Saint Christopher is one of those saints who falls somewhere between reality and myth. He was said to have been a warrior giant serving a powerful master. However, upon meeting the devil in battle, Saint Christopher noticed his master shaking in fear. So, our not so loyal Chris decided he wanted to follow the more powerful Devil. Shortly after, Chris was going into battle for his new master when he observed the devil's fear of the much more powerful God. Our fickle Chris then instantly decided that God was the master for him. God though, is not one to be placated or flattered and so in order for Chris to become his servant, God put him to use by having him carry travelers across a dangerous river. As a result, Saint Christopher is now known as the patron saint of travelers.
As legend says, one day a child came to cross the river. Chris picked the child up, placing him on his shoulders and began to walk across the river. But the closer Chris got to reaching the opposite bank, the heavier and heavier the small, overly dense child became, almost to the point where the giant Chris could barely manage. Upon setting the youth safely down, Chris discovered that he had been carrying the child Jesus who was himself carrying the weight of the sins of the world on his tiny shoulders.
"Jen," he said "I know that this journey has not been a walk in the park, but I hope you know that James and I... we got your back!" Chris winked and I smiled in return while sizing him up through my camera lens.
As I lowered my camera, a small old man with puffy white hair and a pitcher of water stood in front of me. "Pellegrina?" he asked. "Si," I responded, exhausting my Italian vocabulary. "Venga, venga," he said while motioning for me to follow him and as pilgrims often do, I blindly followed a random stranger. He took me to his house about a block away, handed me a glass of cold water and we chatted in a combination of broken Italian, English and Spanish. He asked about my work and when I said I was a musician, his eyes lit and he showed me his prized possession... A drum set. He played a bit and as I clapped, he smiled warmly and kissed my cheeks. "Buon viaggio" He said kindly as he squeezed my shoulders.
*****
"We have 8.9 miles to go..
That is about the distance I have walked from my house to China town to get a bubble tea."
"What is bubble tea," Lorenzo asked. Lorenzo and I had been walking together since a couple days before Siena and as a result of walking with an Italian, my journey had become much easier. Lorenzo is a fit man in his mid 40s who would seem attractive to me if it weren't for a slight resemblance to Chicago's Cardinal George. I described bubble tea to him in great manic detail and proceeded to walk well over 10 kilometers outside of San Quirico-d'orcia in a deep tapioca induced meditative state.
"Have you heard of Saint Rocco?" Jeff asked.
"No," I said. "Tell me."
I had met Jeff the day the coastal route met the Via Francigena in Sarzana. I was tired of being the only pilgrim and was thrilled to bits to discover that upon reaching the Convento San Francesco I was no longer alone. Jeff, an American minister living in Switzerland launched into the tale of the Italian Saint Rocco. Saint Rocco was a doctor in the unfortunate time of the plague. As most people shied away from those sick and dying, Rocco, Who was on pilgrimage to Rome, jumped in whole heartily, helping some to survive while easing the pain of those who would eventually succumb. As one would suspect, Rocco himself fell ill, but rather than accepting care and risking the infection of others, he wandered off to the forest to live out his last few painful days. However, Rocco's story does not finish yet because as divine intercession would have it, an extremely gentile village dog travelled each day to visit Rocco in the forest, carrying a loaf of bread to the saint in its kind furry mouth. Some say that Rocco died in the forest, albeit slightly more peacefully due to the company of the dog, but others still claim that our Saint Rocco was miraculously healed.
"You will see Saint Rocco all over Italy accompanied by a dog with a loaf of bread on it's mouth." Jeff told me. Sadly, the next day, Jeff left the trail to return to Switzerland in order to preside over a wedding. As for Saint Rocco and his loyal pup... they turned up on the feast day of Saint Christina in a beautiful 11th century church in Bolsena. I was thrilled to bits to not need the plague in order to see them.
*****
There are six of us. There is Lorenzo, the lovely Italian man I mentioned before. there are the young Nicoline and her attentive earnest boyfriend Gilles. There is Serge, an impish, retired, rail thin Frenchman. And there is his partner Angela, a beautiful, older, Spanish music teacher who walks the path with class and grace. We stay protectively close to each other, meeting up each night to share stories and laughter on the way to Rome.
*****
I suspect that were figs a part of the fall from grace in the garden of Eden, I would have enthusiastically raced Eve to condemn the entire human race. Having grown up only knowing figs from the highly processed Fig Newton cookies, I had no idea of the tiny succulent miracle God created. An old woman in a pretty flower dress selling fruit on the side of the road insisted I take a bag full of a small mushy green fruit. Again... Doing as pilgrims do, I simply ate what was put in my hands. As I bit into the soft fresh green exterior, I discovered a sweet pinkish purple center that will likely inhabit my dreams. Italy is extremely fertile though, with trees lining the streets dropping sweet plums, figs, cherries and other beautiful fruits into our path. And if the fruits are not dropped " directly at our feet, we grasp greedily through hedges and over fences. By the end of a long day's walk, we arrive at our destination as children... With sticky fingers and stained mouths.
*****
"Seriously, Peter!?! Did you have to bring me to a country where every croissant has cream???" I raced into a thorn infested olive grove, toilet paper in hand.
"Gah!!! Jen, could you please not talk to me while you are
doing THAT!?"
doing THAT!?"
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