The photos are alt-texted for the visually-impaired. Yes, I may have forgotten the odd one, I put my hands up.
Think beachboys, think surfers, think gelato in a deckchair, walking hand-in-hand along the sand and beefcake. Well this is what I promised Lady Fiona Musgrove on the amble from Bolsena to Montefiascone. Sadly, all she got was Beef Bovril and an incredulous Carabinieri commander, as it tipped it down with rain.
As we waded along the lakeside path and through ever-increasing puddles, my heart leapt when we came on a “luxury” campsite four miles out of town. Maybe we could camp here, I suggested? The response was slightly less enthusiastic and that is an understatement. It was a ghost-town, as we wandered through the vast acres of chalets, bungalows and pitches. Even Reception was closed. It was the kind of place one would see in an episode of Scooby Doo.
Montefiascone was not a dissimilar story as we wandered higher and higher to the Pilgrim’s tower and a glorious castle that had been turned into a wine bar……with a stamp! This time, in the mist and dark we were on set in Dracula. Lady F looked glorious as a biter vampire in her cagoule. I can feel her hot breath bearing down on me..
Forget Paddy McGuiness, get yer dollars out for the blind https://t.co/FojinjPTG7
If you’ve ever wanted to spend the night in a museum, well, we did. A five hundred year old palace with a wine gallery and we had the run of the place, all-night. @ visconti
A huuuuuuuge Thankyou to Hyein Kim who has donated £50 to the RNIB for our sponsored Via Francigena trek at https://t.co/ApAG1xsm6H RNIB. Plus bed, beer and great company ❤️.
I’ve now found someone who knows somebody called Heidi; I shall meet them on Thursday. Apart from that priority, our strange plan is now rolling into action. We are at Martigny, just below the snow line and preparing to walk backwards along the Via Francigena.
My gonads have dropped off. This was not due just to the cold and snow, but also laughing at the practical joker who adjusted the Jougne town sign to suit Australians. Apart from the strategically placed pizza machine, this was the only cheerful thing the town had to offer.
I always swore I’d find out where Absinthe lived and now I’ve found it; Pontarlier. It’s made here, there’s a whole museum dedicated to this brew and Vincent Van Gogh had the odd swig in between cutting off ears.
I’m changing my name to Harvey ( the white rabbit). Lady Fiona Musgrove thinks I have a woman’s voice and look like a Besancon Town Hall official. Hence, her mistaken identification in her quest for a Pilgrim stamp. I think she can make her own pot of tea in the morning.
Woof. “Thank heavens for little doggies”, crooned Maurice Chevalier or something like that. Actually, thank Heavens for their glorious owner, Deborah, who has spotted a yawning gap in the market, at Foulain so people may buy food and eat. @FionaMusgrove@rnib
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine”, well for five minutes anyway and I managed to grab a photo. Of course, it could just have been one of those alien flying saucer thingys or my delirium from abstaining from alcohol for over a week. The rest of the day was just rain.
We encountered our first proper hill in ages, today. It was horrible. All hills should be bulldozed flat. Both Lady Fiona and myself agreed we preferred going down.