By the Numbers - Miscellaneous

Miscellaneous

Highest Elevation	10800	Col di Lauson, Aosta
Lowest Elevation	0	Sea Level
Starting Weight of Bag	40 lbs
Peak Weight of Bag	44 lbs
Ending Weight of Bag	28 lbs
Starting Weight of Pat	170 lbs
Peak Weight of Pat	170 lbs
Ending Weight of Pat	162 lbs
Times offered a ride	6
Times I accepted	1	See Removing the Asterisk post
Days Camping in first 2 months	20
Days Camping after that	0	Campsites closed
Times I used a laundromat	1
Times Stepped in Poop	1	In Palermo. Think for a minute about how small a number that is in 6 months.
Negative Experiences (not including poop ordeal)	2	Not bad for 6 months of traveling alone!
Masses Attended	4
Items Lost	4	Pedometer, 3€ calling card, 2 plastic squeeze bottles
Pairs of Shoes Consumed	3
Times I wore my fancy, 50$ hat	4
Beethoven Sonatas Studied	32
Posts that Reference Beethoven	12
Posts where I excuse my lack of posts	8
Number of Blog Posts (not including this series)	165	That's .91 posts per day of the trip!
Car Accidents Witnessed	0	!!!
Mayors, Ex-Mayors, and Vice Mayors met	3
Times stopped by the police	3
Epics heard via books on tape	3	Iliad 2x, Odyssey
Long Distance walkers met on the trail	5
Journals filled	4
Thank You Postcards Sent	20

The Uncountables

Coffees Offered

Times I peed on the side of the road (must have been all those coffees)

Good experiences

Times I said Thank You

Number of times asked "are you going skiing?"

Times that was not funny

Kilos of pig products consumed

Liters of wine consumed (best guess: 60 liters)

By the Numbers - Money

	Euros	Dollars
Total Spent	6493.47	9170.12
Average per day	35.29	49.84
Average per week	247.03	348.88
Average per month	1058.7	1495.2
Average Exchange rate	1.4
Max Exchange rate	1.59
Min Exchange rate	1.25

Note: Calculations of totals and averages in dollars based on daily exchange rate. Also, total spent reflects amount spent on the actual walk, and does not include preparatory costs or insurance.

Totally Free Days	16
Days Under 10 Euros	30
Days Over 100 Euros	1
Days over 50 Euros	40

Avg/day by region	Euros
Aosta	40.74
Piemonte	21.57
Liguria	19.3
Toscana	24.44
Lazio	8.53
Campania	15.94
Calabria	28.21
Sicilia	16.67
Others	15.94

Averages by type	Euros	% of total
Lodging	14.71	41.70%
Total Food	11.53	32.70%
Non-Dinner Food	2.29	6.80%
Transport	1.2	3.40%
Phone	1.78	5.00%
Internet	1.16	3.30%
Misc.	1.9	5.40%
Liquor	1.37	3.90%

Note: discrepancies in averages and percentages are due to €300 bulk spent in Paris without separation into categories, and therefore not included in calculations

By the Numbers - Time

Average MPH/KPH	3.4	5.47
Hours per day average	4.5

	Number	Percentage
Days Walking	117	64.60%
Days at Rest	64	35.40%
How many of those rest days were consecutive (3 or more days in a row)?	46	25.40%
Days I rested because of Injury	1	0.55%
Days I rested because of bad weather	0	0.00%
Days I was hosted by friends	45	24.86%
Seasons Witnessed	3

Latest Sunset Witnessed	09:19:00 PM	Echevennoz	07/13/08
Earliest Sunset Witnessed	04:34:00 PM	Tropea	12/02/08

Region	Days Walked	Days Rest	Total Days
Aosta	7	1	8
Piemonte	13	4	17
Liguria	12	14	26	7 RD in Paris
Toscana	13	2	15
Lazio	20	22	42	7 RD at work
Umbria	1	0	1
Campania	20	3	23
Basilicata	1	0	1
Calabria	11	16	15	12 RD for Xmas with the Giunta
Sicilia	19	2	33

By the Numbers - Distance

Distance	Miles	Kilometers
Distance Walked	1782.86	2870.4
Average per day	15.23	24.37
Longest Day	22.81	36.72	Pizzo-Tropea
Shortest Day	4.4	7.08	Savona-Celle Ligure

Days more than 10 miles (16.1 km)	102
Days less than 10 miles (16.1 km)	15
Days more than 20 miles (32.2 km)	10	6 of which were in December
# of 60-mile 3 days	3
# of 100-mile 5 days	1
# of marathons walked	68	Every 1.7 days of walking, and every 2.65 days total
# of Football Fields Walked	31381	268 football fields per day walking
# of Soccer Fields Walked	26091	223 Soccer Fields (1at 110m) per day walking

Comparisons to the US	Miles	Kilometers
My Walk	1783	2870
San Diego - Memphis	1837	2958
SD - New Orleans	1828	2943
SD - Des Moines	1724	2776
NYC - Denver	1763	2838
Quebec - Miami	1765	2841
Edmonton - SD	1704	2744

Distance by Region	Total Miles	Average Miles	Number of Days
Aosta	72.17	10.31	7
Piemonte	175.39	13.49	13
Liguria	163.36	13.61	12
Toscana	211.19	16.24	13
Umbria	18.8	18.8	1
Lazio	278.04	13.9	20
Campania	304.35	15.22	20
Basilicata	21.91	21.91	1
Calabria	204.95	18.63	11
Sicila	331.89	17.47	19

Distance by Month	Total Miles	Average Miles	Number of Days
July	162.92	11.64	14
August	230.28	13.55	17
September	327.07	15.57	21
October	232.23	14.51	16
November	401.19	16.05	25
December	335.3	18.63	18
January	93.06	15.51	6

Removing the Asterisk

2/17 - From Frera Inferiore to Frazione di Fey - 1KM, 300 meters, or .81 miles

On July 22, 2008, I walked* from Ceresole Reale to a plot of land next to a river near the tiny cluster of houses collectively called Frazione di Fey. Here is the blog post, in case you are interested.

What I did not write about in that blog post was that I accepted a ride from the lady who worked in the tourist office. I remember it vividly: I was kneeling next to a fountain, filling up my 1.5 liter water sack, when a minivan pulled to a stop 15 feet in front of me. The lady got out, said hello, and offered me a ride to Fey, the town she had instructed me to reach only 45 minutes before, saying that I could camp nearby and eat at the Trattoria there. I of course said no thank you, I had better walk, but she beckoned me over, saying "c'mon, it's close by!" I resisted, weary from a tiresome hike in the hot sun but determined to stay true to my objective, but she insisted, and I gave in. I blame my overwhelming desire to please others more than my fatigue, and certainly more than the lady, who after all was only trying to help, but whatever the case, I turned off my GPS, threw the bag in the backseat, and hopped in.

The ride was extremely short, and when we arrived, I remember her saying "see, you barely skipped anything. You were practically there!" before she drove away.

That evening, I walked from the Trattoria, where lovely Antonella made me a wonderful dinner even though the Trattoria was closed, to my tent, at least as long if not longer as that bit I had skipped. The next morning, I returned to Fey for breakfast, and then repeated that tract a third time as I headed to my next stop, Pont Canavese. I reasoned away the bit I had skipped, thinking that I did the next bit three times as a way of making up for it.

I am not certain when that little stretch of road started to weigh on my soul, but it took a few weeks, long enough for me to realize that I would not ever skip another centimeter of my walk. Nor am I certain when I decided that I would have to go back at all costs to walk that road, but my first utterance of it was in Rome, to my good friend Gregorio.

As is always the case, the act of saying something out loud makes it impossible for me not to do the thing that I said out loud, so it was just a matter of time, and I aimed for late January, when I would be in the North once more, visiting my host family in Padova. Deciding to forgo a lovely surprise, I called Antonella, and after updating her on my journey and present whereabouts, asked her whether she was open for me to come pay her a visit. Bad news, she said, they were under 6 feet of snow and there were no buses running to the nearest train station. I would have to try again in the Spring.

Crushed, I nonetheless kept my resolve, and waited a few weeks. As luck would have it, my friend Ronny came to Venice a few weeks later, and we attended Carnevale together. As I was once again in the North, I called Antonella once more, and learned that the situation had stabilized, and that I could come that following Tuesday.

So I took a train from Venice to Milano (3 hours), then from Milano to Torino (2 hours), then from Torino to Rivarolo (1 hour), then from Rivarolo to Pont Canavese (20 minutes), and then a bus to Frera Inferiore (20 minutes).

The bus dumped me right in front of the fountain, and I took a look around. The setting sun blazed weakly over a winter wonderland, a blanket of snow covering the valley, with mountains all around me.

I took a freezing cold sip from that same fateful fountain where I had left off 7 months before, clapped my hands together for warmth, and started walking, taking a copious amount of photos as I grasped the surreal quality of this self-created deja vu.

It took me 12 minutes to walk from Frera Inferiore to Frazione di Fey, to get the closure I so desperately craved. To say I was satisfied does not begin to describe it.

Antonella was waiting for me, having prepared a special mountain winter meal for just the two of us: three kinds of local cured meats, polenta with seasoned cheese, home-raised, organically nourished rabbit from her in-law's farm, and for dessert, a thick piece of slightly sweet, semi-soft cheese.

Around 9PM, she drove me to nearby Noasca, where she insisted on taking care of the hotel, saying I was her guest. So it was that the next morning, I did in 32 degree February just what I would have done in 75 degree July: I walked to Fey, one hour exactly, and best of all, I repeated that 1 kilometer 300 meter tract, ending up once more in front of Antonella's trattoria.

We exchanged blessings, shared a few big hugs, and I caught the noon bus, which got me back to Rome at 10:30 PM. It took over 17 hours of travel and two days, but I had earned the ability to tell my grandchildren, many many years from now, that I once walked from Switzerland to the far west tip of Sicily without skipping one inch of the trail. Asterisk removed.

Pictures from the last half of Sicily

I have avoided these last few blogs for a while, aided by the legitimate excuse of needing money and work, but it is about time I take this cute little blog out, shoot it, die a little inside, and go back inside for some warm apple pie, having learned an important life lesson.

As far as I can tell, I have 3 more posts left, including this one. The next one will come shortly, while the other will take awhile, as I have to sort through the data in order to create a "by the numbers" post.

Part of me always wanted to end this process with something really meaningful to say, but I have since realized that I have said everything I want to say, and that ending with that perfect conclusion paragraph is really really difficult when you're only two months out of a life-changing experience such as this one.

So, let me just say thank you to all of you who have supported me, encouraged me, and sent good energy my way over the last few months. Oh, and please continue to do so, because rejoining the working world is no walk in the park, either!

Here are the photos:

Palermo Revisited

Trappeto to Scopello

Riserva lo Zingaro to San Vito lo Capo

Riserva Monte Cofano and the walk to Custonaci

Monte Erice

Trapani

Marsala

Food, flora, and fauna (this one's good)

Reflections from Marsala

1/9/09
I'm finished. It is starting to sink in, slowly working its way into my psyche. I feel lonely, adrift in the world. I do not want to go on, knowing it is over: nor do I want to stop. And it is not uncertainty of my future or some fear of what lies ahead. I have grown so accustomed to having a set goal, an objective, a point on the map to be reached, that now I feel empty without it.

My denial stage manifested itself in a long walk to Marsala, to reach a symbolic objective, the westernmost tip of Sicily, lest I regret later not having reached it now. Still, even if it was artificial, it helped me begin to sort through these feelings. I guess I needed to take a walk to clear my head.

The euphoria, the feeling of accomplishment, is also present, of course. I do not like to mention it to myself, for fear that pride will rear his ugly head, but it is only fair to admit that it is here with me, a big knot in the pit of my stomach. I know that when the turmoil of feeling lost has past, there will always be the glowing ember of accomplishment to keep me warm. It is, of course, the most obvious emotion, the easiest to describe, and perhaps the easiest for you, the reader, to understand.

But what about the others? Regret is a constant whisper, but when exposed to the light of my scrutiny, it shrivels into an imaginary concern.

Nostalgia is certainly a key player in this melodrama of mixed emotions, fueling hours of escape from the hum-drum, and I am confident that it will remain so. Nor is this a new discovery: many times during the way I have let my imagination transport me into solitary confinement, bearded and in the fetal position, reciting the names of towns where I slept in chronological order, forwards and backwards, with an image or memory to accompany each name. I am positive that I will thus be able to avoid insanity should I ever need to go to my "happy place." It is no coincidence that my favorite word in the world (is it even possible to have a favorite word? Yes.) is saudades, Portuguese for nostalgia, though with much greater depth of meaning.

Humility deserves mention, as I come to grips with my immaturity, naivete, lack of knowledge and of grit. There are always the examples o those who did it better or were more adventures, who lived on one euro a day, cooking roadkill in a tin paint can. No matter how proud I am of my accomplishment, I will always be haunted by further, faster, stronger, cheaper, smarter, and so on. And you know, I am grateful for that, because humility is the key to greatness, and I will forever walk that path, hoping never to reach it.

And I know I play this tune ad nauseum, that I really need a new hero, but my mind always goes to Beethoven. He knows what it's like to reach it (op. 111), what it's like to fail (op. 13), what it's like to suffer in the midst of heroic greatness (op. 73, II), even what it's like to stand on the mountains looking down at Joy incarnate (op. 125, III), and knowing within the depths of his soul where that Joy comes from (op. 125, IV). Not only does he know, but he gives us the gift of sharing it in the most profound and heartbreakingly, astonishingly beautiful way.

Which brings me to my next emotion, the most important one of all, never the first one to pop out, but like hope flying out last of Pandora's box, the one that stays with me. I refer to gratitude. I could go on for pages and pages enumerating and categorizing all the reasons to be grateful, but for once I will keep it to myself. Anyhow, looking back over the posts from these last six months will bring to light all the times I have been thankful, and for what reasons.

So what did I set out to achieve? A good friend, concerned that my decision to walk was based on an unhealthy desire to escape my then current life situation (and maybe it was, in part), asked me just what it was I hoped to find at the end of 1780 miles. I did not know at the time, and I do not know now just why I set off on this little stroll, but I do know that somewhere along the road I found God. And not the "I see the light, hallelujah," fall off the horse, join a monastery kind of finding God. No, it's much more simple than that.

The God I found is about love, gratitude, and providence. Love for all of you, for myself, for every moment of my precious life, and for every single detail that makes the whole so full of wonder and joy. Gratitude for the reasons I did not go into above, but which are sprinkled throughout the account of my travels. And providence, sweet sweet providence, the walker's best friend, the force that keeps us safe from harm, that always shows us the way forward, that gives us food and shelter and Love, and that rewards us with the clarity of vision that in turn allows us to be grateful.

Now, don't come knocking down my door with pamphlets about your religion, the best one, because I don't want to hear it. I'm not signing up anywhere, and I don't plan on preaching any more than I already have. If you believe in God, be happy that I found God too, and please pray for me to understand better with age and maturity. If you don't, be happy that I'm happy. I'm happy for you, too.

Still, having found God does not make it any less empty, here at the tip, where I stand alone, surrounded by a restless, dusk-gray sea. And yet, I find myself snuggling closer and closer to that emptiness, knowing that it too shall pass, replaced with one dominant emotion after another, for the rest of my life. So is that the key to true happiness, accepting the transitory nature of our mind-state, and learning to live with uncertainty? I don't know. All I can do is wait patiently for the answers to come with Time.

Marsala

1/9 - Trapani to Marsala - 19.80 miles

What do you do when you have walked 116 days out of the last six months, and you have nowhere else to go? How do you sort out the emotions that come the day after, a flash-flood of uncertainty that drowns any attempt at recovering control? Where do you go to get back on track? For me, it was clear that morning what I would do: take a walk, to Marsala.

Yes, it was escaping reality, yes, it is anti-climactic, and yes, it makes for a messy finish, but I needed one day to let the end sink in, and this was better than walking aimlessly about town. Furthermore, my friend Carlo had innocuously but insidiously informed me that Marsala, not Trapani, was the far west tip of Sicily, and there was absolutely no way in Hell that I was going to let it go at "wow, you were so close." So, having made a promise to myself to go no further, to stop the madness after Marsala, I set off.

Mission accomplished. Besides sorting through my various emotions, I saw the famous salt pools between Trapani and Marsala, spotted wild flamingos, bought two bottles of the famous Marsala wine as gifts for friends, and most importantly, touched the furthest west tip of the furthest west rock on the furthest west beach in the furthest west city of Sicily (which is, funny enough, not the furthest west region. That distinction belongs to Sardegna, which I did not visit or cross on foot. Don't even think about it...)

No time to contemplate. No exaggeration here: literally the moment I touched that rock, my mother picked up the phone, dialled the numbers she knew so well, and called her son, precariously balanced on top of an algae-covered rock, staring at the sunset over the Mediterranean. "Are you done yet?" "Yes, Mom, I'm done."

Trapani

1/8 Erice to Trapani - 9.54 miles

For my last official day of the walk, the nature path gods smiled upon me once more, as I managed to tumble down Mt. Erice with minimal use of roads. I simply walked down the mountain, weaving across hills, through pastures, and over rocks, with a few encounters with sheperd dogs to keep me on my toes. I also spoke with a few farmers, who though surprised to see me, were happy to help find the path to get down. So it was that I arrived at the foot of Mt. Erice quicker than I hoped, and faced the outskirts of Trapani.

As it is with every "last" experience, I found myself trying to memorize details, and above all, to think big and be profound about what I was doing. I would not say that I failed in this endeavor, only that I came up short, and naturally so: expectations always trounce reality, as I have seen oh so many times along the way.

I will save my breath and your time by fast-forwarding to the last stretch, the historic center of Trapani. As I reached my long awaited finish line, I felt most strongly the urge to shout out to everyone, to inform them of my grand triumph, to gather the children 'round and tell them a tale or two. Then I would settle down and realize that this moment was about me and my journey and not about recognition or applause, but all the while smiling and thinking "But if only they knew!"

Back and forth, craving attention and savoring detached introspection in waves, I finally reached the end, a squat two-story tower at the end of a long promenade. I wanted the final steps to be devoid of humanity, just me and my glorious accomplishment, but saw various motorcycles, cars, and daytime chatters enjoying the afternoon sun, and waved off my frivolous exigency. Nothing's perfect. I reached the tower, and touching the stone wall, thought, "so this is it." But not yet: I noticed a little passageway around either side that led to the rear, where a 5-foot drop to the rocks below announced the end of my walk.

I took a picture, examined the rocks, was happy to be alone and hidden behind the tower, and turned to go. Yeah right. I jumped that railing, edged my way down a steep set of stairs hewn into the sea wall, and carefully walked out onto the rocks, catching a picture of the tower from behind.

Turning around, I saw the rocks grow jagged and sparse as they stretched out into the sea, thinning to a sharp point, brave pioneers lashed by wind and waves. "No way I'm going out there," I thought, as I removed my shoes, zipped off the pant legs, and hid my backpack. "You've gotta stop somewhere," I murmured, as I gingerly stepped on the sharp, painful volcanic rocks covered with algae. "No way I'd have made it all the way out there anyways," I calculated, as I returned to my backpack, only to grab my sandals, and try once more.

And then it was all about not falling in, not breaking a bone, testing the algae before putting my whole weight on the rock, and just like that, all reflection and profound self-discovery went out the window. I could not tell you how long it took to reach that last rock, to lay on my belly, lean as far down as I could, and touch the very tip of the last piece of earth, a bit of rock bravely sticking out of the mass of water beyond. But I can tell you that it was worth the effort. I never stopped short, never took the cheater's way out, and now I had reached the last possible point, the last volcanic rock of an extended journey.

Well, this is it, this is what I've been waiting for. Remember this. Take some pictures and a movie. Mark the waypoint on the GPS. Get your feet wet. Ok, fine, but what about the ZEN moment, the Ahhh... of eternal understanding that comes included, the prize in my cracker jack box? No such luck, at least not for now.

What did I think about?
1. I wonder if someone took my backpack, wouldn't that be ironic.
2. I hope I don't get hurt on the way back.
3. I guess it's not the end, but the journey that means the most.
4. I'm hungry.
5. What do I do now?
6. I wonder if anybody else has ever been out here before?

Why do I admit that I was reduced to banality at my supposed moment of great realization, when I could easily have artificially implanted kernels of wisdom in my head post-walk, and it's all the same to you? Because this whole blog has served to share my thoughts, observations, and emotions, and it would be shameful of me to alter them at the very moment when they should be most candid, most real. I recently said that life does not come in a pretty package. I strongly feel that way, but more importantly, I see great beauty, awe-inspiring beauty, in that fact. And, you know, I must return once more to my favorite philosopher, Marcus Aurelius, who told me at 17 that it is not the world that is imperfect, but my perception of it as imperfect that makes it so. Changing my perception, I change my reality, and that is exactly what I did; I created a paradise, a life-changing experience, by taking a walk, a modern pilgrim on the shoulder of the state highway.

Monte Erice, and the land of Canaan

1/7 - Custonaci to Erice - 13.91

My groin still bothered me, but I was now two short days away from my destination, and had no intention of stopping. I moved slowly through olive groves, picked my way through a marble factory, walked along the empty boardwalk, and after asking for directions from the local elders, began the climb up to Erice. Luckily, I had my third straight day of nature paths, and was thankful for the tremendous view that spanned over what I had just walked. When I got to the top, I walked through one last pine grove, up a steep (and painful) bank, and had suddenly reached the enchanted medieval town of Erice.

The winter population of this famous summer destination was around 250, 1/10th of the summer population, and I enjoyed the empty cobble streets, which transported me back 100s of years. I wandered aimlessly, letting myself get lost in this maze of a town, when all of a sudden I came to a clearing, looked out toward the horizon, and found myself staring at Trapani, my land of Canaan.

I shouted spasmodically, raised my arms in victory, laughed uncontrollably, and repeated over and over the words "I made it." Six months of expectation, and here I had stumbled on a magnificent, and suitably dramatic view of my final stop. I could almost touch it, and I savored the immense satisfaction of my great victory, oblivious to the frigid wind mercilessly whipping my face. I will never forget the euphoric invincibility of those precious moments, when I let the scope of my accomplishments sink in. It was as if I had already finished.

But I hadn't, not yet, and I had to find a place to sleep. So I did, as I had so many days before, and through the owner of my rented room I met the owner of the bar below, who gave me a good price on some local dishes and wine. As he closed at 8, I took the food upstairs with me, prepared a little celebratory feast for myself, and contemplated what the next day would bring.

Finally, as I was restless, full of energy, and drunk with my accomplishment and the local white wine, I bundled up to the best of my ability, braced myself, and went out for a ramble in the cold, deserted town.

I must have walked a good 40 minutes, accompanied by the town mutt, who showed me around and kept me entertained with his antics, while the heavy cloud surrounding the town obstructed a night view of Trapani. I enjoyed seeing this delightful hilltop town in a way that most people never see, at its most empty, with all the windows shuttered against the cold, a unique and mysterious time capsule.

Arrggh, my groin! (yes, Simpsons fans, a direct reference)

1/6 - San Vito Lo Capo to Custonaci - 15.22 miles limped

Somewhere along the walk the day before, I had managed to strain my groin. From the moment I woke up, a sharp and stinging sensation made each movement excruciatingly painful, and as I prepared my bag, I wondered how I was going to make it out of San Vito Lo Capo. There was no way I was going to stay in this town for another wasted day, so I grit my teeth, and limped out of town, pausing every twenty minutes for a rest.

I will remember this day for the extreme pain I stubbornly bore, and not for much else. The sun was warm and shining brightly, I skirted the sea in a much smaller reserve, Monte Cofano, broke into an old Arab tower, napped on a boulder, and slept in a B&B facing Mount Erice, covered in a shroud of mist and obstructing my view of Trapani.

Riserva Lo Zingaro

1/5 Scopello to San Vito Lo Capo - 15.57 miles

I woke up in Scopello, a tiny town on the fringe of a nature reserve called Riserva Lo Zingaro (Gypsy Reserve, though there were no gypsies, don't worry). The place I had slept had been recommended to me back in August by Andrea and Silvia (from Genova), who had been here twice before and were in love with the area, and it was indeed a lovely, family-run establishment. After a delicious breakfast and long chat with the owner, who generously presented me with bread, jam, and fruit for lunch, I followed the signs to the reserve.

The man at the ticket booth held a long and passionate discourse on the folly of marriage, presenting a misogynistic and pessimistic case. He sat all day in the booth with no one to talk to, then went to a second job washing dishes, and returned home to his wife of 35 years, who only give him grief and made him feel small. I could not help but feel great compassion for this tormented soul, and tried to cheer him up, with little success.

I must have stood there, with backpack strapped tight, for over a half-hour, but when he began to repeat himself, I made good my escape, wishing him a change of heart or a path of mental escape. Still, I had some tasty food for thought as I began to explore the reserve, and was happy that his negativity had not stifled my good spirits.

The reserve was beautiful, a sea of brushland and small date palms, with several precious beaches tucked away in hard to reach inlets. I took the low road, forgoing the view of the steep hills directly above me for the ability to access the water. Having discovered that the reserve was quite small, I took my sweet time, thoroughly exploring different roads, eating a leisurely beach lunch, and relaxing in my isolation. This stretch of coast, somewhat comparable to the Cinque Terre in size, was the only other place where I had to pay to walk, but at least I only saw four people the whole time, while the Cinque Terre made walking feel like a long wait in a slow-moving line.

The rest of my day's walk took me up and down some seaside hills, through a great many cow, goat, and sheep pastures, and ended at San Vito Lo Capo, a recently and hastily constructed seaside tourist trap that was in 100% hibernation mode for the winter. I overpaid for my hotel, explored what felt like a ghost town, and hit the hay early.

Back on the trail - Trappeto to Scopello, and Bill the walker

1/4 - Trappeto to Scopello - 19.02 miles

My return to Trappeto felt like reentering an alternate universe. I was the only passenger to get off the two-car train, and found the tiny station completely deserted, just beginning to warm up in the early morning sunshine. I powered on the ol' trusty GPS, waited as it came out of its hibernation to find itself right where it left off twelve days before, and with a grunt under the weight of my backpack, found the forward momentum I needed to resume the journey.

I truly had not expected to find myself still walking in 2009, already over the 1500 miles I had conservatively but arbitrarily allotted myself, but it was impossible to find a reason to complain. I was in a particularly beautiful chunk of Sicily, the sun was out, I had all day to walk, and I was doing exactly what I wanted to do, and near the completion of a goal I had set for myself a long time ago. Yes, my spirits were high, the wind was at my back, and even the landscape cooperated, offering up one of the most beautiful stretches of fields and rolling hills that I had so far encountered.

So I walked, savoring and reflecting on one of the last days, watching the world awaken from its lazy Sunday slumber, and it was in this state of mind that I met Bill. Bill had started in Marsala, my ending point, and was planning to saunter along my path, ending up in Napoli by Spring. However, I could see Bill was doing things a little differently. He had rigged an old threadbare bag with hand-sewn reinforcements, had a second, smaller backpack around his chest, and was carrying two large plastic bags. In other words, he had all the trappings of a hobo, the kind I would have crossed the street to avoid in any other circumstance, but who I quickly saluted and approached, having identified him as a fellow walker.

An Englishman from Manchester, Bill had decided to become a real traveler eight years ago, and had walked, biked, hitchhiked, and ridden trains all over Southern Europe. When he ran out of money, he returned to the UK, worked odd jobs (the latest was in construction) until he had saved the minimum to leave, and then took off. He slept in abandoned buildings or tucked away in various corners, foraged in supermarket garbage bins for recently discarded food, went to charity centers whenever he found them, and was progressing at around ten miles per day. So it was that with 500€ he planned to walk six months, until the weather in the UK became bearable again.

Bill used a large, semi-rusted tin can to cook meals (it's lightweight, he boasted, and I thought back on the fancy miracle-metal all-purpose lightweight pan that I had jettisoned back in August), had crafted a guitar from twine, baling wire, and a 2x4 ("just add an empty plastic bottle for the sound cavity and it makes pretty good music"), and was toting around 30 kilos (66 pounds, compared to my 35) altogether.

Absolutely crazy, you say. But the most ticklish part of it all was that he wasn't. He shared his disappointment that his mother and sister never asked what he was doing, never took interest in his stories and what he had learned. He praised walking for the complete freedom and control of time it afforded him (sound familiar?). And when I asked him to name the most important thing he had learned in eight years of traveling, he looked off wistfully into the expanse of blue to his right, and said: "every ripple, every drop of the water that we see has been organized that way by a higher power, and that higher power has never ceased to look after me and keep me from harm. I believe that we are placed here on Earth to live as closely in harmony as we can with that higher power, and that is why I continue to walk." Amen, Bill.

We shook hands, I gave him a small gift that had been given to me, and as I walked away, I thought long and hard about Bill's choices, and whether I had done my walk the right way. The first sensation I felt was envy: Bill was doing it the old fashioned way, the way of the true traveler, relying on luck and ingenuity, and above all, Providence to see the world. I thought about all my fancy, store-bought gear and felt so foolish, so plastic and helpless, knowing that I would never be that kind of traveler. Bill's freedom was absolute, concrete, while mine was purchased with money and on borrowed time.

Then I thought about the inherent trade off of Bill's travel style, that of breaking contact with society. Once you gain absolute freedom, you are no longer constrained by society, true, but nor can you reenter it without giving up a portion of that freedom. This is, in essence, the social contract, and a man like Bill had torn his up along the path. While I was certainly skirting society's fringes,looking in with an outsider's perspective, I was never fully out, either. Yes, people stared and sometimes turned their backs on me, but they also welcomed me into their homes, shared their lives and hopes and stories with me, and taught me about their culture. This social contact, as I hope you will agree, is one of the most attractive and fulfilling parts of a journey such as this one, and it was the realization of its importance that ultimately quelled my sense of envy. They were different adventures, mine and Bill's, but I had chosen the one I wanted, and did not regret the consequences.

What do you think about when you walk?

There was a day that I almost lost it, a very difficult day with lots of constant rain. As a way of distracting myself from an uncomfortable and unpleasant reality, I withdrew into my thoughts, and decided that I would post a chunk of them in a blog post later on, as an answer to the often-asked question "What do you think about when you walk?" Strangely enough, I remember much of my thought process for most of the walk, and after some editing, have presented it here in the order I thought it out. So here goes, my first attempt at stream-of-consciousness writing.

The original Blog Post
The Album

Are you forgetting anything passport wallet gps mp3 camera chapstick toiletries nope all there leave the keys on the inside she said close the door last chance sure I didn't forget anything? well too late now. GPS on, what am I looking at today, do I have a signal shit it's really raining hard, this thing takes forever patience pat there it is 19 miles but looks pretty roundabout, I'll ask when I get down the hill. Deep breath, ready for some rain?

This is going to be a long day - has the water entered my shoes yet? Let's tighten the drawstring on the hood, that's better, oops there goes my left foot I wonder why it's always the first to soak through does that mean I step harder with my left or distribution problems or bad posture or maybe because I always walk on the left side and the road puddles on the sides who knows? There goes the right, geez I've only gone 50 meters - remember to put that in the post, but convert to yards then feet, pretty much the same - what is it again? 1 in=2.54 cm 1.00/2.54, 30x2 + 30x.5 is 75 too low, 40x2 + 40x.5 = 100 so a little over 36 inches and under 40 close enough to say 3 feet to a meter, so 150 feet.

Where am I going? Lean forward, cover the GPS, I'm surprised it hasn't broken from all the water that's landed on it. Left-right-left-left too complicated, I'll just eye it and let my nose lead me. Hey wow awesome view should I risk getting the camera wet? Here's an overhang, will the picture still come out ok? Hate this new camera, damn it - hey look a cactus growing out of an abandoned house, don't slip down the stairs now, hey someone added 4-inch wide 4x2.54 = 8+.2 8.2 cm concrete ramps on these stairs I wonder why? Wheeling up a cart, driving up a moto? Depends when they did it I guess

Wow that's a fat yellow lab - is he friendly? Don't show fear pat, smile and show him you're friendly - where's his master? Too well-fed to be a stray hi big guy, yeah you're sure happy, even in the rain, huh? Time to give you a good scratch - what am I going to do with all this hair sticking to me and nowhere to wash off oh well that's what the rain is for, one more scratch, don't lean on me too hard now boy, I hope his master doesn't mind - ok buddy time to go, see you later - no, don't follow, I can't take care of you, that's a good guy, ok one last rub, now I gotta go, man I wish I had a dog on this walk, but what would I do with one? Better not think about it, you have enough trouble by yourself...

Geez, so many steps, so much water, look cactus fruit should I grab one, they're ripe no too much bother with the rain gotta keep moving, long day anyway. Roundabout, which way, GPS says left but I wanna see Nicotera marina, turn right, now I have to cancel the navigation or else this thing won't shut up. Wow my feet are really soaked now, avoid the puddle, car, car, car can they even see me? Let's put on some music when there's an overhang to protect the player shit I needed to take a left back there, looks like a good road though, lots of trees and no cars - I should pee here but where? Man, smells like rainy trees, I need to write about this smell at some point but what can I say to describe rainy tree smell? Sometimes you just gotta go out for a walk in the rain to smell rainy tree smell hey rain cover, let's put on the music now, time for some good concentrated listening - Beethoven string quartet it is, you always scroll right to him, don't you?

Ok Pat concentrate, forget about wet feet, gotta pee, ok, when you find a hidden corner - wait, start again, you weren't listening - I like the start, 123 123 hey this isn't in 4s, oh Beethoven, you trickster - hey I really gotta write down all the things I listen for, how I listen, I wonder if people would care to read it who cares, it's a good exercise and even if nobody reads or listens it's still worth it. This is so good, so involving, deep, I wish people would put in the effort, how many times can I say it? You're gonna wear people out with it Pat, gotta calm down and not scare them away so how do i do it in a way that's engaging? The music itself is engaging, you just have to show them how to listen and Beethoven will take it from there hey my trip and blog writing is kinda like Beethoven's work output, early middle late period, the early period was full of details and a little more stuck in a certain style, middle is heroic and full of bigger more meaningful works, posts get longer, then my late period should really be amazing, one powerhouse after the other, lots of different approaches in style, more about ideas and impressions rather than step by step descriptions yeah but the who the sam hell am I to compare any of the crap I put on paper to Beethoven? Well whatever the case, I gotta put down the analysis on paper, but what examples to use? How about this quartet, seems interesting enough but early Beethoven so close enough to classical period, easier to absorb and understand, ok but now I've lost concentration, start again.

[6 minutes of concentrated listening]

Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee, this place will have to do, pretend like you're looking at the pretty olive grove, back to the road, no sense trying to hide, you have a huge blue plastic bag on your back ahhhhhhhahhhhhahhh - shit, car, is it the Carabinieri? What a horrible way to get myself kicked out of Italy, no just a normal car - why is it that there were no cars for the last half hour, then one in 30 seconds of peeing - yup, there's a second car, never fails, oh well too late now, just hope this isn't their olive grove much better, how did I need to pee so badly when I haven't drunk - or is it drank, never get that one right - any water? Osmosis through my feet, haha. Wow I'm cold oh no gotta start the quartet again, lost concentration

[25 minutes of quasi-concentrated listening]

Yep, gotta remember this, perfect beginning piece haven't listened like that in a long time, where have I been all these years - hey! Gershwin, now there's a great composer - is it just my perception or has my head been in the sand for this long? time to renew this hey what the hell is that? an octopus roadkill - now that's a new one how did it get here? Flood, no someone threw it off the truck I bet but why? looks good to me, still fresh, car, car, move over ha I wonder what they think with me staring down at the road, they probably don't even see octopus roadkill, just some weirdo I wonder if that guy who crossed Europe on 1€ a day and ate roadkill would've braved this one well if you can eat mangled cat with intestines pouring out then this is probably a delicacy, how the hell could he do it, how did he know what to eat, the smell test? Man, he can have all the acclaim and attention he wants for that one, no freaking way I'm eating octopus roadkill. Man Italians litter all the time, even octopi, but hey it's pretty clean here, I can enjoy the greenery - it's fall here, that's for sure, look at all the leaves and dead flowers, seed shells, what kind of tree is this? Gotta learn the tree names but how and with what time? God how little I know when it comes down to it. This is fall, eh, I wonder how many people stop to see the fallen leaves, to realize that these trees are alive, follow a process, and are happy for all this rain. Well, I'm happy if you're happy, tree, but I wonder if you roots are as thoroughly soaked and swollen as mine are?

Crossroad, turn right, any cars, yep, smile for them, what are you looking at, can't a guy take a walk during a violent downpour? Looks warm and dry in there, keep smiling, Pat, you've given them something to talk about at lunch, if they even saw you, who knows, people can be so oblivious, so robotic - when's the last time you walked in the rain besides this walk anyways?

My right shoulder hurts, why didn't my physical therapist respond, gotta remember to follow up when I get to internet, gosh hope it doesn't stay like this forever, take a deep breath Pat, time to learn good posture it's your fault it hurts from your stooping, for overpacking, no sense bitching, people have worse problems, stand up straight now, keep walking - I'm hungry gotta find food, but where the hell am I? 4.6 miles to town, that's 1 hour 32 minutes at 3/hour. I'm going more like 3.5 though so more like 1 hour 20 something minutes, well let's hope you find something open, you know how these Calabresi are with their lunch hours. Any orange trees near the road - none yet, keep going and you're bound to find something holy crap look at that, this is a serious flood I've walked into, all this muddy rain water must pollute the sea - I mean this swollen river's really moving. I don't think this is an ordinary day. And here I am walking through it, with giant holes in my shoes I'm cold just think of the soldiers who invaded Russia with cardboard boots, this is a walk in the park - they should make all the top brass and politicians walk in extreme conditions with poor equipment not to make them suffer but so they realize how much it influences morale. it makes all the difference in weather like this car, good thing to realize in understanding war Pat, and also accepting the fact that your morale is low well at least my jacket and pants and backpack cover keep the rain out atta boy think positive.

Am I crazy? Have I gone crazy? I feel very separate from society, and am certain people would call me crazy if they forced me to talk right now. Maybe I am crazy or maybe they're closed minded, a little from column A, little from Column B is this whole walk idea crazy? Ha how many times have they called me crazy on this trip, but people call things like this crazy when they don't see themselves capable of undertaking them aha! but that's just what a crazy person would say, but doesn't my accepting the possibility of being crazy exclude me from being crazy? and who has the crazy-o-meter anyways, to tell me I'm crazy - and how can you judge crazy in one encounter? I would only talk in abstract terms if I met someone, to hell with small talk, if I meet someone I'm going straight for the jugular hey look that farm is completely flooded what a disaster what can I do to help look at these people gaping at this poor guy as he surveys the damage maybe I can help "la posso aiutare?" Yeah he's right, nothing I can do anyways, the water's past his knees and the rain's not letting up. Well no use just standing there watching him helpless and miserable like all these people, never stop to look at a car wreck or someone else's misfortune, what a sick thing it is when you think about it why do we have the strong instinct to see explosions and disasters, why does work stop in an office when we hear a car crash, I don't think it's out of sympathy or concern but because we secretly, subconsciously delight in others' misfortune, that Lost in the Cosmos author was right. Well I can't avoid the impulse to look, but I can control that impulse, truly desire to help and move on when there's nothing to be done, still a picture is in order to catalogue the event, but does that make me a hypocrite? I know I wouldn't take a picture of a car crash, I didn't back in Gaeta so maybe when it's a natural disaster and no human lives are in danger it's okay or is that justification to keep me from feeling like a hypocrite? Well you moved on, offered to help, and wanted to remember the disaster because you walked right through it, I don't think that comes from that impulse to see other's misfortune but rather to celebrate my own perseverance in walking - beware the sin of pride Pat.

My feet are really swollen I wonder if I'll lose toenails, stand up straight, hip forward, feel the abs and upper thighs, how much left till lunch I'm hungry should I put on music no I'm almost there and no sense risking the Zune in this rain you're so lucky, so far only having lost a camera just don't push your luck the Zune and the GPS are the most important. How much left till town 3.2 so a bit less than an hour if I don't stop to take take pictures what time is it okay start now now get to town in less than one hour, go.

This is a nice road, lots of trees, but it doesn't look as good as - car, move to the left, avoid the puddle, big step now to that shallow spot - it does from above, views are always nicer than being in the midst of the land, but then again views always make me want to walk through what I'm seeing. When will you be truly satisfied, when will you find your pastoral landscape well you already did in Valle d'Aosta, but even then that did not feel complete, but I guess that's what makes explorers explorers, there's always another hill, a different trail, a different time of the year to see something, I wanna keep exploring, even when I reach Trapani just keep going, give up everything and just go on and on - you can't no money, responsibility to family, and it's gotta end sometime, Pat, you can't just keep going and going forever, fine but why so soon? How can I get paid for this without having to sell out, beg for money, or be forced to self-promote? You can't, something's gotta give, or you just have to stop, like you set out to do before. Fine, but then what's next - Pat stop it, no use rehashing this, no amount of thinking will prepare you further, enjoy your freedom but no I want to think about it dammit, so what's next, how can I go back to a desk and computer, how can I fit back into society now? You'll do it, you've always done it, get right back into it, humans are adaptable, but will you be this happy? No. That's the question car move to the left avoid the puddle, that was close, look up again, remember to look at the trees and the farms and the buildings, what does rain sound like don't just look down at puddles all day or you'll miss what's around you. Oop, there's the shoulder pain again, stand up straight, tighten the hip belt, upper-lower shoulder straps, that's a bit better, readjust, I'm hungry, how much left, 2.2 miles at 3.5 is around 40 minutes, a bit less, no orange trees, I miss blackberries car behind, sounds like a truck, right again, another skill to put on the resume, haha - what kind of job will I do not again Pat get over it, enjoy this while you can.