than 25km a day. The problem with doing it in November/December was the light: long lunches were out when there was several hours' march to get in before darkness fell ? with scary rapidity ? at 5pm. But approaching an ancient hill town at dusk after long miles on foot and climbing wearily towards warmth, shelter and huge plates of pasta made us feel like real pilgrims.The most remarkable of these towns was Sutri: old enough to make Viterbo look like Milton Keynes, it was an Etruscan stronghold almost 3,000 years ago. Feet up in our hotel off its main square, I read up on these mysterious ancients. They left behind no texts, but a wealth of "stuff" ? jewellery, mirrors, containers for cosmetics. In portraits of Etruscan women no two hairdos are alike; locks are often dyed blonde. And according to grumpy Roman men, these women were loud and didn't know their place. This sounded familiar. Long before Essex was invented, it seems, the only way was Etruscan.Unlike the rest of the trip, our final 16km into Rome was down main roads. The day before, hazards had been ploughed fields and some scary stepping stones; now they were narrow verges and speeding lorries. But soon we got our first glimpse of the dome of St Peter's, through trees from the top of 139m Monte Mario, north-west of the centre. We ate our final picnic with Rome spread out before us. It was only 3km from here to our goal, but we dawdled the rest of the way down long Viale Angelico, not wanting the journey to end.Then suddenly we were there. We don't have a shred of religious conviction between us, but the basilica, and the colonnades like protective arms around the piazza, made an impressive sight. We mingled with tourists of many nationalities, and I thought how most of them would have come to Rome by plane. Some would have arrived by train, coach or car, but I'd bet none of them had made it to Rome on their own two feet.Walking holidaysRomeItalyCity breaksEuropeFood and drinkLiz Boulterguardian.co.uk © 2012 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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