New Zealander Jennifer Andrewes recently walked 2,500 kilometres from Canterbury in the United Kingdom to Rome on the Via Francigena. An avid walker and Francophile, Jennifer first joined a local walking group to meet people and explore the countryside while working as a language teaching assistant in Dunkirk. Thirty years later, she’s hooked on walking, and a convert to the power of walking to change your thinking—and your life. She tells the story of this profound pilgrimage of hope.
A leap of faith
At 6am, I stood on the top of a mountain as the sun rose, its golden light chasing away the shadows of doubt in my mind. By 6pm, I had thrown myself headfirst off a bridge.
It was January 2008, and in that moment, as the bungy cord pulled me back from the brink of the cold river below, I realised the power of walking to change my thinking.
Life had felt overwhelming. The demands of career, motherhood and daily life had left me doubting my abilities. But the sunrise walk scrubbed my mind clean and led to a bold realisation: I needed to face my fears.
By the time I hurled myself into the void that afternoon, laughing with exhilaration as adrenaline coursed through my body and the dopamine kicked in behind, I had learnt something profound. Anything is possible when you put your mind to it.
Walking as a lifeline
Ten years later, the power of walking would take on greater meaning. When I was diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s disease, the words of my neurologist were blunt: life was short, and if there were things I wanted to do, I shouldn’t wait.
Exercise, my doctor said, was the single most effective way to slow the progression of the disease. I thought back to that moment on the bridge, looking to the horizon. Walking became my lifeline, a simple yet profound act of placing one foot in front of the other.
Inspired by a story in The Brain’s Way of Healing about a man who ‘walked off’ his Parkinson’s symptoms, I wondered if I could do the same. I decided to embark on the historic Via Francigena, a pilgrimage from Canterbury to Rome.
Don’t let anybody tell you how your story goes
This time five years ago, I was told I might have five able-bodied years left. This time five weeks ago, I reached Rome, having walked 2,409 kilometres in 110 days across England, France, Switzerland and Italy.
The emotions of the past three and a half months have been as much of a roller-coaster as the terrain, but I am fit, healthy, injury-, illness- and blister-free, and strong in body and mind. And I’m still walking!
My story starts in Canterbury, in the shadow of the great cathedral. With a backpack weighing heavily on my shoulders and uncertainty swirling in my mind, I took my first small steps.
In those first days and weeks of walking, I felt like an ant on the face of the earth. Over time, though, I began to shed the weight, physically and emotionally. The things I carried, in my pack and in my heart, seemed less important with each step. There was a lightness that came from letting go.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way
The Via Francigena unfolded in thirds. The first was a mental exercise. Alone on muddy, deserted trails in France, I struggled to get my head in the game. Solitude weighed heavily, and the weather offered no reprieve.
Relief came in the form of Catherine, a fellow pilgrim from Australia, who joined me briefly before we went separate ways. Walking on alone was harder, and one desolate night at a gîte, I reached my limit. The fridge emitted eerie sounds, and an unknown animal clawed and howled at the door. ‘This is not fun,’ I texted Catherine. ‘Exactly how far behind me are you?’
After nights of sleeplessness and days of hunger, the tiredness had become ingrained, but leaving at dawn reminded me how much I love that hour. The light is glorious. The sunrise walk again scrubbed my mind clean and led to a bold realisation: I needed to face my fears. I needed to embrace the unknown.
Three days later, Catherine rejoined me, and we were jubilant. As we embraced in a small village, a fighter plane roared overhead, its lights flashing as if in celebration. Somehow, Catherine had caught up—a small miracle on this immense path.
My momentum overcomes all obstacles
The second third was a physical challenge, particularly the mountains of the Jura and the Alps. I learnt to focus on the immediate—where to place my foot next, how to scale the next hill.
One day, I faced an infamous climb in the Jura. Fear and anticipation had made it monstrous in my mind, but when the day arrived, it was fine. I realised I had wasted days on unnecessary anxiety. After that, I tried to let go, trusting there would always be a way around, or through, the obstacles.
This mindset solidified in Siena, where I saw a statue of a panther with the motto: My momentum overcomes all obstacles. It became my mantra (and later my first tattoo). Keep putting one foot in front of the other, and the way forward will reveal itself.
All the light we cannot see
The final third of the journey was spiritual. The path led through places steeped in faith—monasteries, chapels and cathedrals. God was everywhere: in the face of a rock following me from above, in the warmth of the sunrise and in the kindness of strangers.
All our conversations became deeply insightful. The business of walking had become routine, and my mind was free to wander deeper, beyond my thinking, in search of the truth that lay within.
At a hostel in Valpromaro, a hospitalero told us that Lucca has 99 churches. ‘What about the 100th church?’ I asked jokingly. He looked me in the eye and said, ‘You are the 100th church.’
The words struck deeply. I realised the light of this journey wasn’t just external; it was something I carried within me, shared with those I met, illuminating myself and others.
A lightness of being
As I approached Rome, everything came together—mind, body and spirit in harmony. Camino magic. Reaching St Peter’s Square, I kicked off my shoes and stood barefoot on the warm cobblestones.
There was a profound lightness in that moment, a physical and spiritual sense of being grounded yet unburdened. It felt as though the entire journey had led to this: feet on the earth, heart in the heavens, both held and freed.
And at the end, Mass led by Pope Francis to mark the conclusion of the Synod of Bishops.
I left the basilica with the Pope’s words ringing in my ears: ‘Give us the courage to step forward together.’
Into the light
Pilgrimage is a journey of transformation, not just of the body but of the soul. The Via Francigena offered me the gift of light—not just the physical light of sunrises and golden fields but the inner light of clarity, faith and hope.
Matthew 5:14: I am the light of the world.
For those of us living with challenges, whether physical, emotional or spiritual, walking offers a way forward. It reminds us that even in the darkest moments, light is within reach. Light is within us.
Playlist: ‘Blackbird’ by the Beatles.
‘Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.’
As part of its celebrations for Jubilee 2025, the Archdiocese of Melbourne is offering two amazing pilgrimages to Rome next year:
- The first will coincide with the Jubilee of Families, Grandparents and the Elderly in May, with registrations closing on 7 February. Find out more, including how to register, here.
- The second will coincide with the Jubilee of Youth in August, with registrations closing on 11 April. More details, including a registration link, can be found here.
Banner image: After the crossing of the Alps, a long walk through rice paddies in the Po Valley. All photos supplied by Jennifer Andrewes.
