Trail of the Unexpected: All literary roads lead to Rome

Tony Grant set off with the actor Philip McGough to retrace Hilaire Belloc's journey to Rome - and discovered a very different, but no less fascinating Europe

Hilaire Belloc, the Anglo-French author of The Path to Rome, said it was the only book that he wrote "for love". This Catholic politician and eccentric walked to the Italian capital in 1901 and then wrote about his personal pilgrimage. This summer, I followed in his footsteps south through Europe, along with the Welsh actor, Philip McGough. He had conceived a radio programme about the book; I was producing it.

We met in the midday heat of the old French garrison town of Toul in the Moselle Valley, our starting point. Belloc had once served here with the French army. Like him, our destination was Rome. We had only a week to cover the route, so the bulk of our journey was made in an unglamorous rented Nissan Primera. We didn't think Belloc would have disapproved entirely; he himself may have vowed to use "no wheeled thing", but he wasn't beyond accepting the odd lift in a cart.

We stopped at Epinal and then Belfort, marvelling at the French ability to provide every community with a mini-golf course, but also increasingly concerned that we hadn't found anybody to comment on Belloc's belief that the glue which bound Europe together was Catholicism. Many seemed prepared only to discuss the endless delights of mini-golf. We were, however, given graphic details about a certain part of the anatomy of the giant Lion of Belfort, which dominates the town. This imposing statue is carved from the sandstone that was also used in the construction of many of Belfort's finer building.

Philip was keen to make the trip as authentic as possible and, in a move which would doubtless have endeared him to the BBC accountants, declared that he planned to sleep rough, just as Belloc had on several nights of his walk to Rome.

I generously agreed to take him up into the forest above the town of Remiremont after nightfall, to help him find a suitable billet and to record him reading the passage where Belloc waxes lyrical about sleeping amid the pines. Spending the night so close to the earth had clearly made a profound impression on him.

As we walked through the trees there was a flash of lightning, and a thunderstorm of epic proportions erupted. As the rain began to cascade down, he swiftly agreed to my suggestion that he'd be better off in a hotel room.

The foothills of the Alps looked, inevitably, like Sound of Music country. Impossibly green pastures, towering peaks and cows with bells which made a wonderful backdrop for our radio recordings. But later, as we climbed high in the mountains to visit a hotel where, it turned out, Belloc had not stayed in 1901, we had an alarming taste of the Alpine elements as heavy fog, and then a full-scale blizzard, closed in around us.

Finally, we were out of the Alps. Through Airolo and Bellinzona and into Italy. On to Milan, where Belloc had felt like a tramp amid the elegance, and to the banks of the River Parma in Reggio Emilia. Belloc had crossed the river here riding on a miller's back with a man on stilts leading the way through a raging torrent.

We had planned to recreate this adventure on tape, but found that the once-mighty Parma was now barely two metres wide and not even ankle-deep. We found neither miller nor stilt-man, and even without their help, Philip managed to cross the river in about three seconds.

They still air-dry the famous Parma ham in huts above the river but, we learned, much has changed in this part of the planet since Belloc's day. The gentle hills overlooking the valley are now heavily forested. A hundred years ago, the terrain was bare, because the local people needed the wood.

Much of the land, intensively farmed a century ago, is no longer cultivated. An application is currently being made for EU funds which might make it profitable once again. And the houses where once the miller and the stilt-man might have lived are now weekend and holiday homes for people from the nearby cities.

By now, the Nissan had become an object of interest in itself. Every time we stopped, crowds would gather to marvel at the torrent of earth-coloured liquid that gushed out of its engine on to the road. The time had come, after 1,500km, to bid it farewell.

An Italian express train took us on the next leg of our journey, whipping through a series of tunnels between Bologna and Florence. This thoroughly infuriated the army of mobile-phone users who made up about 97 per cent of our fellow passengers.

Rome provided us with some fascinating interviews about Belloc, the changing face of Europe and the Catholic church. Hilaire himself didn't have much to say about the place. Perhaps he was too exhausted, or perhaps it had simply all been said before. But the city was looking magnificent, and its inhabitants didn't bat an eyelid as Philip went in and out of the city gates about a dozen times shouting: "This is it. Rome. I have arrived...", accompanied by a taller fellow brandishing a large BBC microphone.

'In Belloc's Footsteps' will be broadcast on BBC Radio 4 at 11.02am on Monday 6 August