One of the nice things about a long walk is that there’s no wiggle room. No time to waste, no time to spare. Just get up and go.
And when you’re hosted by nuns, often that urgency cuts both ways. I had anticipated needing to turn down the offered breakfast because of timing, but Suor Julie told me 6am would be a great time, as the nuns needed to wrap that up and get on with prayer. And so, before this very long walk, I sat down with two French pilgrims, as Julie brought out breakfast, and then proceeded to deliver a) sandwich-making supplies, b) a bowl of fruit, and c) the piece de resistance, plastic bags to carry it all. “It’s a long walk from here to Viterbo,” she said with a shrug, “and there’s little on the way. For that reason, I had already stocked up on some extra food, but extra extra is even better.
I had woken up at 2am due to loud storms outside, and then again at 4am. For all the fireworks, though, the walk began with only the lightest of mist. The damage had been done to the trail, however. In places it was squishy; in others, it threatened that spontaneous whooshing effect, caused when foot suddenly flies up to mid-air. The trail spans roughly 18km between Montefiascone and Viterbo, but after a quick up-and-down out of the former, and aside from a long urban slog into the latter, this is almost entirely along flat, dirt tracks through farm country. A hot springs appears shortly before Viterbo, but early in the morning it remained buttoned up, except for the smell. Those are not the kinds of eggs I find myself longing to smell in the early morning.
My memory of arrival in Viterbo was shaped by the walls of the large cemetery which marked the outer limits. In the past handful of years, though, the city has pushed well beyond those limits, adding row upon row of big box stores. A Burger King now sits opposite the cemetery; a McDonald’s, meanwhile, bids you farewell at the exit. Viterbo keeps growing, even as the world encroaches all around it.
After navigating that urban sprawl, the transition into Viterbo’s newer old town is marked by the city walls. On two previous visits, the two that made me love the city, we were hosted in a pilgrim hostel set in one of the surviving towers, a space that once hosted a pope. Luciano, Grazia, and Dominico, among others, were a group of locals who had lovingly restored the space and then hosted pilgrims with great devotion and care. Alas, the space was taken from them, and they retired to civilian duties, but there was something romantic about a pope’s guestroom being converted to pilgrim bunks.
That is far from Viterbo’s lone papal association. Much deeper into the city, in the old old town, sits the Papal Palace, right next door to the duomo. While I found the famous arched facade to be covered in scaffolding, this was far from the first time that the building has undergone some architectural manipulation.
More than 750 years ago, in fact, the building experienced an extreme makeover, pope edition. The cardinals, it happens, had been procrastinating. More than a year and a half had passed since Clement IV had died, and the 19 cardinals gathered in Viterbo had been living there at the city’s expense. In fairness to the cardinals, they weren’t just caught up playing Call of Duty; geopolitics had become significantly more complicated over the past few years. The French had carried out a power play in Naples, executing Frederick II’s nephew, and this made a French pope utterly unpalatable to the Italian contingent of cardinals. Frustrated by this interminable process, Viterbo’s city leaders took the law–and the key–into their own hands. On June 1, 1270, they locked the cardinals in the Papal Palace, informing them they could not leave until they arrived at a decision. In the process, those Viterbo residents created the conclave (“con clave” = “with key”). When that didn’t generate immediate results, the cardinals learned that their food would be severely restricted. And just in case that didn’t light a sufficient fire under the cardinals’ 38 feet, some days later the locals had the building’s roof removed.
And yet, a whole additional year passed without a decision. Finally, acknowledging an undeniable truth–the more people involved, the less possible it is to accomplish anything–the cardinals agreed to delegate the decision-making process to a six-member subcommittee. Within hours, the job was finally completed, with the election of Tedaldo Visconti, who eventually became Gregory X–though that process as well would drag out for six months, as he was away on Crusade at the moment of his selection. Just two years after his crowning, in response to this sluggish process (it took 1006 days total), he proceeded to formalize the decision-making process that the Viterbese had unwittingly established, though with the Sistine Chapel replacing the oversized skylight.
There are several different ways to walk onward from Viterbo. My favorite bypasses the next two towns, Vetralla and Capranica, completely, moving almost entirely along wooded footpaths through Ronciglione before arriving in Sutri. However, that seems to have slipped out of relevance–probably because the folks in Vetralla and Capranica don’t love their erasure! This time, I ended up following the most direct approach, spanning a little over 16km to Vetralla. Part of this was simple practicality; with such a long day, like the Viterbese, I just wanted to follow the most direct path between a and b. Given that I hadn’t walked this for a long time, though, I was also curious to see how it had developed. And I discovered that there is quite a bit to like! The initial stretch out of Viterbo follows a road that has been hacked out of the tufa, so that high, narrow walls line the way. While part of the next section parallels an expressway, there are also plenty of quiet kilometers through farm country.
I remain uncharmed by Vetralla, despite its marketing promises, but I’m not the only one to be disappointed. Charles of Anjou, having come out ahead in his struggle against Frederick II’s nephew, positioned himself here in 1276 with the hope of pressuring the cardinals to select a French-friendly pope. I, meanwhile, walked out of town and straight into the maws of the day’s heaviest storm. Fortunately, an extended stretch followed through thick woods, and then a marvelous walk through hazelnut groves capped off the final section.
I reached Capranica shortly after 4pm, passing through the modern outskirts and then climbing into the walled historic center. It was an impressive pace, all things considered, and it made me think of how much more judicious our most recent conclave experience was. Pope Francis died on April 21, a little over two months into my first trans-Italy walk. Instead of Viterbo’s 19 cardinals, 133 gathered in the Vatican on May 7 and 8 to elect Francis’s successor, the largest number ever assembled for a conclave. And yet–in direct rebuttal to my earlier jab at large group decision-making, this just took two days!
Meanwhile, in Capranica, I had the smallest possible experience in a donativo hostel, with my host welcoming me into the home she shared with her American partner, who was out of town, and preparing dinner for just the two of us. No other pilgrims. It seemed like an awful lot of work for just one pilgrim, and even then she still refused help with the preparation. “Pilgrims need to rest.” So I showered, washed clothes, and then watched her chop carrots–a lot of carrots–and then proceed to make soup, curry, and fry-bread from scratch. A simple roof overhead is enough to make me happy; those cardinals in Viterbo had it rough. But this was pilgrim paradise, and a day in which urgency went well rewarded.
