I’m anxious. I’ve thought about the next day for months.

Samwillie, my BnB host’s son, makes the phone call. “Si, si, 10 AM.” Contact with the legend! He agrees. Tomorrow, I’ll be able to cross the Po River in Danielo Parisi’s boat.

Danielo has been transporting pilgrims across the Po River since 1998. While the Po River isn’t the Mississippi or the Nile, the Po presents a major obstacle. We would have to walk several extra miles to cross on a foot-friendly bridge. Since he started the ferry service around the age of 50 and since he’s helped pilgrims for almost 25 years, I’m pretty sure that he didn’t expect to still be transporting pilgrims at 75!

I’m awake at 5AM. I’m too excited to sleep. Samwillie picks me up. On his iPhone he pulls up google maps. “I’ve never taken anybody to this ferry!” He’s excited also.

Fifteen minutes later we are driving at a one-street village. Nobody is around. We follow a one-lane road up to the top of the dike. A couple hundred meters away is a gathering of pilgrims, the Po River, and a floating dock. Nice! I also see an old row boat that could handle three people. I wonder if that was the original ferry!

With my joining the party, there are eleven pilgrims. Ten women and me. I catch up with the two German women that I met at the end of their first day. The rest of us introduce ourselves. An excited group. We are even more excited when we see Danielo approaching, with two passengers. I’m sure everyone is asking the same question: “Are we all going to fit on that boat?” We aren’t expecting a boat that cruises the Thames, the Rhine, or the Seine, but a little larger boat would have been nice.

Danielo docks his boat. Unperturbed by our number, he shouts something in Italian. A kind bi-lingual person translates for us. “You will all fit. Don’t worry. Simply board one at a time.” Like sheep, we do what we are told. Four in the back, seven in the front. All the packs in the very front. We are still a good six inches above the river. Who needs life preservers? Who needs to sign a manifesto?

Away we go. Danielo clearly enjoys being the ferryman. “Since I brought sunshine today, I have to charge you all double!” He laughs. We all groan! He gets into an animated conversation with three South African women about soccer and rugby. I ask our translator to ask about the Milan soccer team, according to our sons a historically good team. “I follow some soccer (ok, I’m stretching the truth a bit), but I really like American football.” Something of a conversation takes place. However, when our translator points to me and Danielo excitedly grabs and shakes my hand, I’m pretty sure something went awry. “I told him that you used to play rugby. Every year the local rugby team comes to his house to celebrate their year.” Hmmmm.

We learn that in 2007, the nearest village bought this aluminum boat for Danielo. Every time a pilgrim calls, he’ll show up. When Covid hit, times got rough. No pilgrims. Eventually, a few pilgrims returned. Although everyone understands to give him ten Euros, during the rough year post-Covid, some pilgrims couldn’t pay. One day, two pilgrims each gave him fifty Euros. “This is for you and those pilgrims who can’t afford to pay.” Obviously, he still remembers those two pilgrims generosity.

After going two miles down river, Danielo makes for the bank. All we see is a muddy bank. As we get closer, we see some metal steps. This isn’t going to be like disembarking from the Queen Mary. He shouts again “Careful, one at a time, and follow me.”

After successfully getting off his boat and up to the top of the dike, we head for his house for the ceremonial stamping of our credential and the signing of his large, wood-bound book.

Upon arrival, he pulls out the largest stamp I’ve seen. With equally dramatic flourish, he stamps each of our pilgrims credential. He hands us each a card. On one side, a drawing of a boat; on the other side, a prayer. Nice. We all sign a book that looks as though it came from some medieval library.

Danielo isn’t quite done. He momentarily leaves. I see why he likes rugby. The local team has signed a rugby ball that he proudly displays. Danielo returns with a bottle of Grappa and shot glasses. A quick celebration! We laugh, clink glasses, and say “arrivadirche.”

As I head out the door, I wait. I pull out another ten Euro note and say to our translator, “Please tell him that this is for some pilgrim that can’t afford to pay.” The least that I could do for this big-hearted person who has helped so many.