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Day 14 - The Frying Pan
Montefiascone → Viterbo (17.5 km)
If you missed the other days, you can access them here.
“What do you want to do?” the employee at the post office asked.
“Walk to Rome,” I said, not realising that he had not asked where I was going. The question had become second nature to me and everything blurred in my head that morning. The exchange foreshadowed the day ahead. The morning in Montefiascone had a cool breeze. From the top of Rocca dei Papi, I saw lake Bolsena and everything covered in mist. It all went downhill from there.
I descended into the fields, walking along a road with large cobble stones. Butterflies and dragonflies were leading the way, Miyazaki-style. I was well equipped: water, electrolytes, cap, sunscreen. The 26 degrees Celsius may not seem like much. But nothing prepares one for entering the Frying Pan.
By this point, the days are blurry and have merged into each other. What I remember from the day before has blurred with the two weeks prior. No trees in sight, no chance at taking cover under the shade. The first few hours are easy, until the elevation grows. Then you start noticing it. The water is running low, so the mind starts to measure distance in terms of sips of water. How much can I survive on until the next fountain? Can I make it in four sips? The worrying starts and the initial liter of water feels meager. I wish I had checked the route beforehand for water stops.
The little pilgrim sign of the Via Francigena reminds me of the Italian plumber who is not really that Italian: Mario. The mind tries to distract itself from the 200ml left in the water bottle. I’m reminded of dashboards with numbers on them: time, kilometers, speed, bank account balance, stock values, number of unread messages. A lot of daily life involves compulsive number checking, with the hope that some go up, some down and some stay the same. What about Mario? When I used to move him in 2D to reach the castle and save the princess, I remember not checking the number of lives left all the time. My attention was on playing the game, not how many lives I had left. In the heat of childhood days, the goal was simple: play the game and have fun, not finish it with full health or more than I started with. Maybe adult life made me forget what’s important.
The heat seemed to paradoxically freeze everything. Nothing moved apart from me and the legs of grasshoppers that rubbed against each other to produce the sizzling sound that is everywhere in the Frying Pan. The sizzle intensifies when I pass below the electricity lines. The sunscreen helps with the UV, but not the oily skin. I am really getting fried.
A few more steps and I move from Boredom to Boredoom. The unnecessary quantity of UV rays is playing with my mind. The water bottle bounces against the camera bag and the liquid inside bumps against the steel walls. BOING-BOING-BOING. I keep doing that on purpose to distract myself from the real problem: I will soon run out of water.
By a kiwi grove, I hear an old radio host detailing Italian football scores. I couldn’t locate the radio or its owner. Am I starting to hear things? It’s so bright that my eyes hurt. I keep my head down, trying to focus only on the next step. I see lizards moving out of my way, scared of my steps. For a moment, sticks look like snakes and my pulse goes up. The sunflower fields around me look sad. In which circle of Hell have I ended up? What have I done?
A swarm of tiny flies guards the road. They circle like maniacs and I wonder what they are doing, not going anywhere. At least they’re not coming after me. By this point, my water bottle is empty. No more electrolytes. About two hours to go.
The ridge ahead feels daunting, out of reach. I am very close to using all my four limbs on the ground. In this state of mind, the places in the horizon either seem closer than they actually are or farther. Like most things in life.x I try to pep talk myself into reaching the top of the ridge, but I can’t articulate words faster than moving my feet. And they are going slowly, resisting every step forward.
At the top I see a fountain from the back. I think I’m saved, so I have the last sip to finish these 300 meters. Big mistake. There is no water flowing. I thought I saw GAME OVER printed in front of my eyes. In real life, I’m not sure I’d respawn in Lucca or at the last checkpoint. I keep going. A mechanical caterpillar ahead is blocking the road. Will I be able to pass? It gives way.
I swear I’m not hallucinating when I see two dogs ripping bits of meat from a carcass on the side of the road. They ignore me. Some predatory bird, a falcon or an eagle, is gliding above, circling for some prey. What seems to be abandoned farming machinery comes to life. This is not a good sign. The round bales of hay turn into whales in this sea of despair.
“I’m a-well!” the well says to me.
“I know that you are-a well,” I say.
“You mean you are ‘well’?” I ask, with a hint of condescension.
“E, no, I-AM-A-WELL!” I hear back. It’s trying to say that it’s well. I’m not so well.
“You can come to me for water. Look deep down and wonder,” the well continues. It has words of wisdom, but no water to offer. I’m standing there, shouting down this well and hearing echoes back. It has been there longer than I have been on this planet. Best to leave it alone and get back on the road.
Hunger butts into my internal conversation. It screams for spaghetti aglio, olio e peperoncino. It’s all in the name: pasta, garlic, olive oil and chili. Parsley if you must. Instructions are easy: cook al dente, save a cup of pasta water, slowly fry the garlic with the chili in a frying pan. For many, it’s the midnight snack after a night out. For me, it’s the best analogy of how I feel in the Frying Pan.
And then, out of nowhere, there it was: my salvation, my oasis. Never in my life have I been so glad to see a vending machine. Some kind of engineering hack connected this locked fridge with an adjacent coffee machine, where I keyed in the product number. This was after fumbling and dropping the coins on the floor.
I emptied the half a litre bottle of water in seconds. It kept me going until I got to Viterbo. I didn’t even know when or where I arrived, I just knew I did. I sat down to eat. I was one with that bowl of pasta. Nirvana, Paradise, Valhalla. As you can tell, everything was upside down in my head.
Buon appetito if you’re having food,
Florin
