St. Paul’s Outside the Walls

Via Francigena: Rome, Italy. The Seven Pilgrim Churches

San Pietro, Santa Maria Maggiore, San Giovanni in Laterano, Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, San Sebastiano fuora la Mura, San Paolo fuora la Mura, Santa Maria Trastevere.

Pilgrims throughout the ages have walked to or visited the Seven Pilgrim Churches of Rome as have popes, several saints and many members of the nobility.

As Rome was founded on her seven hills, so her Christian foundations rested on these seven churches. The traditional route which included all seven churches stretched for 22 kilometers.

We had arrived in Rome after travelling on the Via Francigena. We took the metro to San Paulo Station. From there it was a short walk to the surprising Church of St. Paul’s Outside the Walls (San Paolo fuori le mura).

A little history about the church. Paul was executed in 67 AD as a Roman citizen at Aquae Salviae, about 3 km from the present church. According to legend, his head bounced three times, creating three springs, now the Abbazia delle Tre Fontane (Abbey of the Three Fountains).

The most likely site of his burial was near the road to Ostia, about two kilometers from the city walls. Constantine built the first church here over his grave in 324. The original basilica proved to be too small for the number of pilgrims drawn to the tomb and in 385 plans were drawn up to build what was to become the largest church in the world until the rebuilding of St. Peter’s in the 16th century.

In 1700 the Tiber flooded making St. Paul’s inaccessible to pilgrims so its Jubilee functions were temporarily transferred to St. Mary’s in Trastevere. In 1823 an overnight fire destroyed the treasure filled church of St. Paul’s. Although much restored over the centuries, the rebuilt basilica retained much of the sense of the original.

The basilica was a marvel. Architects and historians say that it remains the closest in design and construction to Constantine’s original building. You can easily spend an hour here, and make sure you get your pilgrim’s passport stamped in the church office.

Six more Pilgrim Churches to visit!

Suddenly the mists parted, revealing the valley

Via Francigena: Martigny, Switzerland.

After a filling breakfast we donned our packs and walked out into the wet, overcast weather which was rather pleasant after the past few hot days. We arrived at a park where there was a fork in the track. Decisions. Decisions. One track zig-zagged up a huge ridge, the other along the base of the ridge. The map suggested following the lower track.

We asked a group of walkers the best way to Sembrancher and they told us that the lower track had been washed out by a flood two weeks ago and the best way would be to take the overland alternative. This meant walking up and over the huge ridge.

Ugh! OK, don’t argue with the locals. We began the ascent of the steep ridge. Not all walking was pleasurable, especially up such inclines with a full pack. I felt the strain of the slope and the weight of my pack, angry at this unexpected effort.  

After considerable effort we reached the top of the mist-shrouded ridge and rested for a while. With our breathing now less laboured, it was satisfying to watch the swirling mists enveloping and releasing the tall green pines.

Then down again, making our way through steep vineyards to the village of Bovaniers (altitude 615m), taking care not to slip on the loose gravel. According to our timetable, the next bus to Sembrancher and Orsieres was due in an hour.

So, time for lunch. A man in a van drove past. I asked him where the bus stop was.
“In front of the post office,” he replied.
 After we had finished eating, we stood in front of the post office to make sure the bus would stop for us.

It did. We were soon whizzing past small villages and gradually climbed up a wild narrow valley to Sembrancher (altitude 717m.) Six kilometers further south and higher up the valley was Orsieres.

The bus journey from Bovaniers had taken twenty minutes, a distance which would have taken us half a day to walk.

Baud Brothers Mechanical Museum

Via Francigena: We arrived in St. Croix which was situated on a terrace sheltered by the slopes of Mont Chasseron. It was an attractive centre for skiers in the winter and hikers in the summer.

While Canterbury and Kent had been shielded from the most uncomfortable weather of this hottest of summers, the rest of Europe hadn’t. A light misty rain fell on the town of St. Croix but the temperature remained mild.

.This did not bode well for the Italian section of our journey later on. A Mediterranean summer was one thing, but a heat wave on the Italian peninsula would be an unwelcome challenge for walkers.

Being Sunday in St. Croix, everything was closed. Luckily we had arrived before 2pm as even our hostess was taking the afternoon off. We found our room, had a coffee and freshened up. It was fascinating to be in Switzerland.

St. Croix’s claim to fame is its 200-year history of making mechanical music boxes. We walked around the wet village, took note of the epicerie’s opening hours (5 – 7.30pm) and tried to locate St. Croix’s three museums. Two of them were in the village itself, whilst the other, the Baud Brother’s museum (Musee Baud) lay about 5km away in the adjoining hamlet of L’Auberson.

We found a mini bus at the railway station which took us there. We were told that we had to book the bus for the return journey to St. Croix.

We had arrived just in time for the 4.00pm tour of the museum which was situated in a small modern building. Although the guide spoke in rapid French we enjoyed the demonstrations of the mechanical devices.

The guide showed us roundabouts, pianos, clocks with pipes and parades of moving figurines. Quite amazing technology for the time (1720-1912), and all run by clock-work gears.

We returned to St. Croix and bought our dinner ingredients from the epicerie: bread rolls, ham, cheese, tomatoes and a small bottle of white wine. In the late afternoon I walked up to the “Temple”, the Protestant church only to find its door firmly bolted. Catholic churches in this Swiss Canton of Vaud were called “Eglises.” The sun briefly appeared from behind the grey clouds, illuminating the mist. St. Croix meant “Holy Cross” and there was a huge cross on a mountain above the town.

Tomorrow we were off to the village of Orbe.

The Irish road to Avagannagh

From the diary – Monday: Glendalough – Aghavannagh
Glenalough Youth Hostel. 8.30 am, quick wash, breakfast. The four of us leave the hostel to go our separate ways. Me – off to Aghavannagh; about 10-12 miles down the road. It’s a clear day and I feel good about being healthy when a lot of people have colds in this season. I stop at a phone booth to ring and book a bed at the next youth hostel. Seems that I’ll be the only one there.

I turn right at Laragh and set off along the road. Plenty of large trees all sporting their autumn hues, similar to those of the Lake District in England. It’s great to be out walking in this part of the world. A car pulls up and the couple inside offer me a lift. We chat for a bit. I thank them but prefer to keep walking while the going is good. Before driving off they give me their address in Dublin to visit when I return. The pleasures of travel.

The wet road winds through hills and valleys. There are occasional light showers. I rest from time to time. I pass some old men cutting trees. Their draught horse pulls the fallen trunks over to the roadside.

Around 12.30 I’m tired and need a lunch break. Luckily I reach the village of Drumgoff and go into the Glenmalure Hotel. Only the lady of the house is there. I enjoy many cups of tea and two rounds of pork sandwiches with hot English mustard. In this weather the hot mustard is welcome and has a beneficial heating effect.

I leave feeling refreshed and ready to walk the final five miles to Aghavannagh. This area is out in the middle of nowhere. There is an army firing range, but is not in use today. The road continues up a long incline and I’m happy to get to the top.

The distant mountains are covered in snow. Now it’s all downhill and I finally spy the familiar sign for the Irish Youth Hostels. The Aghavannagh Y.H. is a large 17th century Georgian building which once was a military barracks. It’s located on the Military Road originally constructed between 1804 and 1809, in the wake of the 1798 rebellion. Aghavannagh Barrack was one of a series of barracks built along the the military road, to house British forces and give them access to the Wicklow Mountains where many 1798 rebels, such as Michael Dwyer, sought refuge. 

Les, the hostel’s warden is refurbishing it. Twenty school children from Dublin with teachers Kay and Miriam arrive, so there’s lots of noise. Miriam invites me to join them for tea. Tim, a cyclist then arrives. He’s looking for a new lifestyle in Ireland. Tea is a fairly noisy affair, but delicious.

We discuss the merits of feminism and associated matters after tea and the children are taken on a ghost tour. Only the dining room has heating, but there is hot water. The Irish youth hostels are a lot more Spartan than the English ones.

Update: The Aghavannagh Y.H. is no longer operational due to maintenance difficulties.

The lovely Cuckmere River on South Downs Way

Some time ago….
From London’s Victoria Station we board the bus and head off to Eastbourne, a 3 hr trip to the south coast. Most of the time was snoozing time. At Eastbourne, we then walked the 1and ½ miles to the Beachy Head Youth Hostel (no longer operational). If you are hostelling, stay at Eastbourne or make Frog Firle your next night’s accommodation.

This was my first English youth hostel. It’s a large house, fairly simply set up. They have dinner, breakfast and you can get a lunch pack to take away. The rooms are dormitories – male and female. There is a small store here which sells sweets, drinks and badges. £3.05 for a bed (£11.90 these days), £1.80 dinner, £1.40 breakfast. Every over-nighter has to perform a small duty while they’re here – sweeping, cleaning. There are showers, toilets and you can cook your own food too. These hostels are open from 5.00pm to 10.00am. The youth hostel guide books give you all the pertinent details. There are eight kids who make a bit of a racket. What a fantastic sleep, nevertheless.

Thursday: Beachy Head – Frog Firle
Awake refreshed and have breakfast. My duty is to sweep the porch, while Carol sweeps half of the lounge room. We say bye to the hostel’s female assistant manager and walk to the bus stop to wait for the bus to East Dean. It arrives 40 minutes after it was due – what a pain. We get off the bus at East Dean and follow the road down to Burling Gap, sited on the chalk cliffs above the sea.

This is the South Downs Way Walk.

The route is well marked and we perambulate up and down over the Seven Sisters – a series of chalk spurs, then down the grassy steep slope to the Cuckmere River and across to Exceat.

We rest from time to time and consult the maps in the guidebook. Then a tiring walk up a steep hill across Friston Forest and a short visit to West Dean church, constructed around 1100AD.

There is evidence that King Alfred stayed here in ‘Dene’ when ships were able to sail right up the valley. The Old Parsonage next to the church is the oldest priest’s house in England still in occupation.

Dedicated to All Saints, West Dean church is also the most ancient in the Cuckmere Valley.

Further on we came to a view of the White Horse, on the other side of the valley above the village at Hindover (High and Over). The story is that in the late 1800s this horse was cut into the downs probably to attract tourists from nearby Brighton, who could travel the coast by train.

Then across to Litlington, a cutesy village. It was here in Litlington, in 1786 Mrs. Maria Fitzherbert who lived at Clapham house in the village, secretly married the Prince Regent as Mr and Mrs Payne. The prince later became George IV.

A walk along Plough Lane brings us to the Frog Firle Youth Hostel – also known as the Alfriston Youth Hostel. It’s a large building with enough accommodation for 60 people. This is classed as a superior hostel. The common room has low beams and a Jacobean era? Fireplace, which really looks impressive.

It’s described as a “16th Century house overlooking the Cuckmere Valley, in a pretty village”.

This Sussex flint house, partly dating from 1530 with a Tudor beamed lounge, is just a mile from the picturesque village of Alfriston.
We had enough time to explore the house; the hooks in the attic were once used by pilgrims on their way to a shrine in Chichester, to attach their hammocks. Princess Anne stayed here while achieving her Duke of Edinburgh Award. And Lord (Dennis) Healey owns the house opposite.

We meet Hugh from South Africa, Alan and Jane from London and Graeme and his wife, from the north. The atmosphere at these hostels is great. The five of us pop over to the Plough and Harrow for a pint. Around 30 people in the hostel tonight.

Tomorrow, off to Telscombe.

At John O’Groats Scotland

From the Diary – May 31 – Saturday: Inverness – Thurso – John O’Groats
I was staying overnight at the Inverness Youth Hostel. Phew! What a pong in the room. All these walkers, baked bean eaters, snorers, and no windows to let the air in. I found it difficult to sleep after 3.00 am. Got up at 6.00 am. Breakfast, closed my pack and walked down to the bus station to get the bus to Thurso.

Almost at the summit of Ben Nevis

Fort William – Ben Nevis summit

If you’re ever in Fort William, Scotland and you have a spare day, don’t miss out on a great opportunity of walking up to the summit of Britain’s highest mountain. And it’s not overly difficult, as long as you encounter a relatively fine day.

I was on the train from Morar to Fort William. I met up with Jim and two hikers and shared the carriage, watching some of Scotland’s best known views pass by our windows.

Out at Fort William – a really tourist oriented town. A map from the tourist office and some food, before walking the three miles to the youth hostel. The hills next to Ben Nevis were shrouded in low clouds. The road to the hostel followed the Nevis River. It was a large hostel with an alpine feel about it. Lots of TV and relaxing to rest up for tomorrow’s climb.

I awoke a little early – but that was because 9.00 am was the starting time for the walk to the summit of Ben Nevis, Britain’s highest mountain. Pack my daypack with gloves, wet weather gear, food and water. It was overcast and quite fresh outdoors. I also met the three Canadian girls that I had met at lunch in Broadford – Mary, Karen and Anita.

We all crossed over the Nevis River and headed up. Jim, being a fitter walker soon moved ahead. I continued at my slower pace, while the girls took their time. Climbing any track soon warms you up. I stopped frequently, and sometimes nibbled on my ‘tropical mix’ of nuts and dried fruit pieces.

There were quite a few people on the track. This was the original summit access path that ponies carrying goods to the top followed many years ago. The summit once supported a weather observatory and a hotel. Cars have actually been driven to the top!

The climbing was getting harder. There were a few vigorous walkers. I reached a plateau near a lake. The views from here were great. A little further on was a waterfall. This marked the ½ way point. From here the mountain’s landscape became more barren and stony. Another rest and a snack. The weather closed in and visibility dropped. Luckily there were rock cairns placed at frequent intervals to mark out the track, because the rocky surface looked the same all over this part of the mountain.

Snow lay ahead on the track and it had become very cold. Only slightly dispiriting. Walkers were returning from the summit. I decided that this was my limit. I reckoned that I was about fifteen minutes walk from the summit, but I headed down the track, happy that I had made it to this point. Down the mountainside, the rain set in and it was a relief to finally return to the warmth of the Fort William youth hostel.

Jim returned a little later, after having made it to the summit. The girls made it back as well, so we decide to have a meal at a nearby restaurant. Unanimously we agreed that we should pop down to the lounge bar to celebrate the climb. After all it was not every day that you climb a mountain like Ben Nevis.

Monmouth Bridge on Offa’s Dyke

Offa’s Dyke Walk:  There was a gradual ascent through a series of beech-forested slopes named Quicken Tree Wood, Wyeseal Wood and Creeping Hill.

Notre Dame at Le Puy

Le Puy, France ON the GR65: – The next day we had a lot to do. Waking early we left the hotel in the dark to attend the 7.00 am service which would include a pilgrims’ blessing. I felt a sense of adventure as we walked up Mount Corneille and into the centre of old Le Puy looking for the Cathedral of Notre Dame.

Walking along the dark streets with occasional lights illuminating cobble-stoned streets and the windows of closed shops we eventually found an entrance into the Cathedral and sat down. People, most of them pilgrims, arrived and sat in the pews. I could see the Black Madonna of Le Puy above the altar.