Buster and Efisio

9/4 – Massa to Pietra Santa to Camaiore, with an unexpected stop in Viareggio
15.98 miles walked

Pietrasanta

I am happy to report that the pain went away by morning, and that, as of now, has not returned. A bit sad to leave, but ready to make some distance, I headed South toward Pietrasanta. This little town, like Sarzana a few days before, was very charming, and had the appearance of having prospered over the previous centuries. This was the city from which Michelangelo obtained a lot of marble, including the large block from which he carved his famous Pieta. These days, the famous artist seemed to be Botero, of chubby-figured fame, whose art peppered the city. Once more biting my lip in regret for not being able to devote an entire day to this little gem, I continued on, and was soon back on the main road, dotted with marble factories.


Instead of heading down the Tuscan coast, which I hear is beautiful, I made the decision to head inland, so I could reach Lucca, and from there head down into the heart of Tuscany. This required a left turn into the mountains toward Camaiore, which seemed like the perfect stopping point non the way to Lucca. I asked the local fountain of knowledge, a group of old men drinking an early afternoon glass of wine, and they gave me the secret road, away from the highway. Thanking them, I took that important left turn, and started walking up the hill.

Buster

The other story that sticks out in my mind during this day was my acquaintance and friendship with a certain Buster, as I called the black neighborhood dog. I think he must have escaped from home, because he was happy-go-luckily roaming around the street. When he saw me, he barked once, then came over for a sniff. I showed him I was one of the good guys, gave him a good scratch, and soon had myself a very entertaining road companion.
I checked the collar for any ID, as it was not the best idea to have a dog roaming a windy, hilly road, but could not find any address or number. Without knowing what to do, I kept walking, but it was soon clear that I had gained a companion, liked it or not. He would trot fifty yards ahead, sniff around, look back to make sure I was coming, wait for me to reach him, then trot off again. When I chanced to pass him, he would wait a while to make it seem like he wasn’t following me, but soon he would be at my side again. I loved how concerned he was with showing me that he was an independent, thoroughly modern canine, but how he broke down every time and kept following me. He was trying so hard to show me how cool he was, but trying even harder to show me that he didn't care what I thought about him. I have a 30 second video of this, and wish I could paste it on here to show you guys, because it's a real gem.

As you can tell, this was a real thrill for me, and I even pictured the two of us walking the rest of Italy together, having all sorts of crazy adventures and getting into trouble. “OH BUSTER, you silly dog, not again!” For a moment, I actually contemplated taking on a dog. Then I came to my senses, realized that it would be impossible to properly care of dog, who probably had a home and owners looking for him. Already scared out of my wits as I saw him narrowly avoid death by car, I started asking people about him, to see if they recognized him as a neighborhood dog. Nobody did, and even looked at me distrustfully, expecting some sort of scam.

When I reached Camaiore, I decided I would have to sternly send him away, and made it clear he was not welcome. This was really difficult, but I figured it would be a lot more difficult to part after a few days of companionship. Then I pictured an Old Yeller type scene, or holding him in my arms as he painfully died from a car accident (which was bound to happen), and decided he had to go immediately. One day I will have my first dog, and it will be one of the happier phases of my life, but now is not that time. Sorry, dog lovers.

Efisio the Sardinian

Still thinking of my ol’ pal Buster as I entered Camaiore, I was quickly accosted by a man in his late 40s. “You a pilgrim?” “Well, a sort of pilgrim.” “On the Via Francigena?” “Well, parts of it.” “So you choose what you want, eh? Sounds good. My name’s Efisio, I’m the guy that spray painted all those yelllow indicators for the Via Francigena.” And so I made a new friend, just like that. He told me that Camaiore was a hotel wasteland, a fact that I had suspected, but since I had just entered, did not know for sure.

We went to the only hotel around, one he had just left, having negotiated a discount for pilgrims. It was too pricey for me, even with the discount, so he motioned for me to get into his car, and helped me take off my backpack. He told me he would take me to Lido di Camaiore, the beach town portion of Camaiore, back down the hill.

Don’t get into the car, Pat! He’ll rob you and leave you penniless on the freeway, laughing to his friends about how he duped another pilgrim! I can hear you all screaming even now. But this is my crazy trip, damn it, and I smelled a good soul, and from the hotel had seen that his story checked out. He really wanted to help, so with his country-bumpkin brother-in-law from down south with the bad teeth but a joyous smile, we made our way to Lido di Camaiore, to another hotel he knew.

This hotel was full, so he drove me to the tourist office to get information about campsites or other hotels. Next he drove me to a campground in Lido di Camaiore, which turned out to be closed. Rather than just leave me on my own, he then drove me another 15 minutes to Viarregio, the neighboring beach town, where there was another campsite. Finally, after going an hour out of his way, he left me at the campground, and we even hugged as we parted, exchanging contact information. This guy, who loved walkers even though he himself had done very little of the path (though he did walk the Santiago di Compostela path in Spain, he was endearingly proud to point out), drove me all over the province in an attempt to help me out. That’s just how it is sometimes with the people that I meet. I continue to be astonished and refreshed by the selfless generosity of others. So should I have gotten into the car? Maybe not. But how else would I have found an affordable campsite, learned a bit about the sorry state of the Via Francigena’s direction markers, and met a purely good man who just wanted to help out a pilgrim? The answer is simple: I wouldn’t have.