Abbots Way - Part III
According to our inside intelligence there was a spectre haunting us abbots. Elisa reported to us having spotted another wannabe abbot heading in our direction: Alex the Swiss. I could spot flashes of fear and competition in my companion's eyes. The times of the Camino were back: gotta watch our backs to avoid being skittled...
Having reached a village on the way, we met some overly nice locals who offered us some unrefusable local food. A sort of fried bread with a side of hams and cheeses. A typical dish, they said. Thank God, they left us alone with the food so that we could cherry pick the cheese and pack away the disgusting rest. But we lost time and Alex the fury was now looming behind us.
We ended up meeting him in the hostel in Mareto that evening, as we were waiting for food that did not arrive despite having been the first to be seated. We knew who he was and probably he knew we were his nemesis but we exchanged gazes and nothing more. After a long wait we asked the waiter what was going on and found out that we had to move inside for our meal. The food was appalling and portions way too generous.
On the moment of paying, after a breakfast where Seyi attempted scoffing an entire cake but was persuaded to stop, the bartender woman put up a little recital for us. She looked surprised that we did not pay the night before and told us that it was Monday: closure day and therefore the accounting was closed. Would it be ok for us having no receipt? Yes madam, can we pay by card? we thought. Yes madame, here's the cash, we said.
The way onwards was short but proving, after a quite random wade across a river (where my travel companion forgot that shoes are waterproof only for water levels below his ankles) the path turned up sharply... And from there on pain was the only currency.
The next village, Groppallo, was where we spoke for the first time to Alex. The love story with him did not fly. Ordinary pilgrim chitchat without a real spark. The guy likes to travel in style and get a bit more pampered than us, so we are later on separated for dinner. He went for the fully fledged dining deal, while we were just ordering one pasta dish à la carte.
To avoid having to pay a lot and then stuff ourselves with food we didn't really want, earlier I had masterfully negotiated with the hostel manager to decouple room from food and came out with a fantastic deal. And there was Alex faced with gigantic portions of ham and salami, desperately attempting of offer some to us!
We'll lose him the following day in Bardi. Not having managed to find an accomodation up to his standards, he had decided to stop and take a bus to his holiday house. So long, man... and good luck. Seyi and I were staying at a parish, welcomed masterfully by Don Luigi. Let's put Don Luigi in contact with Don Roberto to get him back on the righteous path of abbots hospitality, we decided..
Bardi's castle was an absolute blast. We spent hours exploring its every corner and looking at all the interesting expositions. A much needed recharge for our imagination! Better not to imagine too much in detail how those torture machines really worked, though!
The next day was one of the longest stretches and it was the theather of Seyi's second collapse just a few yards before our arrival in Borgotaro. During the last couple of miles we had ground almost to a halt..my mate was moving slowly, breathing cold, looking down in clear difficulties. The full harmour from all sides did not help: a backpack on the back and one on the front, one massive stick in the right hand and another one in the left. The only reasonable side was the top, protected by a straw hat that he found along the way (a valid substitute to his wet frontal handcherkief).
He was though fully resolved to get to the end, no more talking, saving the last breath for later. He dropped on the very last step.. not one less and not one more....at the door of the parish we were staying at. Was it calculation or was it sheer luck? The only two witnesses of such event have contrasting answers....
While my mate recovered, I sorted out the bureaucracy to secure a spot for the following day. I will spare you the details of what happened the following night, as you can read all about it in the bestselling article "The beast of Cervara". In short, we were attacked and sieged allnight by a furious wild beast and had to wait out till the light of dawn for the final showdown...
With our departure for Pontremoli on the last day came the last emotions: the gloomy mood brought by being hit by heavy rains. Against all reason (and nostalgic of the UK weather) my travel companion decided that we must plough on. The most soaked the better. This our new Roncesvalles. As long as we don't stop in a warm bar we are going to be fine. I was stupid enough to believe him. Luckily the hostel was above our expectations (separate rooms, separate showers) and the day run without further problems at least till dinner time.
Upon recommendation from the nuns of the hostel we showed up at a conventioned restaurant claiming our pilgrim's discount. It turned out that there was a dedicated menu for pilgrims with dedicated price.... and alas dedicated quality. My mistake was ordering cous cous and then getting a dish that was too cold and soaked with cheap oil. My companion was not even finished laughing at me for being too picky...then he got his fried rabbit. As soon as he bit it, he realized the core was frozen. You see? Who's picky? He promptly sent it back and ordered something different. Well done! On the way out we dared giving a little feedback to the guy at the counter. Needless to say they did not take it well. You can fuck up with a Pilgrim, but not with 2 fully certified Abbots!
