(7)

Spirit of creativity and playfulness

A pilgrimage is a time of solitude where deep listening can be practiced. Deep listening means to open the heart to everything that is. It is communication with nature, people, and one’s own inner voice. In order to be open, I think it is of crucial importance not to complain about anything. A complaining mind is a limited mind and a hindrance to seeing what is.

During long times of walking in solitude, the mind becomes open and very receptive. I call this state of mind “heart-mind.” This heart mind is connected, interconnected, and full of vitality. I discovered that during this time of being intimately connected, the strong urge to give form to this experience also arises. Being connected is the birthplace of poetry, drawing, writing, and of other creative activities.  However, this activity is free of any goal or judgment.  It is reached by playfulness – like a child that is immersed in its play without looking for any approval – it is just doing.

Looking back to Gubbio

When I left Gubbio in the early morning, the sounds of bells mixed with bird songs accompanied me to the outside of the city. I was walking on the Sentiero Francescano della Pace, the way of peace. It was the same way St. Francis walked from Assisi to Gubbio after he broke with his familiar life 813 years ago.

I passed beautiful little stone shrines and chapels.

At one chapel, I rang the bell in honor of my uncle Herman, who turned 93 that day.

I spent the night at the Monastery St. Peter, which was transformed into a place for pilgrims. Like so often on my pilgrimage, they cooked a fantastic meal.

Monastery St. Peter with pilgrims hanging their clothes to dry

Inner court of the monastery with pilgrims

It rained during the night. The next morning, everything was vibrant and fresh. I was in awe! The intense fall colors, the raindrops on grass and berries glittering in the sun, the smell of wet soil. Everything was so special.

A little pool in a rock where rainwater was captured

By now, I had made a fascinating discovery about myself – I did not want to memorize poems anymore. Instead, I had a strong urge to give my experience a form by creating haikus. I wanted to stay with the experience and not leave it until I could capture it. During my pilgrimage, I wrote more than hundred haikus, (most of them in German).

The yellow flowers

Shine the way like little lamps

On a shaded slope

Dung Beatle

Lichen on a tree trunk

My strong desire to respond to nature led me to do some land art. I could not do that very often, though, because my time was limited.

Playful response to nature

Old farmhouse overgrown with evergreens

The second night, I stayed in the place called Ostello Franciscan il Sentiero in Valfabbrica. Here, I met a Canadian family who went on the pilgrimage in honor of their father. He had just died at the age of 94. He loved poetry and so did his children. We shared our favorite poems.

The Canadian family who loved poetry

I met them again on the path. We greeted each other with a poem. I shared one by Rainer Maria Rilke.

I live my life in widening circles

That reach out across the world.

I may not complete this last one

But I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.

I’ve been circling for thousands of years

And I still don’t know: am I a falcon,

A storm, or a great song?

When I am on a pilgrimage, my way of staying in the present moment is by connecting with my senses. The world comes to me and I am witnessing it. The incredible beauty of nature – from a dug beetle rolling the ball over and over a little part of the meadow to the magnificent view of mountains and valleys.  After having this experience, something in me wants to give it a form and capture the moment. Therefore I take photos, create haikus, and sometimes respond with land art.

I use the time of quarantine to connect with nature on a much smaller scale. Instead of walking, I often sit and observe. I do not have to go anywhere – nature is just there in my garden, in my house. Now it is a shadow of my chair in the morning that creates a sense of wonder, or a yucca plant with a new shoot growing rapidly every day. Preparing food becomes a feast for the senses.

I know that it is up to me how I orient my mind. I can connect with what is right in front of me and let the thinking mind, the worrying mind, take a back seat.  The creative expression of something that touches me is very important for my mental health. Therefore, I use the time I have right now to write haikus, make photos, and sometimes do land art. I try to keep my sense of playfulness and do not look out for recognition or approval.

(6)

Pilgrimage and the Spirit of Vulnerability

Walking into the unknown means to be ready to take risks. A pilgrimage is an adventure, which needs courage and endurance. The courage most needed, however, is the courage to face vulnerability. When I know my weaknesses, my fears, and my limitations, I can be courageous without being reckless. I can take risks and at the same time I can take care of myself.

During my pilgrimage in Italy, probably the most dangerous situation I am aware of was encounters with vicious dogs. I was lucky and was never attacked. Another risk was walking alone – many things could have happened – I was not afraid and never faced any obvious danger on my way. However, I have one basic fear – it is the fear of getting lost. I do not know where this fear comes from, as I do not remember ever getting really lost.  But I have to deal with it.

The two days from Citta della Castella to Gubbio were challenging.  In burning heat and no shade, I walked for hours on hot asphalt roads to the town Pietralunga. On my past pilgrimages, I lost several toenails when hiking in this kind of heat. This time, my shoes were big enough and I was fine.  In order to give my mind something to do, I memorized a poem from the Book of Hours by Rainer Maria Rilke. It reflected my state of mind.

Du Gott, ich möchte viele Pilger sein,

Um so, ein langer Zug, zu dir zu gehen,

Um ein großes Stück von dir zu sein:

Du Garten mit den lebenden Alleen…

The German version is much better than I can translate. I will translate it freely: You, God, I want to be many pilgrims so I can walk to you as a long line and can become part of you – you, the garden of living alleys…

The countryside was beautiful – hills covered with oak and pine trees and sometimes a stone house, church, or palazzo visible from far away.

However, I was tired of walking on streets. One time, the guidebook suggested an unmarked route through the forest. It was in the middle of nowhere. Should I dare it? It would be much safer to walk on the road where the way was marked. I decided to walk through the forest. It was a gorgeous hike up a mountain. I walked alone, but had a companion with me – the tension in my stomach. After two hours, I linked up to the signed path – what a big relief.

Not many pilgrims walk the path of St. Francis, but those who walk always feel connected. One time, I saw an arrow on the country road and I was sure that somebody wanted to show the right direction of the path. I followed it. After a while, I met two French women pilgrims I had met before. They told me that they had made the arrow for me so I would not get lost. I was very touched.

When I arrived in Gubbio, I went straight to the convent of the Franciscan nuns, where I stayed overnight.  It was a huge 14^th century complex with many rooms for pilgrims – but only one other female pilgrim was staying here.

View to Gubbio

Gubbio was an important place for St. Francis. During his most vulnerable time after his dispute with his father, he walked nearly naked from Assisi to Gubbio. Only a simple piece of cloth covered his body. St. Francis was considered at this time to be crazy, reckless, and stupid. He had chosen to walk to Gubbio because of a friend – the rich cloth trader Spadalunga. This friend welcomed him in his home and gave him a simple tunic to wear. It later became the model for the clothing of the Franciscan monks.

St. Francis and the wolf

There exists another famous story of St. Francis in Gubbio. It is said that he befriended and tamed a dangerous wolf that threatened the community. St. Francis looked for the wolf and promised it enough food if, in return, it would stop hurting the community.  The community agreed to provide food and the wolf stopped its attacks. This story, probably referring to a very greedy person, shows how vulnerability and strength belong together – especially the strength expressed through kindness.

Piazza della Signoria with the Palazzo Consoli (1332-1336 AD)

Gubbio is located on a hill with many stairs and steep streets and has impressive medieval constructions for the support of buildings

Little dog looking out a window behind bars

One of many streets in Gubbio

The two stories about St. Francis in Gubbio have to do with vulnerability and strength. He was not afraid to show his vulnerability. I believe he exposed his vulnerability with the radical break from his old life when he left Assisi nearly naked. However, this act also showed his incredible strength. I believe that this event was the start of his journey to Non-Self.

With the coronavirus spreading all over the world, the vulnerability and fragility of life has become more visible than I ever could have imagined. The virus is unpredictable and very contagious. I have to face my own vulnerability and also the vulnerability of others. I am not afraid. However, I do whatever I can do to help others and also protect myself – and this is by staying at home.

(5)

Meeting the Gap

The goal of a pilgrimage for me is not self-improvement, but to deepen the awareness of who I am. In order to become aware, it is of crucial importance to accept myself without judgment. A pilgrimage for me is not a time to seek comfort and safety. On my pilgrimages in the past, I sometimes experienced hardships and faced my limits. These times, in retrospect, were the most valuable times of the pilgrimage. Hardships and challenges serve like gaps which, in the words of Leonhard Cohen, “the light comes in.” The Tibetan Buddhists call this state Bardo, the time in between. It is the time when change can happen.

After I left the charming 14^th century country house in the early morning, I hiked to the city of Sansepolcro. This town is the birthplace of the famous Renaissance artist Piero della Franscesca. He also lived and worked there. On the way to the town, the path followed a natural sewage canal. The smell was nearly unbearable. I expressed my feelings in a haiku.

Stinky wastewater

Flows beside the pilgrim’s way

Ah! Ripe grapes and figs

Roofline of Sansepolcro photographed from the home of Pierro della Francesca

Although I loved the town with the many palazzos and churches and also visited the home and museum of Piero della Francesca, I was eager to see one of his most famous pieces – Madonna del Parto. He painted the fresco for the cemetery church, Santa Maria di Momentana in Monterchi, where his mother was buried. Now it can be seen in the city museum of Monterchi. I had to make a little detour, but it was worth it.

Madonna del Parto. Piero della Francesca finished the fresco in just 7 days

Monterchi is located beside the Cerfone River. During the time of Antiquity, pregnant women came to this place to participate in fertility rituals. Even today, pregnant women visit the Madonna del Parto to ask for a safe childbirth.

Madonna del Parto (1460 AD)

I slept in a simple apartment connected with a farmhouse surrounded by rolling hills, fields, and forests. The most peaceful landscape one can imagine. However, early in morning, I was woken up by gunshots echoing all over the valley. It was September 15 – the start of the hunting season in Italy. During the entire day of hiking, I felt as if I were in a war zone.

Hunters crossing a field

The hunting mentality I saw in Umbria created a strong aversion in me. I often had to walk in between high wire fences because private owners of forests fenced in their property. I saw cages where dogs were imprisoned, probably dogs raised for hunting. Also, the Italians are allowed to shoot birds – one time I saw on my walk a construction for birds with a deer stand down below to shoot them. It was a great paradox, walking on the way of St. Francis and witnessing this animal cruelty. St. Francis is known for his love of animals.

Hunter with his dog

Lures for birds

In Citta della Castello, a medieval town surrounded by a powerful city wall, a special treat was waiting for me. My son Lorenz drove up from Assisi to have dinner with me. He also brought the English version of my guidebook. The German translation I used was poorly translated and made it difficult sometimes to find the way.

My son Lorenz and I at dinner in Citta della Castello

With the coronavirus sweeping over the whole world, life as we all know it came to a standstill. Most of us have to stay home in order to slow down the curve, the speed of infection, and also to not get infected.

When I was sitting in front of the Madonna del Parto for at least an hour, I felt the mystery of this painting. There is not one painting I know of in the history of art that depicts the Madonna like this – standing, fully embodied, with her right hand pointing to the gap caused by something even she does not see. She just feels it!

During the time of quarantine, the whole world holds its breath. It is a time when transformation can take place. Like at a pilgrimage or a sesshin, this transformation happens slowly, organically, or – by using the visual picture of the Madonna del Parto – it can be considered a time of pregnancy, when something new can develop and grow.

（４）

Pilgrimage and the mind of not knowing

Walking on a pilgrimage is to allow the world to come forward in the experience of every moment. Being ready at any moment for what is there is to live in a mind of not knowing. A mind of not knowing needs trust – trust, that everything that arises each moment is okay and that you can handle it. Each moment is the best moment of your life, Katagiri Roshi once said. A pilgrimage is good training for this mindset.

When I left La Verna, I walked for about six hours through silent forests, open meadows, and rocky canyons. The weather was gorgeous.

Ripe fruit of a bush, the name of which I do not know

Ripe black blackberries, elderberries and rose hips grew along the way and every so often I stopped to collect a handful of fruit and let it melt in my mouth. All the time I followed the yellow sign of the Tau, the symbol for the way.

I stayed overnight in Pieve Santo Stefano, a little town in the valley beside the Tiber River. All the rooms were booked except in a hotel beside the highway – a huge, sterile box of a building with hardly any guests. What a difference to the beauty I experienced during the day! At least, I had a place to sleep.

After Pieve Santo Stefano, nature became even more magical. I visited Eremo di Cerbaiolo, a hermitage nestled like a pigeon’s nest high on a cliff.

Eremo di Cerbeiolo

After I lay down on an ancient stone under an elderberry tree, I saw a nice pattern in the stone. When I made a photo, a face looked towards me. It seemed to me as if St. Francis and St. Anthony (both spent time in this place) became present again.

Not only rocks, but also trees became intimately connected with me during this hike. “You have to love these trees,” the pilgrim Veronique said to me with a heavy French accent, when I could not stop making photos of these powerful beings.

The crown of this oak tree was humongous, but I could not totally capture it in the photo.

Rock and tree and roots were so connected that there seemed to be no difference anymore between them.

Moss-patched roots reaching into the ditch where a former Gothic house once stood

After sleeping in the Albergo Bar Imperatore, where the owner Lorean cooked a fantastic Italian meal, I continued my walk through the Apennine. For hours, I hiked through thick and healthy mixed forests, traversed an alpine meadow with the poetic name Alpe della Luna, and had a gorgeous view down into the valley.

It was evening when I arrived at the hermitage Montecasale, a place once given as a present to St. Francis. Above the entrance of the hermitage stood the words (translated): Here once lived three saints, St. Francis, St. Anthony, and St. Bonaventura. Here once lived three terrible robbers like saints. Therefore, blessings to those who are able to live here.”

A story about St. Francis explains these words.  Once there were three robbers who knocked on the door of the hermitage. They begged for food. The monk who lived there chased them away with the words that they did not deserve any food because of their past actions. St. Francis arrived shortly after that, carrying bread and wine with him. When he heard this story, he ordered the monk to look for the robbers and bring them his food. Only kindness, he said, transforms the human being.

When I arrived at the hermitage, I had another problem – it was already 7 pm and I did not have any place to sleep. I met a monk in the chapel and asked him if I could stay overnight (I knew that only men were allowed to stay, but asked anyway). He was so kind to offer me a place in the refectory – a huge room with wooden benches and tables – but I decided not to stay there and to continue. Before I left, he went into the kitchen to give me a cake, a banana, and an apple for the way, uttering the words in broken English “you might not find a place for dinner anymore today! Please take this!” I was touched by his kindness.

I still had two hours to walk to reach the city Sansepolcro. However, there was a bed and breakfast place only 20 minutes down the mountain, though I could not reach anybody on the phone. So I hiked a gorgeous steep mountain path down towards the valley and passed on my way the favorite place of St. Francis, called Sasso Spicco.

Sasso Spicco

After Sasso Spicco, I got lost! I could not find my way! I followed one path, returned, followed another one, and was not sure if I should hike up the steep mountain back to Montecasale. Finally, I found the yellow Tau sign. Around 8 pm I arrived back at the bed and breakfast place and was very lucky! They had a room available for me and then even prepared dinner. It was one of the most charming places I stayed in during the three weeks of my walk.

Dinner at Agriturismo Le Burgne

Being open to the unexpected is one of the key elements of a pilgrimage. Although I did some planning, mainly connected to where I would sleep, I stayed flexible and open otherwise. It was exactly the mind of not knowing that made every moment fresh and full of life.

With the coronavirus, the mind of not knowing and uncertainty has rolled over the globe like a huge tsunami. Nobody expected it. Nobody could imagine its enormous impact on everyday life.  How do I allow the world to come forward in every experience, when it is full of uncertainty, of not knowing?

During the pilgrimage, my main activity was walking, an activity of the body connected with all of my senses. Walking gave structure to the whole day and allowed me to be fully connected with my senses. Now, in quarantine, I try the same. I meditate, being aware of my breath. I do walking meditation, feel the cool green grass on my bare feet, the limbs moving, feel every step connected with the breath. Walking is reduced to a tiny area, but the awareness of walking is much more heightened. I connect with my surroundings more intensively and suddenly see things I never realized before.

Just being connected, however, is not enough to meet unexpected situations and uncertainties on a pilgrimage. During the thousands of miles I have walked, there developed an inner strength – this strength is trust in life. Whatever might come, I trust in life. This trust is like the trees I saw during my pilgrimages. I imagine and also feel that I am one of the trees I saw, deeply rooted and strong enough to encounter unexpected storms, drought, and heat. Whatever might come. I trust in life.

Often on my pilgrimages, I take poems with me. Before I left for the Camino Franciso, I dedicated the poem below by Mary Oliver to the entire pilgrimage. Its message is also a message for me during quarantine.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

(3)

Sacred spaces

A pilgrimage is a journey to sacred spaces like shrines, temples, churches, caves, or mountains. It always involves the body and is highly physical. It has to do with connecting – connecting to spaces with body and mind. Some pilgrimages have ancient histories; others are fairly new routes – like the Camino Francisco in Italy.

The Camino Francisco is not one single way, like the Shikoku pilgrimage in Japan, but there exist several routes. These routes often overlap. I had chosen a route recommended by my son, who lived in Assisi at the time. In the past, pilgrims used the Via Roma to walk to Assisi and afterwards to Rome.

When I started the hike, I was barely acquainted with the life of St. Francis. My main intention was to walk. I learned about his life when I visited the sites where he stayed about 800 years ago. I will tell you stories about his life in connection to the spaces I will visit.

I started the pilgrimage in La Verna (Tuscany), a remote monastery located on Monte Penna.

Main plaza at the monastery La Verna

Basilica Chiesa Maggiore

This place was the most important place for St. Francis. When he was severely sick and depressed (things in his order did not turn out how he envisioned it), he came to La Verna for a 40-day fasting retreat.

The high cliffs on which the monastery was built

Stories tell us that he was tempted by the devil – most probably, he was thinking about suicide by jumping off the cliffs. In this time of hardship, he gave himself totally up to Christ, whose teachings he followed in an uncompromising way. It was then that a miracle happened to him – he was bleeding from the same place as Christ on the cross (stigmata).  The knowledge of the unity with Christ gave him the strength to preach the message of humility, poverty, simplicity, love and peace for two more years.

The place where the stigmata occurred is of great importance for the Franciscan order. During the time of St. Francis, there stood only simple stone and mud huts and a small chapel. After the plague in 1348, however, a new Basilica was donated by a rich trade union of Florence. In the 15^th century, Andrea della Robbia designed the other buildings and also created many glazed terracotta art pieces for the monastery.

Crucifixion with the sun and the moon in the Chiesa delle Stimmate

created by Andrea della Robbia

La Verna was a place that impressed me deeply. Located on high cliffs and surrounded by a magical forest, it was still breathing out the simplicity of former times. However, one event left an imprint I will never forget.  I was walking along a corridor leading to the Chiesa delle Stimmate. The right side of the corridor consisted of a solid wall with only one door in the middle. To the left, daylight was streaming in through a wall of windows.

Corridor to the chapel

During my two-day stay, I passed the door several times and I assumed that it was locked. However, one time I saw a monk stepping through it. I became very curious about were the door led to and opened it. To my big surprise, I did not step into another room but found myself in the most breathtaking, wild, archaic nature!

Vivid green moss covered the powerful rock boulders cascading down into a very narrow canyon. The crowns of powerful trees covered the sky above, building a living tent of green. Nobody was there. Here, I felt the sacredness of the space, the sacredness of this untamed, wild beauty.  St. Francis loved to come here. Later on I discovered that the places where he retreated for prayer were often in areas like this.

During a pilgrimage, it is easy to connect with places, especially when they are of this overwhelming beauty. It is a sensual experience where the connection to the place is direct, immediate, and always in the moment. On a pilgrimage, every step brings a new viewpoint, a new impression, and it is easy to be in the here and now.

Now, in quarantine, there is nowhere to go. Quarantine means living in a limited and very familiar space, a place full of habits connected with a particular way of thinking. In this situation, I remember the door – the door that leads to another reality, a reality that is just a step away.  It is Big Mind, the boundless reality of the wild, original nature. It means for me to still live in a limited space, but to see beyond – to live in loving awareness, which embraces everything that happens in a compassionate way. I do not have to go anywhere to find the sacred – it is in my everyday life. I just have to open the door.

Dear Friends,

When my husband David and I decided to go into strict quarantine, I became aware that this time of social distancing has a lot of similarities with the pilgrimages I did in the past. While a big difference is that the coronavirus seems to have shattered our everyday life with an abruptness nobody expected, a pilgrimage is based on free will. However, even this statement is questionable – who is it really who wants to walk, wants to leave the familiar and walk into the unknown.

When I started to walk pilgrimages 22 years ago, my sister and I stumbled from one mistake into another. We were inexperienced and poorly equipped. The pilgrimage to Maria Zell (a place in Austria) lasted only for 3 days. On the first day, we went about 25 miles, far too much for the first day. I had tendinitis and the pain in my right Achilles tendon was almost unbearable. I walked in spite of it (no doctor would give this advice). During the next day, pouring rain was our constant companion. We did not have appropriate raingear and also no cover for our backpack. Not only did we become wet to the bone but also our clothes in the backpack became soaking wet.

When we arrived in Maria Zell, the pain in my Achilles tendon had disappeared and never came back. Despite all the discomfort, we had a very special time together.

Since my first pilgrimage to Maria Zell, I have walked several thousand miles and completed 8 pilgrimages. Each of the pilgrimages had its own challenge. My last pilgrimage was in Italy last September, where I followed the footsteps of St. Francis. I would like to share it with you.

The words of the Dalai Lama, “a true pilgrim does not have to go anywhere,” inspired me to consider the quarantine as a pilgrimage with nowhere to go. It will be a challenge, like the first pilgrimage I did 22 years ago. But I am dedicated to facing the difficulties.  So that is how I perceive the big similarity between being on an outer pilgrimage and walking the path of an inner pilgrimage – basically it is the same. For the next few weeks I will share with you my experience of walking the Camino Francesco and connect it with my experience of the pilgrimage we are now all on together in quarantine.

Garyo

(2)

   Outer and inner pilgrimage

The way of St. Francis and the journey to Non-Self

Pilgrim as a wanderer

St. Francis (1181-1226) was the son of a rich cloth trader in Assisi. It is said that he was very generous and had high dreams for himself – he wanted to become a knight, a very prestigious profession at this time. In the war against Perugia (a nearby city), he was captured and imprisoned for one year. When he came back home, he had lost his grounding and his dreams. He did not know what to do with his life anymore and searched for meaning. One time, he was in the chapel of St. Damiano and heard an inner voice (Jesus) ordering him to rebuild the chapel. Still used to his familiar life, he sold everything he owned and the cloth from his father’s store in order to follow this calling. His father was infuriated and sued him. During his trial (1206) he not only gave everything back to his father, but he also took off his own clothing and stood naked in front of the population of Assisi. This was the start of his new identity as a wanderer.

In many traditions in the past, people left home in order to meet themselves in a new way – like the haiku poet Matsuō  Bashō in Japan, Milarepa in Tibet, and the most important in our tradition – Buddha himself.

A pilgrim is a wanderer who travels to sacred spaces and leaves the familiar behind. A pilgrimage provides the opportunity to step out of the stories, which determine who we are, and step into each moment and each activity in a fresh, new way. The famous poet Rumi said it is “to wash yourself from yourself.”

Now, during quarantine, I have dedicated myself to living with this mindset. It is not a physical walk anymore, but I become the pilgrim of my mind. I can bring the awareness of the moment into everyday life, into the familiar. With that, I can come to the realization that every aspect of my life is sacred.

The poet Rainer Maria Rilke expresses it in the following way:

God speaks to each of us before we are,

Before he’s formed us — then, in a cloudy speech,

But only then, he speaks these words to each

And silently walks with us from the dark:

Driven by your senses, dare

To the edge of longing. Grow

Like a fire’s shadowcasting glare

Behind assembled things, so you can spread

Their shapes on me as clothes.

Don’t leave me bare.

Let it all happen to you: beauty and dread.

Simply go – no feeling is too much –

And only this way can we stay in touch.

Near here is the land

That they call Life.

You’ll know when you arrive

By how real it is.

Give me your hand.

– Translated by Leonard Cottrell

During the pilgrimage in Italy last September, I walked about 217 miles from La Verna (near Arezzo in Tuscany) to Poggio Bostone (near Rieti in the province of Latium). It took me three weeks. Except for one day, I walked alone. Like all of my pilgrimages, it was an amazing experience.