Travel to Italy: Via Francigena

The Via Francigena, that is “the road that comes from France”, starts from Canterbury Cathedral in southern England, crosses Kent, meanders along the Somme and its World War I battlefields in northern France, over the Swiss Alps and down into Italy’s Aosta valley.

From there it passes through the regions of Tuscany and Lazio before finishing at St Peter’s Basilica in Rome, the end game for pilgrims. It’s one of the three big Christian pilgrimages, together with the renowned Spanish Camino de Santiago and the lesser known pilgrimage from Rome to Jerusalem.

For more than 1,000 years, pilgrims have walked the Via Francigena, once the major pilgrimage route from Northern Europe to the Holy See at Rome. In 990AD, Sigeric the Serious, Archbishop of Canterbury in England, walked to Rome and wrote an account of the Way. My pick would be to follow Sigeric's route in Italy between the cities of Lucca and Siena.

Here's an enviable itinerary from The Wayfarers.

Monday Overnight: Hotel San Miniato

The morning begins with a cycle ride around the magnificently preserved 16th-century ramparts of Lucca. After a short transfer and an early lunch, we start our journey on the Way. The route takes us past the ancient Osteria di Greppi, through woodland and over heathland, finishing at Ponte a Cappiano. From here we transfer to San Miniato, where Michelangelo met with Pope Clement VII who commissioned the great artist to paint the Sistine Chapel.

Tuesday Overnight: Hotel Villa Bianca

After a short transfer to the start of our walk we will take trails through fields and along white roads to Coiano where we visit the wine cellars and old olive mill of the Castello di Coiano, before continuing through olive groves and vineyards to lunch at a farm. After lunch we will continue through the rolling countryside to the Pieve di Santa Maria a Chianni then a short transfer to Gambassi Terme.

Wednesday Overnight: Hotel Belsoggiorno

Our journey today takes us up and downhill along dirt roads through farmland to the Sanctuary of Pancole. We lunch at the Fattoria di Pancole and visit the wine cellars that produce some of the famous Vernaccia white wine. Our afternoon Walk takes us to the Monastero di Bose, a monastic community made up of both men and women of different Christian beliefs. Short transfer to San Gimignano, with a guided tour of the town.

Thursday Overnight: Hotel Belsoggiorno

After a short transfer we walk through hilly countryside and across streams passing farms to Campiglia, then on to Colle Val d'Elsa, a walled medieval town on the Via Francigena  and famous for its crystal glass, which has been produced since 1331. After lunch in a local restaurant there is time to visit the town before driving back to San Gimignano.

Friday Overnight: Villa Scaccia Pensieri

Transfer to the start of our walk. The walk this morning takes us through Abbadia a Isola where we visit the Cistercian abbey dating back to 1001 before continuing on to Monteriggioni set within its medieval walls with towers that Dante likened to giant sentries. 

Hello Autumn

Today {home}

January {Hampton Court Palace}

January {Bridge to Hampton Court Palace from train station}

It's a damp day but only soft drizzle and a searing white sky greets me this morning. It's incredibly still.  The trees from my vantage point are like two dimensional cut-outs. Time to loll in bed momentarily with my boy before he heads off to cricket. Charly is on an outdoor Guide camp so the weather will be character building. Wanna and I will be alone, a rare thing.

I remember the rain when we visited Hampton Court palace. Darting over the bridge from the train station.  Sheltering under the eaves.  Cowering in our waterproofs as we threaded our way through the maze. Dripping. Hardly able to see under my hood. Simply following the children as they rushed through. Too fast a sweet memory.

Travel bug

 The Ant Explorer

 

~  C J Dennis

 

Once a little sugar ant made up his mind to roam-

To fare away far away, far away from home.

He had eaten all his breakfast, and he had his ma's consent

To see what he should chance to see and here's the way he went

Up and down a fern frond, round and round a stone,

Down a gloomy gully where he loathed to be alone,

Up a mighty mountain range, seven inches high,

Through the fearful forest grass that nearly hid the sky,

Out along a bracken bridge, bending in the moss,

Till he reached a dreadful desert that was feet and feet across.

Twas a dry, deserted desert, and a trackless land to tread,

He wished that he was home again and tucked-up tight in bed.

His little legs were wobbly, his strength was nearly spent,

And so he turned around again and here's the way he went-

Back away from desert lands feet and feet across,

Back along the bracken bridge bending in the moss,

Through the fearful forest grass shutting out the sky,

Up a mighty mountain range seven inches high,

Down a gloomy gully, where he loathed to be alone,

Up and down a fern frond and round and round a stone.

A dreary ant, a weary ant, resolved no more to roam,

He staggered up the garden path and popped back home.

 

***

 

The plum and cherry trees in my neck of the woods are blooming.  Spring is around the corner and the end of the year is nigh.  We are contemplating travel.  Musing on the possibilities and starting to tote up costs against travelling in different seasons.  It is quite a time-consuming exercise to trawl through flight, accommodation and sight-seeing information online.  Planning independent travel for a family of five is not for the faint-hearted and we're starting from a low base.  Not the same a packing up the Honda for an inter-state road trip.   I'm exhausted just reading my Lonely Planet Not for Parents Guide to New York.  Will we ever venture further than my nightstand I wonder?

 

Melbourne Baths via Beechworth

 

The roving breezes come and go, the reed beds sweep and sway,

The sleepy river murmurs low, and loiters on its way,

It is the land of lots o' time along the Castlereagh.

 

***

 

Last school holidays, en route to Melbourne, we called in at Beechworth (again).  For an inland town old Beechworth has a lot going for it.  Wide streets with fabulous shopfronts.  The famous Bakery with the most incredibly well-stocked newsagent opposite.  Restaurants galore.  Dreamy walks.  History.  Wood fires at this time of year.  

 

 

It is stuffy in the steerage where the second-classers sleep,
For there's near a hundred for'ard, and they're stowed away like sheep, --
They are trav'lers for the most part in a straight 'n' honest path;
But their linen's rather scanty, an' there isn't any bath --
Stowed away like ewes and wethers that is shore 'n' marked 'n' draft.
But the shearers of the shearers always seem to travel aft;
In the cushioned cabins, aft,
With saloons 'n' smoke-rooms, aft --
There is sheets 'n' best of tucker for the first-salooners, aft.

 

***

 

One highlight of our visit to Melbourne (otherwise marred by the worst accommodation we have ever experienced), was an excursion to the Melbourne City Baths on a wedge-shaped block between Swanston and Franklin Streets.  The Baths opened in 1860 and mixed bathing was only permitted in 1947.  It's a gorgeous, quiet sanctuary in the city.  Used frequently by film crews as the setting is brilliant with its immaculate heritage detail carefully preserved.

 

Poems: (1) From The Travelling Post Office by AB (Banjo) Patterson. (2) From For'ard by Henry Lawson.

 

Cleaning Duties

I shall sit at home, and rock;

Rise, to heed a neighbour's knock;

Brew my tea, and snip my thread;

Bleach the linen for my bed.

 

 

From Penelope by Dorothy Parker

 

 

***

 

Aren't I glad I don't live in the olden days.  It is on record that I am all thumbs when it comes to sewing and the decorative home arts.  What did girls like me do while sitting around the fire?  A basket of embroidery for a companion would have been a gloomy prospect.  I've no musical talent either so I wouldn't have been practising  the harpsichord.

  

Ah, I can see plainly now that I would have been on cleaning duties. The penny's dropped. That's me polishing the brass and rinsing out the dusting clothes. That's me with housemaid's knee and calloused hands; hair and clothes in a shambles -- more Georgian middle class than nobility. 

My reference book then would have been The Book of Household Management, Mrs. Beeton, 1881 edition.  For a latter day online reference, I prefer Jane Austen's World, an incredibly comprehensive source which makes me grateful for my modern appliances and antiseptics.

Once prominent, the valet’s gone;

What’s that, you say — he’s not?
My god, you’re absolutely right;
He now works in the parking lot.

Photos: Cook's Cottage (actually his parent's, built in 1755), Fitzroy Gardens, Melbourne, July 2012.

Melbourne South Bank

Our recent quick trip to Melbourne was considerably marred by the dubious apartment we booked admittedly at short notice and online (always a gamble).  Think foetid corridors, the bare minimum appointments for a family of five including one set of towels for the week, the central train line directly behind and trams immediately below and you have part of the sordid picture. The only bonus was the central location which permitted easy strolls back after a day of sight-seeing. 

After visting the outstanding Napoleon: Revolution to Empire* exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria during one of its night-time viewings, we stopped to devour gelati along the South Bank. The walk was enchanting in the crisp night air; past strings of sassy restaurants with flame heaters decked outside, strings of lights twined up the street trees and stunning views across the Yarra River to the footbridges and high-rise buildings beyond.  So great in fact that we did it twice, although second time around it was much later and we were weary and footsore.  As it transpired, we also had to go the casino for icecreams as everything else was shut on a Thursday night!  Not quite the buzzing, cosmopolitan city we expected and hardly the appropriate venue for an after-theatre family supper.   Did every-one else just go straight home, we wondered.

*Melbourne Winter Masterpeices: Showing 2 June –7 October 2012

Napoleon: Revolution to Empire is a panoramic exhibition examining French art, culture and life from the 1770s to the 1820s. Its story runs from the first French voyages of discovery to Australia during the reign of Louis XV to the end of Napoleon's transforming leadership as first Emperor of France.

May Day 

by Sara Teasdale

A delicate fabric of bird song

Floats in the air,

The smell of wet wild earth

Is everywhere.

Red small leaves of the maple

Are clenched like a hand,

Like girls at their first communion

The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by

Without loving it much,

The raindrop try with my lips,

The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure

I shall see again

The world on the first of May

Shining after the rain?


***

Still here.  Where did June go?  What's happening to July? Since the loss of my camera, a major restructure on the work front (his not mine), two birthday parties, extreme angst over choice of high school (apologies to all the people - including complete strangers - I've lynched seeking opinions) and now the school holidays, there's not been much time left over to tend to this little creative space.  But here we are, back from a week in Melbourne which included visits to the marvelleous Napoleon exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria, the Mesopotamia exhibition at the awesome Melbourne Museum and a night performance of Annie the musical at the grand Regent Theatre. So much to tell about these experiences (for another time). The children are growing like topsy and I've nothing but dodgy iphone v.1 photos to show for it.  My visual diary effectively stalled in May. 

Photo: Fly past over The Australian War Memorial, Anzac Day 2012.

Eurobodalla Botanic Gardens

"The young leaves is shootin' on the trees,

The air is like a long, cool swig o' beer,

The bonzer smell of flow'rs is on the breeze,

An' 'ere's me, 'ere

Jist moochin' round like some pore, barmy coot,

Of 'ope and joy, an' forchin destichoot."

{C.J. DENNIS, A Spring Song}

***

One week of school holidays to go.  Charly is still at a sleep-over across the road with gorgeous neighbour C. 

{Sleep-overs across the road have to be the best thing ever! So convenient. Just in-and-out as they please from one house to the other. No driving.}

I think the food and bedding arrangements are far more salubrious over there than at our house. 

Meantime, Ro Ro is totally immersed in sets of Beastly Books variously titled Boy Versus Beast or Beast Quest or Beastly Business. He literally scooped his arm along the shelves at the Kingston Library and dumped an entire set into the canvas library tote.  He is now methodically working through them.  Wanna is busy dressing up dolls and manoeuvring Little Ponies in formation across the carpetted floor of her bedroom.  Sweet home-spun entertainment and not an electrical cord or device charger in sight.

Today is windy and wet in the national capital, so best we can do is reminisce about our sojourn on the south coast and our walk through the serene Eurobodalla Botanic Gardens, another of our unexpected finds.   We discovered this beautiful spot thanks to my obsessive brochure collecting and the services of the Bateman's Bay Tourist Bureau.  

The Eurobodalla Botanic Gardens are impeccably maintained (the uniformed gardeners and ride-on mowers were out in full force while we were there) with lots of new works in progress, including on a childrens' playground with musical equipment and a divine BBQ area. 

There's a great selection of bushwalks and ample open spaces to throw a frisbee (or a dart - "the new frisbee"). If we were local and it wasn't raining, this is where we would have outdoor birthday parties and end-of-year get-togethers. Don't tell anyone, but I like it more than the Australian National Botanic Gardens.
 

Mogo Zoo

 

 Daddy’s takin’ us to the zoo tomorrow,

Zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow

Daddy’s takin’ us to the zoo tomorrow

And we can stay all day!

Chorus:

We’re goin’ to the zoo, zoo, zoo

How about you, you, you?

You can come too, too, too

We’re goin’ to the zoo, zoo, zoo.

See the elephant with the long trunk swingin’

Great big ears and a long trunk swingin’

Snuffin’ up peanuts with a long trunk swingin’

And we can stay all day!

See all the monkeys they’re scritch-scritch scratchin’

Jumpin’ around and scritch-scritch scratchin’

Hangin’ by the long-tail (huff huff huff)

And we can stay all day!

There’s a big black bear he’s a huff-puff-a-puffin’

His coat’s too heavy he’s  a huff-puff-a-puffin’
Don’t get too near the huff-puff-a-puffin’
Or you won’t stay all day!

Well the seals in the pool all honk-honk-honkin’ Catchin’ the fish and honk-honk-honkin’ Little tiny seals all honk-honk-honkin’ And we can stay all day! Well we stayed all day and I’m gettin’ sleepy Sittin’ in the car gettin’ sleep sleep sleepy Home already gettin’ sleep sleep sleepy ’cause we have stayed all day. We been to the zoo zoo zoo So have you you you You came too too too We been to the zoo zoo zoo. (Lyrics: Peter, Paul and Mary) *** What an unexpected surprise. Mogo Zoo on the south coast of New South Wales is quite a little gem. I reluctantly agreed to visit as one stop on our motoring itinerary mid-way along the Eurobodalla coast. I succumbed to the incessant and enthusiastic requests. Can we, can we, can we?   How could you not? It is larger than expected with an interesting and atypical selection of animals - the white lion, the cotton-top tamarin, the pygmy marmoset, the green iguana and the red panda to name a few.   All healthy, albeit slightly bored-looking, specimens. Perhaps wild animals also look somnolent in their native habitats, only we don't see the yawns, listless gazes and lolling about prone. Animals always look perkier in the wildlife programs on the telly. Mogo Zoo is pleasantly laid out with ample picnic places for the self-caterer (which we weren't on this occasion more's the pity). The grounds are well landscaped and beautifully maintained. They grow much of their own food in a sweet garden you can peer into from one of the walks at the rear of the grounds. The glass enclosures are spotless so you can see the animals without squinting through grime and cobwebs, or wishing you had a microfibre cloth in your pocket to give it a quick once-over, as I do. (Sad, but true.  I should be in tourism or hospitality.)      It took us two hours to meander through. We could have spent longer. Indeed, we could have left three members of the touring party there!

If you need a break from sun, surf and fishing while holidaying at Bateman's Bay, I would throughly recommend a half-day excursion to Mogo Zoo.  But take a picnic basket and stay for lunch.

Motoring to Tuross Head and Bodalla

A Midsummer Noon In The Australian Forest

~ Charles Harpur

"Not a sound disturbs the air,

There is quiet everywhere;

Over plains and over woods

What a mighty stillness broods!

Only there's drowsy humming

From the yon warm lagoon slow coming:

Tis the dragon-hornet - see!

All bedaubed resplendently.

O 'tis easeful here to lie

Hidden from noon's scorching eye,

In the grassy cool recess

Musing thus of quietness."

***

As our holiday and adventures on the Eurobodalla coast of New South Wales continued, we took a day trip from Malua Bay to Tuross Head and the much acclaimed Fish and Chip Shop.  (You can see the focus of our culinary endeavours: drive to the nearest greasy cafe.)

This particular chippie enjoys a fabulous location literally on Lake Tuross with the water flapping underneath the timber boards of the jetty.  I think, however, since the establishment is for sale, it may be on the decline. The outside awnings were broken and patrons had to swelter in the midday heat, the service slow and unreliable and the fish and chips not quite up to the standard we expect of seaside cafes.  Probably flake instead of fresh flathead or the Catch of the Day, and all a bit too greasy. Still what it lacked in gourmet appeal, it made up for in atmosphere.

 ...with a knight in shining armour guarding the fishing tackle and wet suits. Plus the most amazing views across the lake.  Really quirky, and what I expect the cafes on Pittwater which feature in Susan Duncan's books to look like.

Appetites replete, we sped off to the sleepy town of Bodalla, home of cheese-making.

...and patted the poddy calves.  Eeck!  Long tongues and the smell of cow poo!

Lots of views of the Aussie bush.

There's a modest static display with information and memorabilia from the early days of the Australian dairy industry and the efforts of local pioneer, Thomas Sutcliffe Mort.   It looked like the museum and working cheese-making factory for visitors were still under construction.  It should be great when its finished.  There is also accommodation to had on site and a fine-looking cafe for milkshakes and afternoon teas.

The pub across the road.

 

The magificent All Saints church high on a hill overlooking the surrounding area and keeping a watch on the townsfolk.

A lovely rest spot on the Princes Highway.  Highly recommended.