Sounds of the VF

I have been pondering the sounds that accompany our daily walking through the Italian countryside, towns and cities.

Church bells often sound the hour, then a single toll on the half hour. Around sunset there is often a medley of bells and mostly no chimes from around 12pm to 6am. Last night we stayed next to the bell-tower and the chimes continued through the night, though we did sleep through most of them.

Barking dogs. They bark a lot. Town dogs, country dogs, behind fence dogs, chained dogs, free-range dogs. My autonomic nervous system is well attuned to the sound of dogs and my pace instantly cuts by half at the very mention of "dog". Sometimes we have a lovely walk in solitude until we come along a fence line and have a tribe of dogs follow us all the way along with their friendly and sometimes not so friendly greeting.

Low flying military planes doing some kind of surveillance are often heard well before we see them.

Tractors on tracks not wheels, 3 wheel bikes, scooters, nothing unusual here.

People stopping us to say good day and to wish us well as we walk along. Really special. People have been really friendly.

Scrunching of autumn leaves as we kick them along the roadside verges, crunching of gravel. Acorns falling on the hillsides in a gentle wind and usually missing us as we have our morning tea break under the oak trees. Sometimes the roads sides are strewn with acorns.

Groans, then giggles, as a very stiff and sore pilgrim tries to get up after break on a long hard day.

Mobile phone ringing while climbing a steep hill. It always rings when climbing a steep hill! So good to hear from friends and family!

The welcoming voices of our pilgrim hosts as the expected 'pelligrini dell'Australia' arrive at the church, parish centre or hostel. Then the wonderful explanations of where the beds are and what is in the kitchen cupboards and that there is hot water and more conversation that we probably don't really understand but it is amazing how much can be communicated without a common language.

From our first morning, gunshots have been resounding along the way. In the rice and maize fields of Lombardia, the Appenines hills of Emelia Romana, in the Tuscan hills and sheep country of Lazio. We have not often come in contact with the hunters but know they are around. One fine Saturday morning as we left Monteriggioni along a forest path, we found a bag and umbrella hanging from a tree. Now if you were a pilgrim walking a pilgrim trail, your first thought would be that another poor pilgrim had left them behind. Your second thought would be that you might even know this poor pilgrim (as you are slow walking pilgrims and might have met this pilgrim a few days earlier). So the obvious thing to do is to inspect the contents of the bag. Not a bad idea. But it was our first meeting with a pheasant hunter which became obvious when

1. There were gun shot pellets in the bag.
2. A man wearing hunting gear and carrying a gun cleared his throat and indicated that it might not be the best idea to be searching through his bag.

All ended well with a few embarrassed and apologetic gestures.

From Merran.