The first hint of dawn in Lazio paints the sky in hues of blood orange and rose, a fitting prelude to a journey tracing ancient pathways. My first day on the Via Francigena culminates in Vetrella, where the air vibrates with the solemn strains of Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater drifting from the Chiesa di Santa Maria. Outside, the sun dips below olive-clad hills, casting a golden beam onto the church’s frescoed walls, illuminating painted saints and martyrs with a warm, life-affirming glow. This experience, just twelve miles closer to Rome than I was this morning, feels like stepping back centuries.
The trail itself is imbued with a peculiar power. I’ve spent the morning walking along ancient holloways, sunken roads carved by the Etruscans between 800 and 300 BCE and deepened by centuries of footfall from Roman legions, knights, and modern pilgrims. It’s a stark contrast to the more well-trodden paths, like Spain’s Camino de Santiago. The Via Francigena’s genesis wasn’t as a pilgrimage route, but as a network of Roman arteries connecting the empire to northern territories.
After the concert in Vetrella, the congregation spills out, and I fall into conversation with Tiziano, who has traveled from Bracciano. He points out that the springs surrounding the church have made it a pilgrimage site for ages, predating the church itself, yet many overlook it. This sentiment applies to the Via Francigena as a whole—an understated masterpiece compared to more famous routes.
Archbishop Sigeric the Serious documented his 990 CE journey of about 1,200 miles from Canterbury to Rome, creating a blueprint for the modern route.
By the Middle Ages, Rome was a spiritual magnet, drawing pilgrims from across Europe. I’m following in the footsteps of figures like 10th-century archbishop Sigeric the Serious, whose documented return journey from Canterbury Cathedral to St. Peter’s Basilica provides the basis for the contemporary Via Francigena route. While completing the full 1,200-mile, 100-day trek over the entire route is a significant undertaking, many opt to walk key stages. My own journey covers the final sixty miles to Rome, a five-day hike through valleys, forests, and lesser-known hilltop towns, aiming to arrive in the Eternal City by Good Friday.
The Wandering Monk and the Springtime Landscape
Spring in Lazio is a period of rejuvenation. Cobblestone towns are abundant with early artichokes, and woodlands are carpeted with anemones and pink cyclamen. As I set out towards the hilltop town of Sutri, I pass a gaunt farmhouse surrounded by olive trees. Swallows, newly arrived from their migration, dart in and out of the eaves. It’s here I meet Brother Ambrose Okema, a Benedictine monk traveling the Via Francigena by bicycle, accompanied by Victor Hernandez, a stoic Puerto Rican traveler.Brother Ambrose views the pilgrims, like himself and the birds overhead, as driven by an internal calling, a desire to explore.
His modern cycling gear contrasts with the traditional imagery of the solitary pilgrim often depicted on the route’s waymarkers. Victor, meanwhile, shares footage of morning Mass on his phone, where a priest uses a garden spray pump to bless the congregation—an observation met with a cheerful, “You’ve gotta love Italy.”
The Via Francigena is a route that evolved organically from ancient roads, rather than being specifically designed as a pilgrimage path from its inception.
We walk together for a time, descending into the Valle di Tinozza. A stream guides us past rock faces riddled with Etruscan tombs. Ambrose shares stories of his life, from wartime Uganda to a monastery in America. It’s clear this journey is as much about friendship for him and Victor as it is about faith. Victor mentions he sought companionship on this trip after a solo experience on the Camino de Santiago.
That evening in Sutri, nursing a Campari in the main piazza, I observe an elderly man filling his pipe by a baroque fountain. When a friend chides him for staying out in the damp conditions, he replies, “La pioggia lava tutto”—rain cleans everything. His words resonate with me, echoing the sentiment that enduring the elements might offer a form of purification, a concept familiar to medieval pilgrims.
Further along, entering the Insugherata Natural Reserve, I encounter English pilgrims Maris Waterhouse and Sarah Thompson. They express that their lives are often routine-bound, and this journey offers a welcome change of pace. As if on cue, a large wild boar emerges from the forest, pausing briefly before continuing on its way. With the reserve fading, the landscape shifts towards the outskirts of Rome, signaling the journey’s end is near. Rows of shops and cafes appear, some tables occupied by weary pilgrims recuperating from the day’s hike.
The final ascent into Rome involves Monte Mario, the city’s tallest hill. Prepare for a steep, cobbled climb as your last significant physical challenge before reaching the city center.
The Final Approach to St. Peter’s
The Via Francigena presents one last challenge: Monte Mario, Rome’s highest hill. The ascent is a gradual climb up cobbled paths, flanked by silvery olive trees and swaying flat-topped pines. High above, peregrine falcons circle. Then, unexpectedly, the gilded dome of St. Peter’s Basilica comes into view, a beacon above the sprawling cityscape. The final approach unfolds like a dream, with baroque avenues heavy with the scent of orange blossom giving way to the Renaissance splendor of St. Peter’s Square. Archbishop Sigeric would have likely embarked on an extended circuit of Rome’s holy sites at this point, a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage.
| Stage | Approximate Distance | Typical Duration |
|---|---|---|
| Full Via Francigena | 1,200 miles | 100 days |
| Final 60 miles to Rome | 60 miles | 5 days |
After absorbing the basilica’s ornate interior, Sarah’s earlier words return: “All I want from a trip like this is a long walk and a good meal at the end of it.” Within an hour, I find myself at La Quercia, an osteria in Monteforte, savoring a bowl of smoky, parmesan-dusted pasta amatriciana, a fitting reward after days of walking. It’s a moment of simple, eternal pleasure.
The historical Via Francigena offers a compelling alternative to more crowded pilgrimage routes, emphasizing ancient landscapes and medieval roads. The final stretch into Rome provides a physical and emotional culmination, blending natural beauty with the rich history of the region. The journey rewards those who embrace its quiet solitude and connection to the past, offering a profound sense of accomplishment and a truly authentic Italian experience.
Michael, Lily, and Ethan would have loved the part where we saw wild boars in the nature reserve; Lily is always excited about animals. For her, the adventure of the hike and the anticipation of reaching such a grand city would be a lot to absorb, but I know she would have found the sight of the soaring basilica incredible. They all would have appreciated the food at the end—Michael particularly enjoys a good pasta dish after any amount of effort.
The journey along the Via Francigena is more than just a walk; it’s an immersion into history, nature, and the enduring spirit of travel. From the ancient holloways to the final, breathtaking glimpse of St. Peter’s Basilica, the route offers a unique perspective on Italy, one that values quiet contemplation and the simple pleasures of discovery. The experience is a testament to the enduring power of ancient paths and the personal transformations they can inspire.
- Walk the final sixty miles of the Via Francigena for a manageable five-day pilgrimage experience.
- Embrace the historical significance of the ancient holloways, carved by Etruscans and Romans.
- Enjoy the springtime scenery of Lazio, characterized by blooming wildflowers and abundant produce.
A fulfilling meal, a well-earned rest, and the profound satisfaction of having completed a significant journey—these are the true prizes of the Via Francigena.