A retreat to Chiari, and then pain. Lots of pain

A torrid sun, a hasty retreat to paradise, followed by pain

(This is my second piece on walking Lombardy. The first piece is on walking from Milan to Brescia.)

I was five miles outside of Brescia, hiking through a corn field towards Montichiari, when I knew I might be in trouble. Contrary to all the pre-trip weather reports not only wasn't there any rain, but there wasn't a single cloud in the sky.

There also was no shade to skirt under, no trees lining the dirt trail, since everything had been cleared for more corn and rice, so the sun was cooking not only the rows of fragile spring sprouts, but me as well.

I had started at 6 a.m., but that wasn't enough, because the sun had a power that mocked its latitude. This wasn't a Bangor, Montreal, Minneapolis, or Portland sun, but a super-charged skin-blistering Lombardy sun, the clear alpha of the forty-five degree north club¹.

It wasn't all that bad though, because other than getting sunburned², I was still in what I consider my small slice of heaven on earth.

The order and competence of the fields and their complex system of irrigation³ (levees, rogge, canals, spillways, siphons) that dates back to medieval times; the calming serenity from the mountain ranges on the horizon; the village towers that told me where I'd come from and where I was heading; the bespoke lonely shrines that seemed to come every two miles — they all made for some of the most rewarding and fulfilling hikes I’ve ever had.

Knowing I would find a caffè next to a piazza next to a divine Romanesque church in each town I passed through, made it all the more rewarding, and so I kept on with the plan, despite the night headaches and tender skin⁴.

I kept on even when I reached the "scenic tourist gateway to Lago di Garda," Desenzano del Garda, which had scant Lombardy charm other than vestigial, although it did have an abundance of natural beauty, and was surprisingly serene, only swelling uncomfortably with fanny-packed tourists around midday, before disgorging them all back to wherever they had come from. Or to pack into restaurants, discos, and cafes far from my room on its placid shores.

Then it all unraveled. My plan⁵ was to walk along the lake shore to Sirmione, the "peninsular jewel of Lago di Garda," and then take a ferry to Lazise, spend the night, and then continue the twenty-five miles to Verona.

I love ferries, and one of my fondest recent memories is taking one from Fukuoka to Busan, so I was willing to put up with Sirmione’s reputation as being inundated, but I’d not realized how dull, dreary, and sunny the walk along the shore would be. I'd found Lombardy's equivalent of a Florida beachside strip, with ugly prefab buildings, overly engineered streets, and roads filled with aggressive and distracted drivers, all with precious little shade, though I'll admit the views and food were far better than anything in Florida.

I barely reached Sirmione, hot, burned, and anxious, before realizing it wouldn't offer any respite. It felt more like a Disney World's "Medieval Realm" than an actual thirteenth-century fortress set in a sublime location: Another example that no amount of authenticity can survive swarms of pleasure seekers.

Lazise was little better, and had I done any prior research I would have been less surprised. It is Italy's thirteenth-most visited attraction, although less popular with Italians themselves. The lake surrounds the city on the west, but to the east, north, and south are seas of campers, RVs, trikes, and motorcycles, the majority with German, Dutch, and Scandinavian plates.

I'd discovered the Italian version of Myrtle Beach, complete with bikers from the north who had their own biker bars, which were notably similar to those in the US, as if being a biker transcends all national boundaries. Unlike Myrtle Beach though, Lazise comes with stunningly beautiful architecture, including the now ubiquitous (for Lombardy that is) Romanesque Cathedral, where despite the crowds, I managed to see it at its most peaceful and uplifting, during the following morning Mass.

It was the natural end to a whole day of cascading disappointments, which put me in a foul mood, especially after exiting the transcendent cathedral into the middle of flocks of day-drinkers-in-way-too-little-clothes. Men without shirts in shorts far too short, and women in outfits with holes where there shouldn't and needn't be holes. I could almost literally feel the transition between deep fulfillment and empty pleasure, and that turned the foul mood into anger, depression, and superciliousness, before I caught myself, and subdued it to frustration, melancholy, and regret.

On further reflection, I don't back away from having been judgmental, and even a little scornful, because I find sordid self-indulgence akin to empty calories, that does nothing for the soul beyond stave off boredom.

That's not to say I'm a complete prude who believes a fulfilling life can only come from total abstinence from all that's enjoyable. You don't need to become a hardcore stoic, and there is nothing wrong with surrounding yourself with the sumptuous and aesthetic, but moderation, or the golden mean, has long been touted for good reasons. A life of hedonism without a spiritual and/or philosophical foundation can quickly turn into a depressing nihilism. A "life is pointless so why not get drunk everyday" attitude that far more often ends in bitterness, resentment, and bad health, rather than happiness, contentment, and a long life.

After the following morning's mass I gave up on my goal of reaching Verona, because my mind and body were no longer up to it. I also thought of a text my family had sent me a few days earlier, after I told them how much I loved Chiari, "Don't you ever want to stay in these in-between places and hang for a while?"

Yes I did want to, and since these long cross-country walks are supposed to be about discovering the unexpected, I booked my remaining four nights to return to Chiari, where I am now.

The first two days here have been everything I've wanted, with a nice routine of morning Mass, then a ten mile walk into the countryside, then lunch, nap, followed by an evening at the Roma Café (not the dreaded enemy Caffè Centrale twenty yards away⁶) sipping coffee, my two nightly beers, watching the city go by.

The city does go by, with a lot of its drama playing out on the central plaza, where you are still allowed to park cars, which I'm told is a rapidly disappearing legacy.

Last night I sat at Roma Café with a reader (hi Gaia!) watching the tables fill, empty, fill again, and the church cycle through two Vigils, before it shut its door and the plaza switched over from communicants to flirting teens, who roved around in gangly loud groups, resting only briefly like a swarm of sparrows on the church steps, before darting off to the next location, summoned by texts, all watched over by groups of retirees, who were either outraged by the whole thing, bemused, or indifferent.

I write about how McDonald's has become the de facto town square for many communities in the US, but small town Lombardy, like large parts of Europe, still has town squares that act as town squares. Piazza Zanardelli Giuseppe in Chiari is the mall, McDonald's, Dairy Queen, the dive bar, the pool hall, the bowling alley, the church meeting hall, the park, all wrapped into one 10,000 square feet cobbled square⁷.

While I find that refreshing, I've been told by various younger residents that it is also oppressive, having your life play out like a real life reality-tv show, for everyone to watch while sipping their coffee.

It was the right decision to return here, and the additional time has made me even fonder of Chiari, so much so that I started thinking about coming back and staying a few months, something I keep saying I will do as a traveler, but haven’t done yet.

I wish I could say I’m writing this at Roma Café after my long morning walk, but instead I'm currently standing at a small counter in an unfamiliar, somewhat sketchy café in the newer, less charming part of town, after a horrible night of sleep because yesterday I threw my back out so badly that sitting for more than a few minutes has become impossible.

I've been fortunate to never have gotten ill before on a trip, but I'm now effectively bound to a three-hundred-yard diameter circle centered around my apartment, which has been a real-time experiment in proving the walkability of Chiari, because I've been able to hobble to get almost everything I need, with the exception of pain killers, because all pharmacies are closed on Sundays, and while I was tempted to try their out-front vending machines, the one I approached only offered sexual paraphernalia.

I’ve got no idea why my back decided to seize up when it did, but I count my blessings it didn’t happen when I was in the middle of a field five miles from any town, after tripping on a rock, which would have made a lot more sense than when I was in my small apartment casually looking at my phone.

Hopefully it will heal enough to catch my Tuesday flight back home, and if it doesn’t, then I suppose I’m stranded here. Oh well.

The aren’t many places I would rather be stranded than here in Chiari. Even in pain.

PS: Every night I've been here in Chiari I've eaten at the same restaurant, AL TASTE, a small place run by a young couple. Tonight I handed them a note saying I'd walked from Milan to Verona and when finished, returned to Chiari and their restaurant because it was my favorite place to eat in my favorite city along the walk. She teared up, which made me tear up also.

To the gourmet readers. I'm sure there are plenty of far more refined places to eat along my walk, with better cuisines, yet I was being honest with the couple. I came back to AL TASTE each night because while it's "nothing special" the food was consistently good, fresh, and flavorful, and most of all every time I went in I felt a genuine sense of warmth.

It is like Chiari in that way. Both are welcoming, without it being perfunctory, contrived, or unctuous, as so many gourmet restaurants and "hot tourist" places tend to be.

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Roadside Shrine

Few shrines have moved me as much as the one I found during my morning walk near Chiari. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child, and one so young. I don’t have anything deep to say, other than perhaps I’ve not stopped thinking about how ephemeral life is, how lucky we are to be here, even if only for a brief time, because no matter how short your life, you matter to others, and to God.

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Lost Dog

I'm actually scared of dogs, which have been something of a nuisance here (one did aggressively follow me a few hundred yards around a dairy farm), and so when I saw a dog charging across a field towards me, I reached down and picked up a handful of rocks. Just in case.

When he got closer I realized I'd been foolish, and he was a good boy, who wanted a pet, and he really wanted water, because he seemed to be lost. He followed me for close to two miles, only briefly charging off to bark at a tractor (that is him in the bushes to the left of the tractor, seemingly ready to take it down I guess).

The pictures are not great because he wouldn’t stay still, and also I was more focused on trying to find who he belonged to, which given the language barrier, and his distance from home, took a while. I did eventually find his owner, who I believe explained he does this often. I was going to suggest a strong fence, but language and heat exhaustion got to me.

Despite my fear of dogs, he made my day, especially given how hot it was.

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I've got a pretty crazy schedule the next two weeks, including a meeting in DC with McDonald's executives, and a brief trip to Montreal to meet old college friends, before I fly off to Japan to walk Sapporo (May 24th). I don't know how much of that I will be able to do with my back, but if my next post comes a little late, I apologize. Until then though, have a great week!

1. I've now done ten long walks (over 120 miles) and this was the first time I made the mistake of heading east (from Milan to Padua) from the west. This means the sun is in my face and that means sunburn. I knew that, but didn’t worry about it this time because it was also supposed to be cool and wet and it has not been that for eight days and there's no shade in vineyards and now I'm thoroughly cooked. So, never walk east, always west.

2. I bought a wide-brimmed hat. I bought super strong sunblock. I even wore a long-sleeve shirt, but while all of that did help my skin, it contributed to being super hot.

3. I find it fascinating to see something that clearly is not that different from 600 years ago. Few of the canals use, or need, pumps. Almost the entire system works by gravity.

I could read a whole book on the history of irrigation in Lombardy. Really. So if anyone has a good book on the subject to suggest, let me know.

4. I’ve dealt with heat exhaustion and dehydration before. I now keep enough packets of electrolytes to drink one per day. They have saved me before, and this trip. I ended up sunburned, but not dehydrated.

For those who care, I buy Keto S1000 Electrolyte powder packets, which I get delivered from Amazon.

5. Here is a map of the walk. I now have maps of all my walks that you can access only, and see full details, if interested.

I will try and post the link to my Komoot account when I figure out how to do that so you can see all the details.

6. I’ve got no reason to see them as the enemy, but decided on day one to be loyal to my caffe, even though it opens half an hour later. It does have better coffee. That I do know, since I was forced one morning to go to the other

7. This isn't the most representative video. It felt a little lurid to take videos of teens running around being teens, and my back was hurting so much I couldn't really move around. But this captures a little of the feel, although it is usually far more crowded.