Arriving from the airport at the start of January, the day being lightly clouded, we could see a hill south of the city capped with a russet basilica, the Madonna di San Luca. Friday just past, being a day off, I decided I needed something non-museum and outdoors, and all maps led to the Portico di San Luca. It seemed to be about 12km walk from the apartment, foiled by a bus from outside the door which took me to Arco del Meloncello, which is where I thought the Portico began.
Up the hill, ascending 215 metres in around 2km, split between steps and incline. The arches began unexpectedly from number three-hundred-and-something, which committed me to diligently following them back to number one on the way back. It was grey, misty turning to drizzle, turning to rain. Visibility swiftly shrunk to a couple of score metres, and arriving at the last turn, the church hove into view as a hulking apparition, a derelict and holed ship run aground.
On my way up, my companions were few of the penitent kind, and rather more of the technical attire clad who tend to congregate in all places in or near cities where the geography can serve as a test of self, here divided between walkers and runners. Some chose to drive most of the way, and a small few perhaps were there for the original intent.
As for me, I was there for that last arch, 666.
Foiled by ambiguous numbering, which stopped at 658, the remaining arches depending on how counted giving a final total between 664 and 669, I decided the last before the end of the steps was probably the intended, the one with the small door. I also paused on the way down to photograph arch 616, the other number of the beast.
Back at Meloncello I followed the portico all the way back to Porta Saragozza, the south-east city wall gate. Another hour of wandering, finding a market near the theatre and generally ambling along still further porticos, and I was home.