Saint Benedict is, obviously, central to the story behind the Cammino di San Benedetto. And I’ll get to him soon enough. But these first few days spent walking the route have been an opportunity to get a feel for the character of this Cammino, its distinct flavor. Given the centrality of Benedict, and the paucity of crucial sites associated with his life across these two stages, one might fear that these would be filler days, essential for bridging the gap between Subiaco and Montecassino, but otherwise unremarkable.
Such fears would be entirely misplaced. Instead, what emerges from these 60 kilometers is a burgeoning appreciation for the richly diverse history that lingers in these hills. And hey, it’s Italy; shake a stick and you’re likely enough to whack something a millennium old. But it’s the dramatic range of sites that continues to amaze me.
Right from the start, a sign alerts me to the fact that I’m overlapping with the Cammino di Canneto, a network of routes spanning four different Italian regions, all associated with the cult of the Black Madonna of the Sanctuary of Canneto in Settefrati. I first took note of the phenomenon of Black Madonnas in Le Puy-en-Velay and Rocamadour, and the historical discourse surrounding those statues lacks any clarity on what exactly influenced that portrayal. The Madonna of Canneto, meanwhile, was first referenced in 819, but it may date as far back as the 6th century. Her popularity in the region is clear, as I found representations in churches in Santopadre and outside of Arpino. What’s most striking is the enduring significance of her connection to this place; an archaeological dig in 1958 revealed the shrine to a pre-Roman deity, Mefite, who drew pilgrims from a similar geographical range, and almost certainly was transformed into the Madonna centuries later. And the Madonna, despite insistence that she should not be moved, was taken on a tour of damaged communities in the aftermath of World War II to comfort the different populations. That’s at least 2500 years of significance to this region.
The walk from Roccasecca leads me off the main road, following side streets through gentle hills. Looking at the map, I wasn’t enthused about the start of the day, as it appeared that a long stretch overlapped with a local highway. Imagine my surprise, then, when I discovered that the one-time “highway” was closed off to car traffic at some point due to rock slides. Thank goodness for earthquakes and avalanches! Nowadays, it seems to primarily function as a bike route, or at least it did on this Sunday morning. Pavement aside, it’s a gorgeous place for a stroll, situated mid-gorge, the River Melfa slicing through the hills far below, and peaks rising on either side. Eventually, though, the Benedetto picks a hill and commits to a sharp ascent, switching back and forth to the top, continuing deeper into the more rugged terrain. I pass three older women, wearing sweaters, long skirts, and head scarves, and manage to acquit myself reasonably well in Italian, before pushing on through one last ascent to the village of Santopadre on its fortified hilltop. The hermit San Folco settled here in the 7th century, after making a pilgrimage from England to the Holy Land and then returning via Monte Sant’Angelo. From his hermitage, he took care of the sick in what would become Santopadre, and he has been remembered ever since as the town’s patron saint.
The day’s hardest work behind me, I coasted in a generally downhill direction through barren woods, still awaiting spring’s reflowering, until one last sudden climb brought me to Civitavecchia, another site of remarkably varied historical significance. The old acropolis would have once been called Arpino, but by the Renaissance era the main town had shifted downhill to its current location, hence the rebranding of the hilltop structures. The two most dramatic elements of the village sit practically alongside one another, and yet may be separated by as many as two thousand years. The first to claim one’s attention is the Tower of Cicerone, which obviously grabbed my attention, given that I write for Cicerone Press. Seems like I should get a free night’s stay here, at least! It’s difficult to place chronologically, as the first written reference to it didn’t appear until 1581, but historians suspect that it was established around the 1250s. “Cicerone” in this case is intended to link the tower to the great Roman, Marcus Tullius Cicero, who was born here. Some claim his family home was in Civitavecchia itself, though that’s a matter for debate. He certainly wasn’t born in the tower, unless he also had a time travel device. He was responsible, though, for having a road built with slave labor to connect Rome with Arpino. While the tower is visually striking, and I was lucky enough to arrive mid-day on a Sunday, when it was open for a visit and a climb to the top, I was more impressed by the megalithic walls, including a pointed archway that screamed “Mycenae, Greece” to me. These may be as old as the 8th century BC.
A jarring descent down a twisting staircase delivered me into Arpino, an absolute stunner of a town, and one of my favorite places from the journey thus far. I arrived in the midst of market day, the central piazza filled with artisans hawking wares and café tables filled with locals and visitors alike. The piazza is similarly stuffed with the town’s exceptional Roman heritage, including a preserved chunk of Roman road and busts and statues associated with its three famous sons: the aforementioned Cicero, Gaius Marcus, and–this one is contested, as the association is based more on rumor than fact–Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa. The town is equally proud of its Renaissance son, the Cavalier D’Arpino, Giuseppe Cesari, perhaps most famous for his painting of the Ascension in the transept of the Lateran in Rome. Some of his works remain in Arpino’s main church. Again, two millennia span these figures, in a town that proudly preserves its past glories while also reveling in its present incarnation, fully recovered from the devastation of World War II.
As was the case leaving Roccasecca, the beginning of my stage out of Arpino similarly proceeds through side streets, with some gentle undulations, but nothing too taxing. When the steep descent finally begins, it’s the sign that I’m approaching Isola del Liri, a town that has outgrown its small island and expanded into a sprawling settlement that has melted into other, adjacent towns. It’s famous for one thing, though, and it’s a damned compelling one: it has a waterfall–a full-on, 27m-high waterfall–in its historic center. The only town in Italy with such an arrangement.
The walk that follows through the valley is the least interesting part of the day, mostly all on pavement, and often with enough car traffic to annoy, but it’s easy enough walking, and before too long I reach Casamari. While Arpino takes credit for Gaius (Caius) Marius, he was born here, in the one-time Roman Municipium of Cereatae, hence the addition (and eventual replacement) of the name Casamari (House of Marius). By 1035, only ruins remained, and they were cleared aside to make room for the Abbey of Casamari, first established under Benedictine rule, though the Cistercians took over by 1152. The abbey remains in good shape and even includes a pilgrim hostel, and it screams Cistercian simplicity. The abbey church, unlike so many elegantly adorned structures in the region, is devoid of frescoes, paintings, and pretty much all ornamentation. It’s cold stone walls, all of the same bland color, but I appreciate the sentiment.
After Casamari, the Benedetto begins–ever so gradually–its ascent into the hills, and if I would have liked a little less asphalt, I still feel that familiar surge of adrenaline that comes with a sustained climb. This next stretch will bring me to the highest elevation of the trip thus far, nearly 1000m. I’m not winning any mountaineering competitions at that height, obviously, but when you’ve spent so much time at sea level, it’s invigorating to be surrounded by rocky peaks and tree-covered hills, the valley I just departed opening wide behind–and beneath–me.
In the midst of those hills is the highlight of the day, one of the highlights of the trip so far. The old Carthusian Monastery of Tristuli, set at about 800m and founded around 1200, replaced an earlier Benedictine monastery that was established around 1000. The monastery features a church and cloisters, of course, and the former is particularly distinct because of the requirements of the Carthusian order, as it included both lay and cloistered monks. The church, then, is split in half, with separate spaces for these two groups, but joined overhead by a stunning frescoed ceiling. The most fascinating aspect of the monastery, though, is the old pharmacy, impeccably preserved. The Carthusians were practitioners of the ancient Galenic pharmacy and they thus established a laboratory for experimentation and production, through which they developed medicines that were distributed to monks, locals, and pilgrims alike. Given the richness of local herbs in this area within the Enrici Mountains, the reputation of this monastic pharmacy grew over time, earning a reputation for being one of the centers of medical science and pharmacology.
I spend the remainder of my walk, mostly downhill along a steep footpath, reveling in the beauty of the place, somehow completely off the tourist map and yet a remarkable place to visit. My destination for the day is Collepardo, another hill town that, if rougher around the edges than Arpino and Roccasecca, and less populated at that, is still attractive and welcoming. We have the Ostrogoths, under Theodoric, to thank for this town, as he is believed to have established it first as a community of shepherds. In time, its situation along a key road through these rugged hills made it an important place of gathering and trade. My host, Ivana, is a huge advocate of the Benedetto, and she cares deeply about the pilgrims passing through. In my case, along with my fellow pilgrim staying here, she quickly informs us that no restaurants or shops are open in the village on Mondays, so she insists on making dinner for us, after which she joins us for an hour of conversation.
Add it all up, and over the course of just 60km one encounters places of significance linked to Italics, Samnites, Romans, Goths, the medieval era, and the Renaissance, and of course the whole area carries scars from the war. Benedict is the star, but this route has an amazing supporting cast.
