Via Francigena 2022: Stage 34: Corte Sant’Andrea to Piacenza (Montale)

28 km — 36^oC and sunny — We met 3 cycling pilgrims today.

(By Jim)

Happy Birthday Sis!

We had a communal breakfast with the Three Musketeers and stayed behind to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen. Since the boat option was off the menu, we climbed the dike outside of town that would be our diet all the way to Piacenza. We had almost caught up to mes amis when I noticed a black wallet on the black cinder path. Ahead, Daniel looked concerned. His wallet and pocket were reunited as we bid them adieu, yet again.

The path was flat and high above any trees that might provide shade, so we knew the day would be hot and that we would have to push ourselves to get to Piacenza before the inferno began. The Po River wove its way in and out of view revealing great stretches of sand, while irrigated corn fields filled the flood plains.

The last hour walking into Piacenza was brutal: a hot endless stretch alongside a freeway and bridge. However, a small cafe and two large cold drinks were waiting for us when we arrived.

Refreshed, we headed out to do some exploring, find some new walking poles for Laurel, and have lunch. Our hostel was 4 km out the other side of Piacenza so we hop-scotched it from churches (shady benches and cool pews) to bars (cold drinks) until we finally arrived at Ostello San Pietro just as the church bells struck 3:00 p.m., check-in time. No one was there. A sign said we could pick up a key from the bar across the street. The bar-tender told us she didn’t have any keys so we sat down, and ordered some cold drinks to figure this out. Just then a man arrived with hostel keys for the bar and gave us one as well. Great! I got up to pay for our drinks and realized my wallet was missing. Panic!! We mentally retraced our steps. First I called the sporting goods store, the telephone number was on Laurel’s bill. No luck. We could not find the telephone number for “Bar G,” a place we had cooled off at, so the bar-tender called us a taxi and we sped back to check. As Laurel paid the fare with her credit card, I went straight to the bar till. The old man who runs the place was not there, but a young guy instead. A mixture of English, French and Italian all flooded my brain at once and I was speechless. Finally, I said in English (with Italian hand gestures) “I was here earlier today and lost my wallet!” The bar-tender smiled, turned to look at the old man, who I didn’t see standing there, and then handed me my wallet. The old man pointed to the counter, indicating where I had left it.

“Grazie per la tua gentilezza,” I said.

Happy but exhausted, we caught another taxi back to our hostel bar. We showed the barkeeper my wallet and she clapped at our good fortune. We ordered a glass of freddo Gutturnio frizzante (cold fizzy red wine — refreshing) and offered to buy the barkeeper one as well. She declined but gave us a delicious tray of bread and meat.

“Grazie per la tua gentilezza,” I said.

Back at the hostel, three young rowdy British cyclists had checked in and our planned quiet restful evening had checked out! At first it was entertaining, as they gave us an impromptu acoustic performance of cooking, FaceTime calls to girl friends, and animated debates regarding when to leave tomorrow. Things quieted down at 9:00 p.m. and when the church bells stopped shaking the hostel at 11:00, we drifted off to sleep. At 2:30 a.m. the trio returned to the hostel (we were not aware that they had left after supper) after a night of bar hopping. The alcohol consumption had removed all inhibitions as well as their inside voices as they proceeded to prepare and eat a pasta (supper? breakfast?). They saved the crescendo for last, as it sounded like they tried to play jenga with the pots and pans. We knew the performance was finally over when they tiptoed upstairs and I heard one say, “they’re asleep.” We weren’t!