Via @ 70

The Via is full of unanswered questions. Last night, as I mentioned yesterday, there was only one restaurant in town, so where did the other 5 pilgrims go? The only explanation I can think of is they all went to the bar opposite and stayed drinking there until I left the restaurant and then nipped over for their pizzas. And where did the three Italians go until after 11pm? Surely not just eating pizza and drinking. I had lights out before 9pm but woke briefly about 11pm and they weren’t in by then. They got up about 7am and were on their way by 7.30am. I doubt I would be doing that if I had been drinking from 6.30pm to 11pm.

I was on my way by 8am. Empty. Hadn’t gone very far before I realised I was catching up with another of the pilgrims. But slowly. So slowly that it would take an embarrassingly long time to overtake on a fairly narrow path. Do I engage in conversation - not my thing - as I pass, or ignore her altogether - seemed a little rude, we had slept in neighbouring rooms and she had said goodbye as she left. But I really hate “polite” conversation at the best of times and in a foreign language (she was Swiss) it would be beyond pain. In the end I wimped out because I planned to stop for brekkie in a village after an hour and I simply walked a bit slower and stayed a discrete couple of hundred yards behind.

After my croissant and cappuccino I got going only to find the 3 Italians just in front. Given that they had started half an hour before me and I had stopped for 20 minutes what had they been doing? Overtook them on the other side of the road without engagement. But then I came up behind the Swiss girl who must have stopped in a different bar. All getting completely out of hand. Undoubtedly making a huge deal out of nothing at all. But there really isn’t much else to think about when plodding.

At the risk of being both racist and sexist I have noticed that some Italian males have a habit of chewing the fat in cafes and bars with their mates in the early morning over an expresso or two. On a Sunday, the ones that aren’t doing that don their Lycra and get on their bikes, either singly or in groups. No gentle pedalling along, these guys, and they do seem to be exclusively male, all give it some stick. So what do the ladies do when their men are out blethering or sweating?

One curiosity, in France at least, every second bike was electric while here I have only seen a couple of e-bikes in 11 days.

Thanks to the early start and a short day I arrived at the trattoria which I had booked before 1pm. Got into my room, showered, washed my clothes, nipped out to a bar for lunch and was back by 2.30pm. Spent a few hours getting some of my accommodation sorted out. Well, trying to. Sending e-mails. Up to now virtually everything had been arranged before I left. But I now need to make some more bookings.

Headed out to the only restaurant in the village cum town that was open on Sunday. Had checked out trip advisor reviews that had been quite glowing. Got there to find it was open but their kitchen was not. Just drinks. The chap tried sending me to some other place miles away but when I said I was a pilgrim so no car available he offered to make something. I could join the staff for their tea. Very kind but with my fondness for communal meals but I would rather have my fingernails removed.

Walking back I passed an open gateway with music playing and folk milling round, some with drinks and plates in hand. Wandered in, all casual like, looking just like a Rohan-wearing local. It appeared to be a sort of concert or open day for a small music school. And they had a tent with beers and food for folk to help themselves. So I did. Just the job. Even listened to some of the music while stuffing my face. Amused to see a local down and out come in after me and do exactly the same. Neither of us could quite believe our luck.Læs mere