Fully clothed, inside our sleeping bags, with four layers of bedding piled on top and we were just about warm enough to sleep comfortably in our room up under the tiled roof. Today’s clothes had been kept warm in the bottom of our sleeping bags overnight, so getting dressed wasn’t too much of an ordeal. However, our keenly awaited cup of tea with breakfast was foiled by a power cut! Fortunately we knew exactly where we had put our head torches and completed breakfast, minus tea, by torchlight. Lunchtime sandwiches made, we set out at about 0800.




At Cavazzola we left the minor road we had been following and took a woodland track, crunching our way through acorns and collecting fallen leaves on the ends of our walking poles, until we came into the next village, of Castellonchio. It was a long and relentless climb on a horrid substrate of stoney clinging clay. We first encountered this a couple of days ago. As well as being slippery, the clay binds up on the soles of our boots and grips our poles every time they are planted. Nevertheless the woods are pleasant to be in as many of the leaves have still to fall.

At Castellonchio the signs directed us to the church, but sadly it was closed. We liked the memorial to a choirmaster who had served the church community for many decades. It reminded us of our own church choirmaster, Peter who sadly died a few years ago after 23 years of service and is still much missed. The nearby village war memorial lists about twice as many men who died in the First World War as compared with WW2, which is much the same ratio as we saw in French villages. We anticipate that the overall numbers of dead, though relatively few, will have devastated these small communities.


Leaving Castellonchio by road we decided to continue walking on the road, rather than on the designated Via Francigena path. There wasn’t much traffic despite being Saturday, and this would save us some ups and downs. Are we getting lazy?


Part way to Berceto a man dressed in hunting garb, including the obligatory item of orange clothing, called out to tell us where the Via Francigena path is, presumably assuming we’d missed it rather than having chosen not to follow it. Approaching Berceto from above we had a good view over the cemetery, separate and some distance from the residential area, as seems to be the norm here in Italy. As with every cemetery we’ve seen so far, it was ablaze with the colours of the many floral tributes.


We were initially a bit fed up to be directed uphill when Berceto was obviously situated below us, but the entry down an old steep cobbled track was very dramatic and brought us down close to the church just as the bells were ringing out a tune for the midday Angelus.

We’re not sure why, but the church in Berceto is described as a ‘duomo’ or cathedral, although it isn’t especially large and neither is Berceto. We didn’t find any information about it, but it looks to be 12th or 13th century, with relatively simple architecture and only slightly pointed arches. Inside it was very dark, but we then found the slot in which to place a one euro coin to turn the lights on, which made all the difference.

There was a good sized organ, which we later heard being played, and a museum where the historical treasures were safely locked away but could be viewed. We were intrigued by what appeared to be part of an old painting or fresco of the Madonna and child behind a perspex screen on one of the pillars, but there was no information about it.

The church was warm, and we noted that there appeared to be underfloor heating ducts with grilles allowing warm air into the building, just like the heating system in our church at home…except that Berceto’s grilles are more ornate and artistic than ours. There seems to be a tradition of artistic metalworking here, judging by the many and varied gates and window grilles we’ve seen which are more than just functional.

Sight-seeing done we decided to find somewhere for lunch rather than eating our sandwiches which will keep for tomorrow. Just across the street from the church was a promising looking trattoria and bar. They produced a good lunch for us, and for several other customers eating out for their Saturday lunch. At the same time the bar was doing a good trade in prosecco and espresso coffees, which we’ve noticed are often consumed together in bars, and not just on Saturdays. Judging by the looks we were getting, some of the customers clearly thought we were rather daft being dressed in shorts in mid-November. They had a point, which is partly why we liked the idea of lunch in a warm bar!

On the way out of town we passed an interesting modern sculpture on the roadside which appears to depict a pilgrim walking barefoot. Not something we intend to try! Our feet are taking quite a battering even with the protection of modern good quality walking boots.

We initially followed a track leading upwards towards Lugo, which is just a few houses by the roadside, and then walked along the road to make sure we found our accommodation.

Part way along the road we met a Frenchman and his lovely dog. He told us that he was from La Rochelle. He’d walked to Rome from Briancon over the Montgenevre pass and was now returning on foot to France. We noted that we walked in sandals. He explained that he’d walked many of the pilgrim routes in Europe, describing himself as a bit of a pilgrim. Whilst we were talking with him another pilgrim arrived walking in the same direction with pack and staff. It transpired that he is a Swiss soldier and has been working at the Vatican as a Swiss Guard for the last two years and is now returning home to Lucern on foot. What a wonderful encounter this was. Every pilgrim we meet on the way seems to have such an interesting story to tell.

A bit further up the road, now walking in low cloud or fog, we arrived at Ostello della Cisa, our accommodation for the night, and were welcomed by the very friendly warden. Tonight we had the benefit of a stove blasting away all evening, which took the edge off the cold, but only just. We still needed to use our sleeping bags again.

These Ostellos seem to be run by the local commune and provide basic accommodation at a modest cost for pilgrims and travellers, in the historical tradition. We have been very grateful for them because there is no other accommodation to be had in these remote mountains, and we are physically incapable of walking longer distances or going kilometres off track in search of somewhere to stay. Using them has been a bit of a challenge for us because of our completely inadequate Italian, but Julie’s cousin’s Italian wife Manuela very kindly made the bookings for us, and volunteered to interpret by phone once we got there. We found that Silvana at Cassio spoke French, and at Passo della Cisa a mixture of languages plus a translation app got us through.
Today’s highlight? Well, meeting and talking with the other pilgrims was fascinating.