Stage 12: Mortara to Garlasco. Poppies and the search for a stamp. (Part 2).

Generally, the signs in Piemonte and Lombardy have been very good, with one exception.

And I'm not sure whether the name of this place (the wolf's shadow) is supposed to strike fear, but they seem to be laughing to me.

Tromello is a pretty medieval town, 

as is Garlasco, but sadly, the latter stank of drains pretty much everywhere, by the time I got to the (completely unsigned) station for another ride on possibly the worst train in Italy.

Stage 12: Mortara to Garlasco. Poppies and the search for a stamp. (Part 1)

An early start took me on the train to Mortara and well on my way by 8.30, while there was still a light chill in the air. Despite the official app promising no shade and nowhere to refill before Tromello, there were plenty of parts of today's path which were well-shaded, 

and very welcome, and there is a lively bar next to the Via in tiny Remondó.

I managed, by taking a short cut, to miss the stamp in Mortara, and had no luck in either Tromello or Garlasco. In Tromello both churches were closed to pilgrims and in Garlasco, while the church was open, there was no sign of anyone or even a self-service stamp.

However, I was enchanted by the countryside, with an abundance of poppies, 

the drifting poplar fluff Turning the fields white

and some deep and fast-flowing channels.

if getting out again hadn't looked too challenging, I'd have been tempted to dip.

Stage 11: Robbio to Mortara. Aged cyclists and a sacred bird.

A short stage luckily, as the temperature rose to 27° and I confidently left my kagoul behind, with a lot of tarmac walking today, although there were some grassy dikes, and the sounds were of frogs in the channels.

It turns out that the ibises I've been seeing are Sacred Ibises, an invasive species now well established in the northern Mediterranean. It's quite an interesting story if you want to follow up.

The landscape is unchanged; just fields, ditches, cascine, and the Via stretching out ahead.

Perhaps the highlights were a delicious homemade shortbread and apricot biscuit in Nivorco, and a chat with the proprietor and an eighty-year-old cyclist in full Lycra, about women walking the Via alone. The verdict appeared to be that only foreign women would do it, Italian women being still trapped in an androcentric paradigm. This led to a rant about Italian judges not enforcing the law (on men who attack women). After that, I picked up a pilgrim stamp in the tiny chapel down the street, and stumbled on to Mortara, which appears unappealing. And so back to Pavia on an ancient train.

Stage 10: Vercelli to Robbio. Delays and a detour. (Part 2).

Today's terrain began and ended with the same vast expanses as the last stage, 

interrupted by a lengthy stretch of acacia and poplar woodland, the soundscape arboreal. 

 I managed to fool a cuckoo into coming to check me out, and took this video of a poplar fluff snowfall which is blowing through the streets of Vercelli at the moment, and making snowy drifts at the side of the road.

At Palestro I had to take a detour through the town to find some water, having drunk most of the litre I started out with, adding 2km to the day's tally once I'd stumbled across a brilliant cafe next to the cemetery.

The final stages were across rice fields and a long trek on tarmac.

Finally, I reached Robbio, just after the once hourly train to Pavia had left. Back then to my brilliant, fully equipped room in a pilgrims' B and B, and a pasta recharge.

Stage 10: Vercelli to Robbio. Delays and a detour. (Part 1).

I transferred to the new base in the graceful city of Pavia yesterday, of which more once I have had a chance to explore it. 

Today was warm, up to 25°C, and once I'd left the station at Vercelli, I retraced my steps towards the site of my benign kidnap, on the way narrowly missing a reprise as one of the hostal volunteers drove past and attempted to tempt me back with the offer to meet the director. I declined as politely as possible, as the sun was climbing higher with every passing minute.

After a 15 minute trudge along a busy road, I gratefully turned onto more rural tracks, lined with poppies and vetch. 

At the first farmhouse, they were cutting fragrant hay, and I was greeted by a young woman, hoeing her veg plot. The greeting turned into the usual queries about my origins and ultimate destination. I managed to break away politely and try to get going. The path wound around three sides of the farmhouse, and, as I walked on, I noticed her running around the other side to intercept me. Another far more lengthy conversation ensued, and an exchange of photos was required.

She was actually delightful, full of questions about Wales and brimming with historical information about this section of the Via which is actually the old Roman road. About 45 minutes later, I was able to escape when one of her acquaintances appeared from the other direction.

I ploughed on, the sun pretty well doing its full thing by that stage. I was thankful, however, that she'd alerted me to the track's Roman origins; it rises well above the fields, and you can see how it would have provided a safe path across the marshes which prefigured today's rice fields, which were only developed in the 15th century. 

 It was there for the next 10km, disappearing into the distance.

Stage 9: San Germano to Vercelli. A vast land and soundscape (Part 2).

When the paths reach out far ahead, with no clear end, I find myself pushing on, head down, just trying to get to a bend.  I had to stop myself, and gradually became aware of a soundscape which punctuated the journey.  The constant flow of water alongside me, the occasional burble of an eddy, a big splash as something large heard me coming and dived in, the belch and bass rumble of frogs, the screech of swifts and the anxious squeaks of some large water bird wheeling over the fields.  I saw heron and white egret, and some black and white ibis stalking through the glassy water.

And an interesting tractor. Rubber tyres are presumably not much help in these fields.

The only way through is on the dykes, which sometimes means there's no straight path from a to b, and any crow would have done it in half the time, but there was time to understand that it must feel like living on an island when the fields are flooded.

And so into Vercelli, where I was kindly kidnapped by a friendly man and taken to the pilgrim hostel for my stamp, and a multilingual chat with two Via volunteers and a Frenchman whose footprints along the path had been my only sight of another human for much of the day.

Stage 9: San Germano to Vercelli. A vast land and soundscape. (Part 1).

The rain gods must feel I've learnt my lesson, and moved on, as today was dry and sunny as I began the walk through San Germano Vercellese, with wide streets of rather dilapidated houses, but friendly passersby.  Out then into the vastness of the rice fields, along dykes with nothing to see for miles but cascine, or large farm complexes, and the irrigation ditches and fields.

In places the rice was coming along well, turning the fields bright green.

And, although many fields were not yet flooded, where they were, the opportunity for dramatic shots was too tempting to miss.