When people think of long-distance pilgrimages in Europe, the first thing that usually comes to mind is the Camino de Santiago in Spain. But after walking the final 133 kilometers of the Via Francigena from Montefiascone to Rome, I can confidently say there's another pilgrimage route that deserves far more attention.

I arrived a day before starting my Via Francigena and stayed at I Love Host 24. My only goal that afternoon was to secure my Credentiale, or pilgrim passport, and collect my first stamp. With the help of the tourism office, I was able to do both with ease.

Stage 1: Montefiascone → Viterbo (18.6 km)

The first stage began with an easy descent out of Montefiascone and into the countryside. Along the way, I admired the impressive dome of the Basilica of Santa Margherita, one of the largest church domes in Italy, passed the Rocca dei Papi or Fortress of the Popes, and enjoyed sweeping views of Lake Bolsena.

From there, the trail crossed open plains and agricultural fields, with patches of colorful wildflowers brightening the landscape. I also passed a thermal spring, a popular stop for pilgrims, but with temperatures already rising, I decided to continue walking.

After nearly seven hours on the trail, I arrived in Viterbo, one of the best-preserved medieval cities in Lazio. Known as the site of the first papal conclave, the city is surrounded by imposing walls and filled with cobblestone streets, stone palaces, and centuries-old churches.

For the night, I stayed at Casa per Ferie Il Villino, managed by the Sisters Adorers of the Blood of Christ. While it is located a little off the Via Francigena route, it provided exactly what I needed after an 18.6-kilometer walk: a quiet room and a good night's sleep.

Stage 2: Viterbo → Vetralla (21 km)

The following day, I set out for Vetralla. Before leaving, I spent some time exploring parts of Viterbo that I had missed the day before. Soon, the trail led me into the forest.

I immediately felt at home.

Much of the route passed beneath a canopy of trees, with sunlight filtering through the branches and long stretches of silence surrounding the trail. I was grateful for my years of mountaineering, which made me comfortable walking alone through forests. It took quite some time before I encountered other pilgrims.

One of the highlights of the day was San Martino al Cimino, a fortified medieval village that seemed frozen in time. I stopped there to rest, have a meal, and enjoy the atmosphere before continuing my journey.

It was there that it finally dawned on me: I had made it to Italy, the country my great-grandfather came from, and I was exploring it on my own.

After San Martino, the trail returned to the forest before eventually opening up to the roads leading into Vetralla. The ascents were manageable, and the views along the way made the effort worthwhile. 

I spent the night at Albergo Da Benedetta, a family-run accommodation popular with pilgrims.

Stage 3: Vetralla → Sutri (24 km)

The third stage, from Vetralla to Sutri, was one of the longest at around 24 kilometers.

The trail crossed the Monti Cimini region, winding through forests, streams, and quiet rural landscapes. 

Along the way stood Torri d'Orlando, the ruins of an 11th-century tower and monastery that serve as reminders of the route's long history.

One of the day's highlights was Capranica, a beautiful medieval town perched on a ridge. Like many settlements along the Via Francigena, it felt almost untouched by time. Stone houses lined narrow streets while views stretched across the surrounding countryside.

After Capranica came my favorite section of the entire pilgrimage.

The trail entered a moss-covered forest that followed a stream. Wooden bridges and rustic walkways crossed the water several times. There was no mobile signal and no sign of modern life, only the sound of flowing water and birds hidden among the trees.

Hours later, the forest gave way to views of Sutri, perched atop a ridge of red volcanic tuff. From a distance, the town looked like a fortress overlooking the countryside.

I spent the night at Hotel Sutrium, located in the heart of town.

Stage 4: Sutri → Campagnano di Roma (24.8 km)

By the fourth day, the landscape began to change. Forests gradually gave way to farmland and open countryside. Leaving Sutri meant passing some of the area's most important archaeological sites, including the Etruscan Necropolis and the Roman Amphitheater carved directly into the rock.

The route to Campagnano di Roma felt distinctly rural. Fields stretched toward the horizon while tractors worked in the distance. I passed through Monterosi, another small and quiet village, where I stopped for coffee and lunch before continuing toward the Treja River Valley, a protected regional park.

I also passed Monte Gelato Waterfalls. Although it is one of the best-known attractions along this section of the Via Francigena, I decided to simply enjoy a snack nearby before continuing on my way.

The final climb into Campagnano proved more challenging than expected. The hills seemed endless. Still, seeing the medieval town come into view made the effort worthwhile.

Stage 5: Campagnano di Roma → La Storta (22 km)

Stage five was the toughest day of the pilgrimage.

Crossing Veio Regional Park meant tackling a seemingly endless series of ascents and descents. None of the climbs were particularly steep, but together they added up.

The scenery, however, made up for it. Ancient Etruscan history lingered throughout the landscape. The ruins of Veio, once one of Rome's greatest rivals, lay hidden among the hills. Formello, another ancient medieval town, provided a welcome stop before the trail continued through forests and open countryside.

Late in the day, I reached Cascata della Mola. The small waterfall may not be among Italy's most famous natural attractions, but after more than twenty kilometers on foot, it was the perfect place to rest. Fellow pilgrims convinced me to soak my feet in the cool water, and the relief was immediate.

From there, I climbed up to La Storta.

That evening, I stayed at Casa Nostra Signora, another religious guesthouse. One thing I appreciated about the Via Francigena was the number of religious accommodations available to pilgrims. If one was fully booked, they often helped connect pilgrims with other options nearby.

Stage 6: La Storta → Rome (21 km)

The sixth and final stage felt different because Rome was finally within reach.

Much of the day involved walking on urban roads, although there were still stretches of nature. The route passed through two protected areas: Insugherata Nature Reserve and Monte Mario.

Insugherata covers around 740 hectares and serves as an important green corridor within Rome. Monte Mario is smaller, but it is home to one of the most significant viewpoints on the entire pilgrimage: Mons Gaudii, or the Mount of Joy.

For medieval pilgrims, this was the first view of Rome after weeks or even months on the road. For me, it was one of the most memorable moments of the journey. The city stretched before me, and somewhere within it stood St. Peter's Basilica.

The final kilometers passed quickly. Soon I was walking through the streets of Rome, entering St. Peter's Square, and finally approaching the basilica itself.

After 133 kilometers, I had arrived.

Showing my Credentiale allowed me to use the pilgrim entrance rather than joining the regular visitor queue. Two volunteers welcomed me warmly, offered me a place to rest, pointed me toward water and the restrooms, and helped process my Testimonium.

Afterward, I entered St. Peter's Basilica, where I was able to go to confession, attend Mass, and pray at the tomb of St. Peter.

I spent the next two days exploring Rome, including attending the papal audience.

The Via Francigena may not be as famous as the Camino de Santiago, but it offers something different. The route is quieter, sees far fewer pilgrims, and passes through parts of rural Italy that many travelers never experience.

For me, the walk to Rome was not just about reaching St. Peter's Basilica. It was also about discovering forests, medieval villages, nature reserves, and landscapes that reminded me that sometimes the best way to experience a place is on foot.

Laguna’s historic towns offer more than lakeside views; they hold centuries of faith and devotion.

On the Third Sunday of Lent, I joined Bajo Las Campanas for a pilgrimage across seven historic churches in the central-eastern part of the province, following communities that grew along the shores of Laguna de Bay. It was my fourth time joining them, and once again the journey became both enriching and personal, especially with several churches along the route offering opportunities for plenary indulgence.

Our first stop was Nuestra Señora del Pilar Church in Alaminos.

The town was originally devoted to St. Joachim, but its spiritual focus shifted after an ivory image of the Virgin Mary was reportedly discovered in a local well. Since then, the town has honored Nuestra Señora del Pilar, whose devotion has deep roots in Spain.

The parish maintains strong spiritual ties with the Cathedral-Basilica of Our Lady of the Pillar in Zaragoza, Spain, the shrine associated with one of the earliest Marian traditions in Christianity. 

According to tradition, the Virgin Mary appeared in 40 A.D. to St. James the Apostle on the banks of the Ebro River while she was still living in Jerusalem, making it a rare example of bilocation. 

During my Camino Portugués last year, on our way to the Cathedral dedicated to St. James, we prayed daily to her for guidance along the journey.

As a sister parish of Zaragoza, the spiritual graces and indulgences associated with the Spanish shrine are extended to this parish as well. To symbolize this relationship, the Cathedral-Basilica in Zaragoza gifted a mantle (manto) of Our Lady of the Pillar to the parish in Alaminos.

From Alaminos we traveled to San Isidro Labrador Church in Calauan. The town’s history is often overshadowed by a notorious crime associated with a former mayor who ironically played a role in rebuilding the church.

Local historians say that the name Calauan comes from the “rusty” (kalawang) water that appeared during the construction of the church and the discovery of a stone cross.

The church is dedicated to San Isidro Labrador, the patron saint of farmers, reflecting the town’s deep agricultural roots.

Our next stop was San Antonio de Padua Church in Pila, a place that also brought back personal memories. Growing up, my mother would always pray to St. Anthony whenever something went missing. I also never forget his feast day because it falls on the same day as my father’s birthday, June 13.

The church in Pila is widely believed to be the first church in the Philippines, and possibly in Asia, dedicated to St. Anthony of Padua. Because of its historical importance and long-standing Franciscan presence dating back to 1578, the church was eventually elevated to the National Shrine of San Antonio de Padua.

Pila itself is equally remarkable. Known historically as La Noble Villa de Pila, the town preserves one of the most intact Spanish-era plaza complexes in the country. The church, municipal hall, and surrounding ancestral houses still follow the original Spanish town layout.

The shrine also maintains a spiritual connection with the Pontifical Basilica of Saint Anthony of Padua in Italy. A first-class relic was gifted to the shrine, symbolizing this relationship. Because of this link, pilgrims who visit Pila may receive the same plenary indulgences granted to those who travel to the basilica in Padua.

From Pila, we continued to Immaculada Concepción Church in Santa Cruz.

The church honors the Immaculate Concepcion as its principal patroness, with the Holy Guardian Angels serving as its secondary patron.

Our pilgrimage then brought us to Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe Church in Pagsanjan, the first shrine dedicated to Our Lady of Guadalupe in the Philippines.

In 1938, Pope Pius XI issued a pontifical decree granting the canonical coronation of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe of Pagsanjan, making it the first Marian image in Laguna to receive a papal bull for coronation. The ceremony never took place after the original church and image were destroyed during World War II, but the rediscovered decree confirms the image had technically been “coronada all along.”

Next we visited San Sebastian Martir Church in Lumban, located in what is widely known as the Embroidery Capital of the Philippines.

Historically, Lumban played a central role in the evangelization of Laguna. Established in 1578, it was the first Franciscan mission in the entire province. Because of its importance, it originally held jurisdiction over neighboring towns such as Santa Cruz, Pagsanjan, and Cavinti before they became independent parishes.

The church also shares a historical connection with the Minor Basilica of San Pedro Bautista in Quezon City through their founder, San Pedro Bautista, a Spanish Franciscan missionary and martyr.

For the Jubilee Year of Saint Francis, which commemorates the 800th anniversary of the saint’s death, plenary indulgences are granted to the faithful who visit Franciscan churches or places connected to the Franciscan family. Both Lumban and Pila, because of their Franciscan heritage, are among the places associated with this spiritual privilege.

Our final stop was perhaps the most unexpected for me: San Antonio de Padua Church in San Antonio, in the town officially called Kalayaan.

I probably would never have discovered this place if not for the Bajo Las Campanas tour.

The church sits in a quiet town nestled between the foothills of the Sierra Madre and the shores of Laguna de Bay. The road leading there offers a scenic ascent, with stretches of forest and occasional bird’s-eye views of the lake and surrounding lowlands.

After a full day of visiting historic churches and learning about their stories, arriving in Kalayaan felt like a peaceful closing to the pilgrimage.

Seven churches, seven towns, and countless stories of faith and history, all in one Lenten Sunday along the lakeshore of Laguna de Bay.

Valentine’s Day has never been a big holiday for me. As a single girl, I usually don’t have grand plans or candlelit dinners waiting. It’s just another day on the calendar.

But this year was different.

I had my most memorable Valentine’s Day yet.

I joined the Concerned Aduana Mountaineers of the Philippines (CAMP) on a dental mission at Lebeng Elementary School in Kabayan, near Mount Pulag. I saw it as a chance to continue my advocacy and revisit a place that has always meant something to me.

I’ve been an honorary member of CAMP for years, and they’ve long partnered with my group, Trails to Empower Kids (TREK), in various outreach projects. 

We left Manila late at night, beginning a long, sleepless journey that would take us through zigzag mountain roads by dawn. Somewhere between the sharp turns and waves of dizziness, I caught myself wondering: why do I still put myself through this?

But in the quiet of that thought, I also remembered why I do what I do.

And maybe that’s what love can look like too. Not always easy. Sometimes it’s exhausting. Sometimes it’s uncomfortable. But you choose it anyway.

By early morning, we arrived near the ranger station of Mount Pulag and transferred to a government vehicle that brought us to the school. The day greeted us with cool mountain air, rolling slopes lined with vegetable gardens, and that quiet kind of peace you only find in high places.

The community

The locals welcomed us with a generous feast. I was still nursing my dizziness and honestly felt like I might throw up at any moment, so I kept things light — greeting friends, catching up in conversation, checking in with the organizers, and figuring out where I could be most helpful.

After resting for a while, we went to the kindergarten classroom.. We unpacked the educational toys we brought, lined them neatly on the shelves, assembled a table that doubled as a Lego-style brick pad, and started preparing loot bags filled with small toys and snacks.

We were tired from the overnight trip, but somehow energized by each other and by the children eagerly watching everything we pulled out of the boxes.

When the program began, the day became even more special. The local Ibaloi and Kalanguya students performed the bindiyan, which the teachers told us translates to “dance until you get tired.” It is traditionally performed as thanksgiving for a bountiful harvest. 

After the program, the dental mission started, and the brave kids who finished their treatment received loot bags. 

Later, we returned to the ranger station and settled into our homestay, SMR. 

It was so different from the last time I visited — more than a decade ago. Back then, there was only this green wooden house, outdoor comfort rooms where we took freezing baths after a climb, and maybe one or two tiny stores. Now, there are homestays, restaurants, and souvenir shops. It’s almost unrecognizable.

the only structure we remember

We had barbecue while reminiscing about our past climbs.

We planned to sleep early for an early assault to the summit, but because of the volume of climbers, our start was moved to 5 AM. In hindsight, it was a gift. We were properly rested.

The hike to the summit is about eight kilometers from the ranger station. We began in darkness, walking along a quiet road under cool air. Slowly, the sky shifted, from deep indigo to streaks of pink and gold, as the sun prepared to rise.

After about an hour, the trail led us upward toward Camp 1, then onward to Camp 2. The stretch between the camps passes through Mount Pulag’s famous mossy forest, a dreamlike world where trees are wrapped in thick moss, branches draped with hanging lichens, and the forest floor cushioned with damp earth and roots. 

Years ago, we spent our first day climbing to Camp 2, camping overnight, then waking at 4 AM for the summit push. Now, climbers begin as early as 1 AM from the ranger station.

From Camp 2, the landscape opens into sweeping grasslands, rolling hills covered in dwarf bamboo and golden-brown grasses that sway endlessly with the wind. The vastness of the grassland was breathtaking, just as I remember it. It feels exposed and raw, humbling in its openness, with no more forest cover, just you, the wind, and the mountain.

It took us longer than expected to reach the summit this time. We weren’t fully prepared for the climb, we took long rests, and had to give way to descending climbers. 

Going down was much faster. We stopped taking photos, and the trail was empty. We barely needed to rest on the descent. It took us less than half the time it took to go up. The last stretch is now easier, too, because motorcycles wait at the final kilometer to bring climbers back.

While many things about Mount Pulag have transformed, one thing hasn’t. The mountain still reminds me why I come back. The children still remind me why I keep going.

My Valentine’s Day may not come with flowers, chocolates, and champagne, but it gave me moments I’ll never forget.