The road to Rome

Hi gang

This blog is about two people walking the Via Francigena, an ancient pilgrimage from Canterbury to Rome. It's an amazing journey of some 2100kms (1300 miles) across five countries (England, France, Switzerland, Italy and The Vatican).


The blog covers the history, culture and culinary delights of the walk as well as the highs and lows of our particular trip.


I'll also be linking to some of the important websites, finding stuff of interest and generally enjoying meself.


I walked it with my partner (now soon to be my wife) Pauline (aka Polly).

We're not heroes, or superhuman or loonies; just a coupla people seeking a bit of adventure away from the humdrum.

We set off from Canterbury on Monday 2 August 2010 and arrived in Rome, smelling like tramps, on Wednesday 3 November 2010.

Stay tuned, kids...it's a great adventure!







Stage 3: St Omer to St Quentin

We'd decided not to carry tents with us. Neither of us were experienced enough to be comfortable setting up and taking down a tent every day. On top of which, we already had enough to carry without the extra weight. And I'll walk all day if needs be, but I'd like a bathroom at the end of it, please.

Besides, we'd had no difficulty finding accommodation on the Camino de Santiago, we didn't think there'd be too much trouble on the Via Francigena. Little did we know. We didn't realise how rural Rural France is. We could walk all day through the countryside and across farmland without actually seeing a house, or a shop - never mind a b&b or a hotel. Whenever we passed through a village throughout most of our walk n France, we very rarely saw any people. This was partly because there are fewer people but also because we went in August when everyone in France is on holiday.

I think the only person we'd seen so far was an 80 year old man tending his garden. When I  complemented him on his handiwork, in my faltering French, he told us about his garden, his family and, when he found out we were English, about the war. He really opened up to us, telling us about gun encampments and where all the soldiers were stationed etc. It was a lovely moment and I wish I could have understood all of it. He was delighted to have met a couple of English people and we really warmed to him.

When we got to St Omer, we went to the Tourist Office. We found a lovely b&B in St Omer and got details of places to stay on our route. I spent a long time that afternoon ringing round to get us some accommodation. Without any luck. We wanted to keep moving so, with heavy hearts, we took the decision to catch a train to Arras. We figured it'd be a lot easier to find accommodation in a bigger city.  

In the end we stayed in rooms in a religious house: in an ultra-modern, clean, sparse... umm ... cell. We enjoyed a beer and a game of dominoes in the sun outside of a bar in the centre of Arras. Arras is a lovely city but we didn't see it at its best because they were digging up the whole area around the main square.

We set off for Bapaume the following morning with a spring in our step. We were both glad to get walking again. Do you know that feeling of freedom and pure pleasure when you put your pack on and set off ... who knows where? Our route took us across farmland and past war graves, poignant reminders of how this part of France had been caught up in the wars.


Another highlight for us was, unexpectedly, finding a stone waymarker (Cantorbery to Rome sic) hiding behind a very large weed.



It was a lo-o-ong day's walk to Bapaume and when we got to our hotel, the place was locked and there was no-one to greet us. We were tired and it started to rain. I was doing a very good impression of Mr Grumpy when someone finally showed up to let us in. The place had that air of faded glory you only get from hotels that are about to close their doors permanently. Nevertheless, they served up a splendid dinner. A simple salad and a fab steak. It was all we needed before retiring to bed at a ridiculously early hour.

The next day, to Peronne, was not one of our finest memories. We got a bit confused about the route at one point. We came to a crossroads and I thought we should go right; Polly thought we should go straight on. The guidebook was ambiguous.  We couldn't work it out. The debate got quite heated.  In the end, amid much harumphing from me, we went straight on. Only to find that both roads joined together after about 300 metres. For about five minutes, we couldn't walk for laughter.


When we arrived in Peronne we mentally relaxed...which was a mistake. Our adrenaline levels dropped and, when we found out that our hotel was about 3k out of town, it was really hard to get motivated again. When we finally got there we found we'd booked in to one of those sad, soulless, chain motels and our room was tired, dirty and had a leak/lake in the bathroom. I made a bit of a fuss at reception and we swapped rooms. We went to bed early feeling a bit glum.

It was days like that one that made us wonder if we'd ever complete the trip. Our packs weren't getting easier to carry, we were struggling with walking long distances and we were getting a bit tired and grumpy.



It's funny how an early night and a glorious walk can change your mood. The next morning we were off early. The sun shone and our spirits lifted. We walked for a few miles through a wood and the dappled sunlight was an absolute joy. Our next stop was at a little village called Trefcon. We almost missed it. We knew we were getting close but were surprised there were no signposts. We'd consulted our guidebooks and maps and were scratching our heads (our own - not each others!) when Polly spied the sign. Bizarrely, it wasn't on a signpost - it was written on the road in what looked crayon. 


Trefcon was a real treat, one of the highlights of the whole trip. We stayed with a local family on their farm. We were treated to a lovely, local dinner. I tried, for the first time, Picon biere, a weird and wonderful combinaton of orange liqueur and blonde beer that doesn't sound like it should work...but it does. We dined en famille and it was a real privilege. A total contrast to the previous night. We were shown photographs of all the people who'd stayed with them since the Via Francigena re-opened for business in 1998.




We were up and about early and the walk towards St Quentin was beautiful. We sauntered between fields towards the village of Etreillers, which luckily, had a shop. We reached St Quentin in reasonable time. We were booked in to the local Youth Hostel which, unfortunately for us, was 5 km the other side of town!! Adrenaline levels were low and tempers a bit frayed when we finally reached the Youth Hostel. We were getting a bit wound up with the accommodation always seeming to be on the far side of town - adding extra clicks to our journey when we were already pooped.  

There was no getting away from the fact that we were getting tired and needed a rest day. Although, to be fair, just like a pilgrim, there was nothing wrong with us that a good sleep and a launderette couldn't cure.  

Distance from Canterbury: 275k
Distance to Rome :               1808k


Stage 2 : Calais to St Omer

We arrived in France in sunny, but blustery conditions. We had to get to Wissant, west of Calais because that's probably where medieval pilgrims would have landed in France, Calais at the time being a very minor fishing village. Our walk took us through the centre of Calais and westward out along the beach. We had lunch on the beach trying desperately to keep the wind from blowing sand onto our sarnies. Then we followed the coast up and downhill along the contours of the cliffs. We could see the English coast away to our right for most of the day.


And then we had our first mishap! Polly tripped over a stray electricity cable on the pavement.She fell headlong...I tried to grab hold of her, but got only a handful of daylight. When you fall wearing a big pack, you fall. And that's it. She grazed her knee and hands really badly. I was really concerned she'd done some lasting damage, but she's made of strong stuff.




We continued climbing the coastal path towards Cap Blanc Nez. There are lots of reminders of World War II on the route with dark references to guns aimed at Kent. And the wind, which had been shifting all day, finally settled down to blowing a gale direct into our faces. We had to walk the final mile or so along the beach and, to compound Polly's misery, the rain began to lash down and wind swept up the sand straight at us. My glasses protected my eyes from the worst of it, but Polly, wearing contact lenses, had eyes full of sand and couldn't see. She staggered blindly along the final part of the route, holding on to me and feeling pretty miserable. Quite an end to our first day in France.


When we set off the next morning, Polly's walking trousers newly darned, the weather was still wet and blustery. We had a little look around the town and found the place where Thomas Becket sailed from to return to England and face the wrath of Henry VIII. When we eventually turned inland the sun came out and the wind dropped. We walked through beautiful countryside, rural France is particularly lovely in August, fields of wheat and corn and views that stretch for miles. For fully five minutes, we were lucky enough to stop and watch a pair of hares going about their daily business until they caught wind of us and sped away.


Our accommodation for the next night was on the outskirts of Guines. We almost walked past it but Polly's eagle eyes spotted it as we crossed over a roundabout. Our guesthouse was actually in a holiday village and I, taking advantage of the facilities, took a load of clothes to the launderette. Keeping our clothes clean would prove to be a big challenge over the next three months. (We were only carrying three of everything, shirts, trousers, pairs of socks, underwear...and by the end of the trip, despite our best endeavours, we would get very smelly. "You smell like a pilgrim" is a big insult around here these days.) The evening was so lovely, hot and sunny, we ate outside. We treated ourselves with big juicy steaks and a lovely bottle of red wine.

Before we left Guines the next morning, we went to Tourist Information and booked our overnight accommodation in Alembon. We wanted to stay in Licques but every hotel, b&b and guest house in the area was booked up. Little did we know, but this was going to be a pattern in Northern France. We'd chosen to start our walk in August, just when most of France goes on holiday too. 

It was another fab day's walking through rural pastures along farmtracks and ancient paths. We had another history lesson too. The area is famous as being the location of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. We also encountered our first woodland walk, the dappled sunlight shining spotlights through the trees. Lunch was Camembert and bread, washed down with apple juice in a lovely glade. Heaven.

And then, of course, we got blummin lost! We thought we'd followed the directions in the guidebook diligently...but soon the path had disappeared and we were staggering around in the undergrowth. It was a scary fifteen minutes or so before we emerged back on to the main path. Tired and breathing huge sighs of relief, we eventually walked into the little village of Alembon. 

Our accommodation was a small b&b that was friendly, modern and very, very charming. We were the only guests and our young hosts fed and watered us royally with a charcuterie, a delicious homemade quiche and a bottle of local French beer, amusingly called Goudale.

The next morning our hosts showed us the cross-country short cut to Licques, which was great because, by the time we got there, it was raining. We followed the Via Francigena signs towards Wiscques which proved to be a big mistake ... the signs ran out ... we were miles away from anywhere our guidebook mentioned. And it was still raining. We had no alternative but to put in a lot of clicks along the main road, arriving into Wiscques at about 7:30pm, having set off at 9:30am. Exhausted, having walked more than 20 miles, we showered, ate well in the restaurant and were tucked up in bed by 9:00pm. The restaurant was delightful, it looked out over the fields towards St Omer...which was not on the route but we'd go there anyway.

I tried ringing every hotel, b&b in the area but everywhere was full. When we were checking out, I asked at reception if they knew of anywhere. But it was a fruitless search. We decided the only thing to do was to walk into St Omer and take our chances there. It was well off our route but a very welcome easy day's walking, We found somewhere to stay without too much trouble (a lovely and very French guest house near the river) and tried ringing round to find accommodation for the next day. It was hopeless. We asked at Tourist Information but everywhere was booked solid for the weekend. I think that's when I uttered the famous words, "It's not like the Camino", for the first time. On the Camino you can always find  somewhere to stay. Rural France was just not like that at all. Just like medieval pilgrims, we had to find somewhere to sleep.

Distance from Canterbury : 115 km
Distance to Rome                : 1968 km

Stage 1 : Canterbury to Calais

Polly and I met whilst walking the Camino de Santiago. We've been planning to walk the Via Francigena for some time. It was a logical next step for us. But neither of us can remember who first suggested it.Or when it was first mooted. Or why. Because at approximately 2100k (1300miles) it wasn't something to take lightly. Most of our friends thought we were bonkers (which is true, of course) but wished us well. Some of them even came to see us off which was fab, (unless they were checking to see if we really would go). 

I arranged for us to be given a blessing at Canterbury Cathedral before we set off. It seemed like the right thing to do. We were met by Canon Christopher Waite who blessed us and wished us God Speed. Now, I'm not really a Christian (I'm a bit of a pagan with a big interest in Gaia Theory tbh) but this was genuinely moving. We couldn't have wished for a better send off.



We set off on our first day in bright sunshine. We were soon in the countryside, walking through fields of ripe corn and into old, picturesque villages. Numbers of butterflies are supposed to be decreasing, but we walked through clouds of them on our way to Shepherdswell. Spirits were high as we reached our first overnight stop especially after we had a reviving pint at The Bell and then supper with Polly's good friend Wendy.


We set off early the next morning, talking about the guy who is supposed to have walked this route first of all, Sigeric the Serious. Sigeric was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury in 990AD. He was ordered to go to Rome by the Pope, ostensibly to collect his pallium, but I wonder if the Pope was testing his mettle. A walk to Rome in the 21st Century is difficult enough, but we had the benefit of guide books, hotels, modern protective clothing and good preparation, so Sigeric's walk in the 10th Century must have been blummin tough. We wondered what his preparation would have been like. Polly thought he would probably have taken a horse. Or at least a donkey. I rather fancied he'd have had someone ...well... practical with him. Sigeric was a very learned man, but could he look after himself on the road? Could he build a shelter or cook a meal?


The king, at the time, was Ethelred the Unready. Or rather, to give him his authentic title, Ethelred Unred. The nickname 'Unred' was a medieval joke. The name 'Ethelred' meant wise but 'Unred' meant badly advised. So, although he was a wise man, he was badly advised. Interestingly, Sigeric was one of Ethelred Unred's councillors. Oh dear.

Our walk into Dover was excellent, though fields and down old pathways until we were soon heading downhill into the centre of town. We'd walked this part of the route last year and had visited Dover Castle which was ace. I loved the Henry II stuff, particularly as he'd built up the castle to welcome pilgrims on their way to Thomas Becket's shrine in Canterbury. Polly really liked the World War II rooms, which were atmospheric to say the least.



We stayed at Blake's Hotel, where we'd stayed last year. Unfortunately, as we were due on an early morning ferry, we were told there'd be no breakfast. This was a big disappointment because last year we'd had their own smoked salmon, which was incredibly yummy and had inspired me to buy my own smoker. Apparently, he marinaded it in whisky for 24 hours. Oh well, perhaps next year.

Breakfastless, we headed off for the ferry terminal in the gloom of an overcast morning. We hoped for better weather when we got to France, but the forecast wasn't good. To be fair, the crossing was very smooth, the Channel like a mill pond. I kept one eye on the clouds scuttling across the sky, and hoped that when we landed in Calais, the weather would stay clear. We had to walk to Wissant, our first overnight stop in France, almost 20k from Calais. It was Wissant, rather than Calais, where medieval pilgrims would have landed. Just like those pilgrims, we wanted to set off from Wissant.

Distance from Canterbury :  52k
Distance to Rome :              2081k