Saint Francis Way Boot Camp

By Garry Philpott

Make way for very-secret Aussie agents, Gaz and Anna, on a fun-filled adventure to find hope!

Come join the intrepid duo as they confront the evil agents of climate change, war, Covid, cancer and death, armed only with the chocolate 

box of life and faith in the Great Chocolatier!

Will we find answers to def

• Language: English
• Publisher: Garry Mark Philpott
• Release date: Feb 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781922957269

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Tom Hanks, as Forrest Gump in the movie of the same name, comments obliquely to the stranger beside him,

"My mama always said life was like a box of chocolates.

You never know what you’re gonna get.

Those must be comfortable shoes. I bet you could walk

all day in shoes like that and not feel a thing."

The female nurse on the park bench simply replies,

My feet hurt.

I understand it is customary to begin a story such as this with a profound quotation from a great writer or philosopher, but adherence to social expectations and protocols is not my forte. In truth, I have spent much of my life, especially during the Covid pandemic, absorbing life experiences from movies and TV sitcoms, so hey, Forrest Gump will do for now!

An alternative profound quotation would have been the famous words of my father’s favourite television hero, Maxwell Smart, from the American spy spoof series, Get Smart. Max would often despair that the power-hungry villains he had triumphed over should have...

used their powers for niceness instead of evil.

Max was, of course, oblivious to the omnipresent intervention of his dearly devoted Agent 99, who worked tirelessly behind the scenes to convert his every blunder into a triumph for humankind in the exciting realm of secret agents saving the world, as they always do.

So let’s unpack these two pearls of wisdom as they become strangely intertwined on an odyssey into the unknown, a true boot camp adventure by two Melbourne city dwellers across the rugged mountain ranges of Tuscany and Umbria, unwrapping one chocolate at a time from the box of life.

CHAPTER 1

APRIL 2018 -SECRET AGENTS ON A MISSION

Mammoth boulders encased in slimy moss are strewn across the mountainside as a stark reminder of the frequent earthquakes and avalanches of the region. I brace myself against the rocky embankment of a treacherous ravine and gaze down in disbelief upon the torrents of cascading water. The fists of nature pummel me as I stumble on like a punch-drunk boxer. At near-zero temperatures, miniature razor blades of icy rain slice through my cheeks, and the view of the track ahead is obscured by a thick blanket of foggy sleet. Mount Penna, in the Apennine Mountain range of Tuscany, is proving a formidable foe.

For a moment, I fear my right foot will slide from the edge of the precipice, catapulting me into the murky waters below. I cannot even find it – my right foot that is – buried deep in a man-eating mud that has breached the defences of my painstakingly researched hiking gear. With arrogant disdain, the mud feasts on my frost-bitten toes.

Mustering all my strength, I throw out my trusty telescopic hiking pole, wedging it against a fallen tree standing upright in the ravine, and pull my foot from the mouth of the hungry slush.

Ahead of me, Anna is powering on, seemingly oblivious to the risk of falling from the slippery embankment into the ravine, or possibly not even seeing the ravine, as she has refused to wear her glasses and is as blind as a bat without them. I learned this on our first date when I opened the Melways Street directory at the suburb where she lived and asked her to point to her street so I could drive her home after the movie we had just seen together. With feigned confidence and gusto, rather than donning her reading spectacles, she raised her index finger and brought it down in the middle of Collingwood, comprehensively missing her whole suburb of Clifton Hill!

I never insisted Anna wear her specs while we were dating as she would often comment, with a dreamy gaze, how I looked like Daniel Craig. To a person with good vision, nothing could be further from the truth. I was in my fifties when we began to date, with a growing paunch, arthritic knees and a distinct lack of muscle tone, but like any man, I could not resist living the dream of someone believing I had the irresistible charm and cool secret agent persona of James Bond. As our romance developed, I dearly hoped she would not begin wearing her glasses before we married!

I was even warned by a close friend that I was batting above my average, dating such a stunningly beautiful woman. My friends could clearly see what a decrepit old man I looked like by comparison. What they did not know was that the bowler was near blind, and I did not intend to enlighten them. I was batting on as James Bond and loving it!

I look up at her now with a sudden pang of longing, a powerful and overwhelming desire like l have never experienced before – I desperately need to poo!

We reach the Sanctuary atop Mt Penna, which is our goal today, but my focus is seriously hindered throughout the visit, seeking to ensure proximity to a toilet at all times. Anna seems fine for now, but her bacteria is just taking a little longer to gather forces before attacking!

Despite the challenge of an extremely slippery wet path, we return at hyper-speed to the quaint little Hotel da Giovanna, where we both alternate between bouts of uncontrollable leg cramps, vomit and chronic diarrhoea in our tiny bathroom. We curse our greedy impulse to eat that dodgy-looking pizza on the eve of this trekking adventure of a lifetime, which we had so meticulously planned over the last year. To coin a phrase from Miranda Hart’s comedic novel about raising her beloved dog, Peggy, we are experiencing an apoocalyptic disaster!

I reflect that this would have been an ideal time to invoke the Cone of Silence – a descending glass dome mechanism used by the secret service agency known as CONTROL to prevent evil spies from KAOS eavesdropping when Maxwell Smart wished to discuss highly sensitive secret agent stuff with the Chief. The hilarious technical defect with the Cone of Silence was that it also prevented those inside the dome from hearing each other. Precisely what we needed right now!

Instead, without recourse to the Cone of Silence or any other appropriate muting mechanism, we emanate a grotesque cacophony of bodily dysfunction and agonising cries into the otherwise serene night air of the Tuscan mountainside, across the ancient laneways of Chiusi della Verna, into the sleeping valley below.

It is us, dear Italian Alpine dwellers, the Melbourne city slickers! We have arrived to share the hitherto pure and tranquil Alpine air of your beautiful region. Air which seems the same temperature inside our room where we try in vain to get the heater working. I begin to shiver uncontrollably, succumbing to the cruel combination of severe dehydration and glacial amenity.

Massive doses of magnesium tablets and electrolyte supplements finally bring my cramping calf and thigh muscle spasms under control, but by morning we are spent, utterly exhausted and still dry retching. We have, quite literally, given our all to day one of the boot camp.

Thank goodness there are no guests at the hotel and the frozen night streets are empty, so at least we won’t need to hide in the morning for fear of humiliating gazes. We are also grateful that we had not eaten much yesterday when we arrived here because we were already feeling a little queasy.

A brilliant bit of planning on my part. The old discount trekking accommodation rate during the blizzard season with melting mountain ice that washes away the hiking paths trick, plus a bonus weight loss program! Very private and romantic, I joke with my dear wife, Anna.

Sadly, Anna looks like death warmed up, or not even warmed up, as we couldn’t get the heater going all night. We would progressively learn that most accommodation providers tend to turn off their central heating boilers in the off-season when the number of guests is not expected to justify the expense.

Anna gazes back with a pained smile and rolls her eyes. Fortunately, we discovered early in our relationship that we were both Get Smart fans. Unfortunately, Anna would learn, as our relationship developed, that my real-life behaviour sometimes bore a more striking resemblance to that of Maxwell Smart rather than the James Bond she had envisaged. Anna had also developed a very good impersonation of Agent 99 rolling her eyes in despair. She did this so frequently, in fact, that the following year she would blame this excessive eye-rolling for the most unfortunate diagnosis of a posterior vitreous haemorrhage in her eye, threatening retinal detachment and possible blindness, but that is another story for another time.

What a far cry from the sublime journey of a lifetime that we had painted in our minds before we left Australia. A stroll over the gentle grass-covered hillsides of Tuscany, as depicted in the Camino Ways trekking company promotional material and on the cover of the famous book Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes. In great expectation, we had filled our backpacks with culinary delights of Italian cheese, fresh bread and local vino to enjoy while relaxing on our special lightweight Kathmandu picnic rugs among the olive groves, bathed in golden rays of Tuscan sunlight, where we would meld into the picturesque scenery on the book cover.

But, alas, we would instead jettison our picnic supplies, our weakened bodies unable to bear an ounce of extra weight and the sloshy mountainsides not being at all conducive to a picnic rug spread. Instead, we would become focused on survival. In the absence of foodstuffs willing to stay put in our stomachs, we would be filling our backpacks with drinking water, sugar lollies and toilet supplies – lots of toilet supplies!

In all fairness to our tour company, climate change and a mozzarella-salmonella-topped pizza were the real villains in this instance, with much of Europe suffering from unpredictable weather extremes.

On returning to Australia, a mountaineer friend of mine, with a villa in the Dolomites and experience conquering the most challenging summits around the world, confirmed that it would be rather foolhardy to trek so early in the European spring. He pointed out that there may not have been time for the locals to repair and mark the paths after the snow season. He also explained that snowfalls would still be possible, given the changes in weather patterns, and that melting snowcap cascades, combined with high rainfall, could pose a danger to hikers at that time of year. Probably should have chatted with my mountaineer mate before planning the trek!

The first chocolate from the box certainly did not match the flavour it had promised by its packaging. Nevertheless, other events during that day in Chiusi della Verna, which I have not yet mentioned, left us keener than ever to delve into the mysterious contents of the remaining chocolates yet to be unwrapped.

CHAPTER 2

MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA -THE BOOT CAMP IDEA

The idea of a trek across Italy came about through the convergence of our respective aspirations and discussions with friends in 2017. Anna and I were conscious of the privileged lives we had lived as we approached our sixtieth birthdays. We had both been born in relatively humble circumstances, to families who struggled from time to time with finances, unhealthy addictions and relationship dysfunctions common to many families here in Australia. However, we both identified that the love exhibited by our parents and extended families in their respective idiosyncratic ways, and the love of friends gathered in our youth, had underpinned our lives. We had experienced the privilege of love.

Our life experiences since our teens had unfolded in a democratic post-second world war society which had become increasingly affluent for many here in Australia. We could freely partake in the joys of camaraderie and laughter with our respective circles of family and friends. A lazy coffee at a sidewalk café, shared dinners at restaurants and picnics at a plethora of Melbourne’s beautiful parks, were all taken for granted.

Our exploration of the five senses of taste, smell, sight, hearing and touch was seemingly made complete by our indulgence in the arts, opera and theatre at our doorstep in Melbourne, which had earned acclaim as the most liveable city in the world for the last seven years. We had experienced the privileges of liberty and human sensory perceptions in all their fullness.

That is not to say we had not encountered tragedy in life, for we had both suffered immense losses which tore at our heartstrings, losses which challenged the very core of our being and eventually brought