Leaving Tuscany and entering the region whose capital is Rome.

Day 15: Radicofani to Acquapendente — 24km (14.9 miles)

This morning I was in no hurry to get out of bed. It had been a long day yesterday and the hostel bunk was warm. I suspected my hand washed clothes would not yet be dry, and worse, I figured today it would rain. So with just 24 km on the day’s program, I left the hostel at a luxurious 8:00.

Last out of the building, I closed the hostel’s ancient door, made sure it was locked behind me, and headed across the tiny piazza in a light drizzle toward the welcoming cafe. Peter, a pilgrim from Luxembourg, happened in after a bit, and he bought me a second cappuccino as we lingered in the cafe during a sudden rain squall. He left when the rain stopped and I was out the door not long after, dressed in all my rain gear for what promised to be a wet day.

The first 10 km out of Radicofani are a long descent on a quiet and picturesque gravel road. As I plodded along I noticed a woman ahead searching with a stick in the undergrowth beside the road. I asked her if she was looking for mushrooms and she replied no, using a word I didn’t know. I asked if I could see in her bag and she said, “Sí.” Inside were 30 or forty good-sized, wiggly, moist snails.

Snails. Lumache.

Hmmm, I thought.

The sun soon made an appearance, and I peeled off my rain jacket. The clouds parted and I took off my sweater. The sun began to get warmer and I took off my hat. I looked around and saw rain clouds in the distance, otherwise I would’ve stopped, peeled down to my skivvies, and replaced my blazingly hot rain pants with my much cooler hiking shorts.

As I continued down the long gravel road, I met a man searching with a stick in the undergrowth. I asked him what he was looking for and he said that same Italian word as the woman had before. But he offered this additional insight: We soak them for 10 days and then cook them in a wood-fired stove.“And you eat them?” I asked, gulping.

“Sí!”

As I continued on, my mind was filled with a mixture of thoughts. What would be left of a snail after 10 days of soaking and then cooking in the oven? What would it taste like? Would I dare to try one myself?

Anyway, I guess when I would use the words “gross, “disgusting,” or “yucky” a local Italian might say, Buon Appetito!

More amazing vistas.

Rock cairns on a bridge. A sign that pilgrims were here.

Sign on a building, “Galileo slept here on his way to Rome for the Inquisition in 1633.”

After the gravel road  ended it was back onto and off of the modern version of the Via Cassia, the historic highway to Rome. I dodged cars for a bit, then was glad to turn off the highway for the last four kilometers onto a quiet stretch of the Old Via Cassia. I looked ahead at the climb and thought for the umpteenth time how much I’d like to get out of my torturously hot rain pants.

Before I knew it, there was Acquapendente across a canyon to the left.

First glimpse of Acquapendente.

I ambled into town and found dozens of people in the central piazza preparing for this weekend’s famous flower festival. I think it’s fair to say that the US has nothing like this, a festival that has happened here for hundreds of years and attracts villagers as well as local residents from the entire region to play their part in the festivities.

As I checked in to a little B&B for the night my host pointed out that this is the town’s annual festival — the infiorata festival — in which the streets are covered in flower petal mosaics. What a great weekend to happen into town.

A few of the flower mosaics created for this weekend’s festival.

As for me, I’m walking strongly, feeling good, losing a little weight, becoming darker on everything exposed to sun, and contending with only one annoying blister. I’ve so much to be thankful for as I start the last week of my walk to Rome.