And now for the final leg to Rome.

Leaving Bolsena we followed a ridge around the lake and even after several hours we could still see it every time we cleared the trees.

We passed through farms and almost got bowled over by a determined herd of sheep.

Montefiascone sits on the highest point of the ridge surrounding Lake Bolsena.  Perched on a rocky outcrop at the top of the town, Rocca di Papa served as a summer palace for the popes from the 13th to the 16th centuries.

In 1111, German bishop Johannes Defuk travelled to Rome, sending his servant ahead to mark taverns with good wine with a secret sign: Est (There is).  In Montefiascone the servant found a local white wine made from a Trebbiano/Malvasia grape varietal which was so good he left the mark Est! Est! Est!

Defuk obviously agreed.  Legend has it that returning from Rome, he only made it as far as Montefiascone, where he stayed for two years, eventually drinking himself to death.

His tomb is in the cathedral and there’s a replica in the fortress grounds.  It bears an inscription which translates “Est! Est! Est! On account of too much Est here my master Johannes Defuk is dead”.  

Perhaps he should have just said “Here lies Johannes, Defuk’d”.

The wine variety became known as Est! Est! Est! and is now a recognised DOC designation.  Under Italian law it can only be applied to wine produced from grapes grown on the 1,000 acres surrounding the town.

Defuk donated money to the town on the proviso that each year on the anniversary of his death, a bottle of wine be poured onto his grave.  They are still doing it.  And a festival is held over four nights each August, which was on while we were there.

A digital sign in the square read 41.5 degrees Celsius.  Even the dogs looked thirsty waiting for sundown and the start of festivities.

The annual antiques fair was also on.  It was a strangely quiet affair, with more vinyl and CDs than armoires and grandfather clocks.  Perhaps everyone was nursing a sore head from the wine festival.

In this land of wine and olives, here’s something we didn’t expect – kiwifruit orchards.

We spent the next night in Viterbo.  Not far now, and no, we won’t be walking on to Jerusalem, thanks very much.

The papal court moved from Rome to Viterbo in 1257 when power struggles between the papacy and the Roman emperors made life difficult in the capital.  It was home for six popes until the court moved again in 1281.

The last pope to reside here, Martin IV, was particularly fond of eels from Lake Bolsena drowned in wine and roasted.  He had such a reputation for over-indulgence that he features in Dante’s Divine Comedy being starved in Purgatory enmeshed in eels for his sins of gluttony.

With the exception of the one in Avignon in France, Viterbo is considered the best preserved papal palace outside Rome.

The Viterbo cathedral and baptistery have some interesting frescoes.  Our B&B host described them as ‘3D’ and they really are.  Try to pick which parts of these walls and ceilings are flat and which are sculptured.

Plenty of cities have signs urging motorists to slow down for children.  We loved that Viterbo does the same for its cats, with these signs which read “Feline Colony.  Slow down, I have to go home.”

 After Viterbo, the trail winds through ‘via cava’, deep trench-roads carved directly into the volcanic tuff rock by the Etruscans.  These sunken roads with walls up to 20 metres high have been in use ever since, and while the surface has been modernised, the walls and routes remain essentially unchanged.

As with the Spanish Caminos, to obtain a testimonium certifying them as bona fide, pilgrims must walk at least the last 100km into Rome and have daily stamps in a pilgrims passport to prove their journey.

The stamps are available at churches, hotels and bars along the route.  For some reason John looked uncomfortable whenever there was mention of getting his credential stamped.

We’ve walked over 900km and Julie has diligently collected the stamps for both of us, so we are well on track.  But for slackers who just want to do the minimum, it’s important to know where the 100km point is.

The weather finally cooled a little.  We never thought we’d look at the forecast and say “Only 31 degrees today.  Fantastic!”.  We had some very pleasant walking though shady hazelnut orchards and forest.

We wouldn’t have minded lingering longer in Capranica.

But we were on a roll.

We spent an afternoon and night in Sutri, which also would have been worth more time.

Outside town, you can visit a complex of Etruscan tombs built in the 5th century BCE.

We did make a minor deviation to visit the deliciously named Mount Gelato Cascades.  The name evokes a spume of ice cold lemon gelati foaming over rocks.  Well, it’s not that, of course, but it’s a shady tranquil spot, popular with locals looking to cool off.

You can even bring your dogs, all five of them.

With the walk almost over, this seems like an opportune moment to share a few ‘only in Italy’ moments.

They say Vegemite is a taste you can only love if you grew up with it.  A love of prosciutto, on the other hand, can be acquired at any age.  But it doesn’t hurt to start early.  Only in Italy would you find proscuitto flavoured baby food.

At the other end of life’s journey, for the widow who wants to get her deceased sugar daddy in the ground fast, why not request a Maserati hearse.  We saw one of these early in the walk but weren’t quick enough to get a photo.  And that might have been disrespectful.  So here’s one from the net.  Apparently they’re quite the thing ‘for a stylish last ride’.

And speaking of stylish, where else in the world would you hike through the forest and instead of a water bubbler, find a machine which dispenses chilled sparkling water.

As we neared Rome we saw some evidence of pilgrims.

But a distinct absence of actual pilgrims.  One or two a day, off in the distance.  So there’s no ‘pilgrim shock’ like we experienced in the final days of the Camino del Norte last year when after weeks of relative solitude, the trail meets the Camino Frances route and suddenly there are pilgrims everywhere.

On the last day, the trail avoids an unpleasant battle through the outer suburbs of Rome by following a pedestrian/cycle path which has been built along an old rail line.  Then it’s up through a park to the top of Mount Mario for a first glimpse of the dome of St Peter’s Basilica and the gardens of Pope Leo’s domain.

From there it’s only about 2km through the streets to the Vatican and into St Peter’s Square.

No pilgrim shock here, either.  There were no walkers high-fiving each other, triumphantly clacking their poles or throwing themselves dramatically on the stones.  Just a zillion tourists lined up to visit the Basilica.

Sigeric tramped here from Canterbury to collect his pallium, the sacred ecclesiastical vestment given by the Pope to metropolitan archbishops as a symbol of their office and authority.  Looks like this:

These days he probably could have it delivered by Amazon.  But pilgrims seeking a testimonium have to present in person.  Unfortunately, the office is tucked to the side of the steps of the Basilica, so you have to line up with everyone else, even if you don’t actually want to go in.

John grumbled.  “You know you’ve done it.  If St Peter is watching, he knows you’ve done it.  Why do you need a piece of paper?”  “Because I haven’t spent 7 weeks collecting stamps for nothing”.

The line edged forward.  After about 20 minutes, we could see the top of the queue.  Everyone has to go through a security scanner.  John had a Swiss Army knife in his bag.  He didn’t really care about getting his certificate.  OK.  If he couldn’t go in, Julie would take both passports and try and get his certificate as well as her own.

The line edged forward more.  People with bare shoulders were pulling shawls and scarves out of their bags.  Julie was wearing a singlet and had no such covering.  She suggested to John he might need to surrender his t-shirt, as well as his dignity and his opportunity to come in.  His thoughts on that were best not verbalised on this holy ground.

He suggested instead she could use her raincoat.  We’ve had raincoats in our daypacks for 54 days and used them once for about five minutes.  So yes, it might finally come in handy.  Julie said she wasn’t above wandering around in the beating sun on a totally clear day looking like a weirdo outside a porn cinema, if that’s what it took to get her testimonium.

But it was all alright in the end.  The fellow on the security scanner, clearly overwhelmed by the numbers, wasn’t rejecting anyone or searching any bags.  And shawls are provided at the entrance for the under-dressed.

The pilgrim office in Santiago di Compostela is a massive operation, and even with dozens of attendants issuing certificates, ticketed numbering and pre-registration processes, the number of walkers finishing each day means you may have to wait up to 24 hours to be served.  In Rome, it’s two volunteers at a portable desk, and they seemed mightily pleased to see us.  No other pilgrims in sight.  Yes, at least for now, Via Francigena pilgrims are still a bit of a novelty.

And that was that.  Job done.

We overlooked putting a map of the route in the first of these posts, so here it is.  It doesn’t show all the stops, but you get the idea.

We’ve been to Rome before.  Reactions range from incredulity to hostility when we say we don’t care for the place, but it’s true.  So rather than lingering, we are off to Norway for some cooler weather and chill time.

Arrivederci, Italy.  To borrow a line from Julius Caesar, “Veni, vedi, vici”!

This week:

Day 48: Lake Bolsena to Montefiascone: 18km
Day 49:  Montefiascone to Viterbo: 19km
Day 50:  Viterbo to Vetralla: 17km
Day 51: Vetralla to Sutri: 27km
Day 52: Sutri to Campagnano di Roma: 25km
Day 53: Campagnano di Roma to La Guistiniana: 25km
Day 54: La Guistiniana to Rome: 17km

Grand total: 1,014km