Accustomed as we are to the speed of the car, the train, the plane — means of travel that make journeys short and often anonymous — and dominated by the anxiety of leaving one place to find ourselves elsewhere in the shortest possible time, walking the Via Francigena is truly an opportunity to access another dimension. A way of going toward nature, toward others, but above all toward ourselves. This is why walking is a spiritual experience, whether or not one is a person of faith. A kind of paradox occurs: the more we slow down, the faster the soul comes into tune, and we begin to notice everything.
Among the countless reflections that philosophy and literature have offered on the experience of walking, one seems to describe with particular force the condition of the pilgrim. It comes from an extraordinary travel diary entitled Walking in the Woods and Water, in which the writer Nick Hunt records:
“The twenty-four hours stretched out to encompass the whole arc of a lifetime, and the thin air, the sharpened senses, the accumulation of detail and a kaleidoscope of shifting scenes transformed the chain of events into a kind of eternity. Those vertiginous solitudes touched me deeply, and minute by minute I was ready to go on like this forever. Not to mention that the simple act of walking is a source of happiness that grows over time, an intense experience that carries with it a sensory awareness of the ground underfoot and creates its own addiction, kilometre after kilometre. On the rare occasions when I accepted a lift, or resorted to public transport, it felt like a betrayal of myself, depriving me of some small but significant wonder I would never have the chance to see again.”
[Translated from the Italian edition]
