Stage 31: Mortara to Garlasco (and on to Pavia) — June 27, 2022

 24 km — 36^oC sunny and hazy — We saw no pilgrims today.

(By Jim)

We got an early start and said goodbye to Tamar and Yoah, who were just emerging from their room for breakfast as we were leaving the apartment.  The sun broke the horizon as we passed St Albino’s Abbey on the edge of town.  The trail was a repeat of the last two days — fields of corn, soy beans, and mostly rice — separated by a maze of canals and dikes.  VF signage was poor and so Pocket Earth provided the golden thread to guide us through the labyrinth from Mortara to Garlasco.  After successfully navigating 6 km past Remondo I checked the map and found us about 1.5 km off the trail.  Not wanting to backtrack, I suggested we follow a canal path about .5 km to intercept the VF.  Laurel was skeptical but went along with the plan.  I hurried on to see what lay ahead.  As I suspected but was afraid to say out loud, the VF was on the other side of a bigger canal with no bridge in sight.  As Laurel approached I had a flashback.

September, 1980:  Buxton, Derbyshire.

The ink had barely dried on our marriage certificate and I’m sure it wasn’t even filed in Regina yet when Laurel and I headed out on our first backpacking adventure:  around Europe in 80 days!  We landed in London, saw the sights, panicked at the cost of everything, and headed to the bus station to go and see the “real England”!  When we got to the head of the queue we asked for two tickets to Darrowby.  The clerk looked confused and asked us to repeat.  “Darrowby … you know, James Harriot’s home.”  The line was long and she didn’t have time to explain that both Darrowby and James Herriot were fictional, so she sold us two tickets to Buxton instead.  The bus dropped us off on the edge of town in a light drizzle of rain.  It was a perfect match for Darrowby.  I could see what looked like a castle tower on a hill and suggested we hike up to it before we searched out the youth hostel — Laurel didn’t want to.  I insisted it would be fun, an adventure; she relented and off we marched.  We came to a shallow stream.  I hopped, skipped and jumped across.  Laurel took one step, snagged a piece of barbed-wire, and fell into the stream.  We never explored that castle and as we walked silently into town, I wondered if this was grounds for an annulment.  It took two days in a room above the King’s Head Tavern to completely dry out Laurel’s clothes and renew our marriage vows!

So as Laurel approached the canal, I knew she would not be open to crossing it.  I quickly took off my shoes and, wading, carried my pack across.  “It’s fine,” I called out.  “Clean, sandy bottom, refreshingly cool, you’ll love it.”  It took some persuading, but she eventually made it across, without incident.  No story here, just a recollection.

The rest of the day we continued our blazing pace and we arrived in Garlasco at 11:00.  There was no room at the inn here or in the next town, so we caught the train to Pavia for a rest day.

St. Albino’s Abbey at day break.

In the morning we share the trail with creatures, great and small.

Tromello: a good location for a pit stop.

All’s well that ends well!  Laurel’s favourite saying is “We made it … to here!”

A tasty gift from a bar keeper.  People have been so supportive towards us:  honking horns, waving, wishing us “Buon Cammino,” and giving us food and drink.

Garlasco: There was no room at the inn, so we caught a train for Pavia.