Via Francigena: Days 4, 5 & 6: Verrès, Pont-Saint-Martin, Ivrea

Verrès in the Dora Baltea valley. (Wikimedia image.)

The weather was constantly warm and sunny, and the walk as delightful and interesting as ever, as I followed the path through the ever-narrowing valley of the Dora Baltea. Here the lower slopes were terraced with vines, which hung from a lattice of wooden struts supported by stone pillars — a traditional and ancient method of viticulture in these parts.

I was enchanted by the sight of three nuns in white peering over the parapet of a stone bridge at the torrent below. I spoke with an old man tending his apple trees and complaining that the birds were ruining half his crop — 'they just peck at the apples, then leave them!' And in Verrès I slept in the dormitory of an hostello near the station — after first treating myself to a seafood lasagne in the Due Valli restaurant. The prices were quite cheap compared with neighbouring Switzerland — and even France.

Verrès. (Wikimedia image.)

After Verrès the valley narrowed even more. All morning the castle at Bard had been in my sights, and by early afternoon it towered above me. It stood on a huge rock and guarded the narrowest point of the valley. I climbed to the top (or rather three flights of lifts propelled me there), but I did descend under my own steam on a track which contoured down and around this rocky stronghold.

The Roman arch at Donnas. (Wikimedia image.)

At Donnas I walked a short section of Roman road and passed under this Roman arch . . .

Donnas and its centro storico. (Wikimedi image.)

 . . . and at Pont-Saint-Martin I crossed this Roman bridge . . .

The Roman bridge at Pont-Saint-Martin. (Wikimedia image.)

I stopped the night in Pont-Saint-Martin itself, in the Foresteria — a wonderfully clean and modern sports and community building offering pilgrims individual rooms and hot showers for only €15. I was greeted by the friendly and efficient Angela, and later met fellow pilgrims Davide from Rome, and Dawa, a Nepali mountain guide, with his Italian girlfriend, Sara. 

When I returned at dusk from the centre of town — where I'd enjoyed in a pizzeria the best calzone north of Naples — we all had a chat about life, love and pilgrimage. Dawa also gave us a graphic and heart-rending account of the April 2015 earthquake in Nepal, and I went to bed in a sober frame of mind — though at the same time very grateful that I was alive and well and able to walk safely through such a spectacular landscape.

On my final day in this mountainous, outstandingly beautiful region, I covered 20 km through vineyards and forests, past lakes and castles, and up and down rocky steps to the town of Ivrea (the largest place I'd visited after Aosta), where I stayed in the Canoa Club refuge (€15 again), and fell asleep lulled by the hypnotic sound of watery rapids. For there was a canoe slalom course on the river right outside my dormitory window . . .

The 14th-century castle at Ivrea. (Wikimedia image.)

Via Francigena: Day 3: Aosta To Châtillon

Quart Castle on the Via Francigena — such a grand setting high above the Dora Baltea. The path passed right by it, and the views were impressive. (Wikimedia image.)   

For the next four days I would follow the emerald-green Dora Baltea river for 90 km from Aosta to Ivrea. This was a magnificent walk, but a tiring one. If your concentration slipped it was easy to miss the signs, and I went wrong twice. The valley is the area's main artery and contains, apart from the river, two roads (including an autostrada) and a railway. So, even though the marked Via Francigena route clung to the northern slopes and avoided the valley floor as much as possible, it was hard to escape the drone of traffic.

The other constant backdrop noise for the pilgrim is the sound of barking dogs. It's extraordinary how a dog can pick up your scent or footfall from even a kilometre away. When one dog starts to bark, others will join in — this canine cacophony often lasting till you're well past the village. Normally most dogs are in secure compounds, but every now and then there's a loose one. Somewhere between Aosta and Châtillon an enormous white Pyrenean Mountain Dog jumped out at me from a barn, teeth bared and growling — and scaring me half to death.

It was mid-afternoon and the weather was hot. I'd walked 30 km from Aosta and felt exhausted. Even though I knew I wasn't far from Châtillon, my day's destination, my attention lapsed and I lost my way. The path wound through an eerie deserted village of tumbledown stone cottages, then petered out on a steep and tussocky mountain slope. I lurched down to the railway below, slipping on the grass, very conscious of avoiding an electrified fence which bordered the line.

I was too tired to turn back. But continuing straight on was no option either. I passed under the railway via a workman's or shepherd's access tunnel and found myself on the valley floor. A dangerously busy main road, a motorway and a river streamed through the narrow gap. This was no place for walkers. But I noticed a little lay-by just beyond the river bridge, and here I stuck out my thumb, and before long a van had stopped and a friendly Italian took me the remaining short distance to Châtillon. He offered to take me all the way to Milan if I'd wished! Trail angels appear in many guises . . .

In Châtillon the couvent des Capucins seemed reluctant to find space for me — a monk told me unconvincingly they only had two beds and both were taken — so I went round the corner and booked a room at the Hôtel Dufour. It was a large double room, but I was charged the price of a single. It had a proper bath — the only time I was to have a bath rather than a shower in four weeks. I was most happy and relieved. It's strange how your mood goes up and down like a roller coaster during such intense trekking days, days full of deep impressions and unique experiences. So many highs and lows in just 24 hours . . . 

I stripped off my sweaty clothes and promptly fell asleep in the bath. Later I ate at a cheap restaurant, where I met a drunk American who'd had three wives, seven children and two hip replacements . . . The life of a pilgrim is never predictable, but always entertaining.

Châtillon in the Aosta Valley. (Wikimedia image.)

Via Francigena: Days 1 & 2: The Great St Bernard Pass To Aosta

Saint-Rhémy. (Wikimedia image.)

The Aosta Valley (Valle d'Aoste) is the smallest of Italy's twenty administrative regions and the least populated. To an extent it's a region apart — some settlements are remote and difficult of access, and French (well, a kind of French) is spoken here as well as Italian. Some locals also speak Valdôtain, a dialect of Franco-Provençal, an endangered language of east-central France, western Switzerland and northwest Italy.

It was a blissful if strenuous two-day trek from the Col du Grand St Bernard (with its hospice, Augustinian canons and St Bernard dogs) down the Great St Bernard Valley to the pretty, surprisingly chic Roman town of Aosta in the valley of the Dora Baltea, a green ice-melt river flowing from its source on the slopes of Mont Blanc to join the mighty Po at Crescentino.

The weather was hot, but not insufferably so as it later became in the Po Basin. The altitude was, of course, much higher here, and with more shade. I passed through some attractive mountain villages — Saint-Rhémy, Saint-Léonard, Saint-Oyen, Etroubles — and broke my journey in the hamlet of Echevennoz, where I slept cheaply in a dormitory next to the bar-trattoria. I was the only pilgrim there.

The Valpelline. (Wikimedia image.)

The next day was one of those magical days. A hot sun shone, but I followed a cool, forested track along the Ru-Neuf, a medieval, man-made watercourse which collected glacial water from the high mountains and distributed it to the cultivated crops below. Just before Gignod I stopped for a rest by a Virgin and Child grotto with a stunning view across to the Valpelline — a side-valley of the main St Bernard valley. For a few minutes I felt I was truly in paradise.

Aosta. (Wikimedia image.)

In Aosta I stayed at the friendly and inexpensive Hôtel Al Caminetto on the outskirts of town. The evening meal was amazing: as much antipasto as you wanted from a vast selection, a spaghetti primo piatto, a meat-based secondo piatto, vino, dolce, caffè, digestivo  — and all at such a low price. This was very good for my budget after England — and a recent stay in Germany! And the service was impeccable (all performed by the Romanian manageress who was so deft and attentive) and the company enjoyable (I sat next to a lovely Japanese IT guy of such easy-going intelligence — his humility and quick-wittedness put me to shame. I happened to mention Goethe's Italian Journey, which he had read only a few weeks before . . . )

Aosta. (Wikimedia image.)