[ENG] Via degli Dei 2025 Journal (A Little Late)
Hey everyone,
I haven't disappeared, even if it might seem that way.
Lately I just haven't felt particularly inspired to write. Summer is usually like this for me then winter comes around and I go back to writing like a machine again 😂
In the meantime, I'd like to share the journal I wrote last year about my experience on the Via degli Dei, which was later published by the magazine Cammini d'Italia.
I hope you enjoy it.
Five Days on the Via degli Dei: Why I Chose to Slow Down at Twenty
I was twenty years old, working a full-time office job, and constantly feeling like life was moving too fast.
There wasn't one specific reason why I decided to leave. Or maybe there were too many reasons at once: confusion, the need to disconnect, the desire to challenge myself, and above all, the need to reconnect with something simpler. Something real.
So I decided to walk the Via degli Dei alone.
From Bologna to Florence: five days on foot, more than 130 kilometers, carrying a lightweight backpack, very little experience, and far more questions than answers.
I wasn't an experienced hiker. I'd done a few treks near home in Umbria, but nothing remotely like this. I'd never slept alone outdoors. I'd never walked for days on end.
And honestly, I wasn't even sure I'd make it all the way to Florence.
The Preparation: The Journey Before the Journey
Looking back, the journey began long before I took the first step.
I spent weeks putting together an ultralight backpack weighing just over 5 kilograms, choosing every item with almost obsessive attention. The tarp, sleeping bag, stove, food.
I chose a Decathlon tarp because I wanted to travel light. Keep things simple.
A tarp is a minimalist shelter for sleeping outdoors. It's not really a tent—it's more open, more exposed. It keeps you connected to your surroundings instead of separating you from them.
Maybe, without realizing it, that was exactly what I was looking for: not complete protection, but connection.
And somehow, even while preparing my gear, I could already tell that this journey was changing me.
Day 1 – Bologna to Brento
I left Bologna with my head full of thoughts.
The climb to San Luca was the first real challenge: uphill, hot, and still trying to find my rhythm. Then, little by little, the city gave way to the woods.
And with the woods came silence.
The kind of silence that isn't emptiness, but presence.
Near Brento, I pitched my tarp alone for the first time in the middle of the Apennines. I remember a very specific feeling: a mix of freedom and uncertainty.
That first night felt strange. I worried that I'd forgotten something, that I wasn't prepared enough, that I wouldn't sleep well, or that I wouldn't be able to finish the trail.
Yet despite all of that, I never seriously considered quitting.
That first day taught me something simple: good preparation is already half the journey.
Day 2 – Brento to Madonna dei Fornelli
The next morning felt completely different.
And right at the beginning of this stage, I experienced one of the most meaningful moments of the entire walk.
On Monte Adone, I found a notebook left behind by other walkers. Among its pages was a letter written by someone else a heartfelt message dedicated to their grandparents. Its simplicity and sincerity struck me deeply.
I didn't write anything myself, but I felt the weight of those words. Left there, along the trail, they seemed to belong a little bit to everyone who passed by.
By then, my body had started to adapt to the rhythm. My mind had too.
The Apennine trails were beginning to feel familiar. It no longer felt like I was doing something difficult. It felt like I was stepping into something.
This was the stage where I truly began to understand the value of walking.
It's not just about effort.
It's about consistency, slowness, and presence.
I met many other walkers along the way. Different people, different stories, but all sharing one thing: the desire to be there.
One thing that stayed with me from those days was how willing people were to help each other without expecting anything in return.
In their own way, each of them made me feel a little less alone.
Day 3 – Madonna dei Fornelli to Sant'Agata
This was the hardest stage.
Around 30 kilometers, with the final 15 completely alone as darkness slowly began to fall and the fatigue finally caught up with me.
That's when a walk stops being an experience and becomes something more essential: simply moving forward.
One step at a time.
Breathe.
Don't overthink.
It was there that I realized how heavy silence can feel and at the same time, how necessary it can be.
Day 4 – Sant'Agata to Bivigliano
This was where the journey started to become something shared.
I walked with people I'd met during the previous days, alternating between stretches alone and stretches together.
And I realized something important: you can start alone, but it's very difficult to stay truly alone.
On a long-distance trail, people aren't background noise. They're part of the experience.
You share miles, silences, breaks, simple meals. And somehow everything feels lighter.
I don't remember a single specific conversation.
What I remember is the feeling: the sense of belonging, even if only for a moment, to something larger and more spontaneous than yourself.
Day 5 – Bivigliano to Florence
The final stage felt strange.
My legs were tired, but my mind was already somewhere else.
Fiesole was the turning point.
When I saw Florence from above, I felt something powerful something difficult to put into words: pride, joy, and a kind of peace.
It wasn't just the end of the walk.
It was proof that I'd actually done it.
Then came the walk into the city, arriving at Piazza della Signoria, stopping, looking around, taking photos.
But above all, realizing that the true value wasn't reaching the destination.
It was everything that had happened before.
What the Via degli Dei Gave Me
The Via degli Dei wasn't just a trail.
It was a way of understanding myself better.
I discovered that I'm much more capable than I thought more resilient, more curious, more present.
I learned that happiness, for me, lives in simple things: moving slowly, breathing fresh air, embracing silence, and finding order through effort.
And when I say "fresh air," I don't just mean nature.
I mean stopping, looking at the landscape, feeling the wind on your skin, and realizing that you're exactly where you're supposed to be.
I also came away with another lesson: preparation matters, but having the courage to start matters even more.
Since then, I've continued walking. I've completed other routes, including the Cammino dei Tre Villaggi and the Cammino dei Borghi Silenti, but everything started here.
And if I had to summarize the entire experience in a single sentence, it would be this:
I walk because it makes me feel calm and at peace with myself and with the world.
Maybe that's the real point.
Not getting somewhere.
But learning how to be at peace while you're on the way.
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Thank you again for reading 🫶🏻