nature

A hidden delight in Castelpetroso, Molise

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It’s time to leave the baked plains of Puglia, with its stretched horizons of wheat, some fields standing tall in the blazing sun with a harvester churning a dusty way through it, some fields in transition, straw lying out in scruffy lines awaiting rotation or baling or collection, & some fields shaved bald, so close, the crop has been completely cleared up by huge lorries & tractors & machines and taken off to giant grain silos which will then take off for far away mills & processing plants. In the far distance lines of wind turbines catch the breeze & wave a fond farewell as we belt through the heat on the autostrade.

As much as the coastal towns have provided colour & interest & culture, much of inland Puglia is hot & dry, severe & harsh, the harvested fields disturbed by endless, stiff lines of uniform regiments of olive trees & within, the hard cheese grater of thousands of cicadas sounding off 24/7 & drowning out any semblance of gentleness.

Molise is a small region on our journey northwards. We are through it in a few hours. The landscape starts to change. The fields are smaller, returning to our beloved, kaleidoscope of colour & shape, fewer olives, more deciduous woodland, more vines and….. more hills are mushrooming up ahead. The edges & borders are more precise, sharper, like driving through the freshly-groomed face of a client of a Turkish barber. With this rolling country we realise what we’ve missed out on further south – towns & villages on every hilltop, birdsong, greenery, a calmness in the land & the heat.

Castelpetroso is one such Milisano hamlet. We see it amongst the wooded hills & decide to turn off. First impressions: very quiet, very sleepy, very old. A handful of cars hog the shade in the square. A slope leads up into the core. There is little evidence of any life. A distant chatter of voices comes from an open window suggests a gathering is coming to an end, two guys working a gable end taking a break in the shade… & that is it.

Then there is this really narrow alley; a couple of upturned barrels are set up outside a small door; a large, barking dog raises the alarm & a woman appears. ‘coffee?’ ‘of course, we are a restaurant. Come in & I’ll show you around’ in sign-languaged English. So we enter the smallest, cave restaurant in Italy. Cantina 1807 (Google it – only 5* reviews!).

So proud of her restaurant; open every day from 1300 to 0100. She lives on 4 tiny floors with her husband, her 2 boys & her grown up brother, 2 cats & dog. She proudly shows the bill of sale from 1943 when hubby’s parents first bought it, & played the music that the old folk would sing & dance to on the wind-up gramophone in the snug. So welcoming, so proud. Sadly not open for lunch but we did see her really cramped kitchen & the day’s menu of four simple pasta dishes.

The village is also famous for a wonderful Gothic structure just outside in the woods – the Shrine for Our Lady of Sorrows.

A meeting with the Angel of Death

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Atri is a short drive from the house. It is small-town atop a hill, with the familiar medieval core of narrow cobbled streets, several ancient churches & a duomo, a couple of piazzas lined with a few bars & cafés and a couple of restaurants. A quiet, authentic Italian town.

Our journey there should have given us a clue about what was to follow. Setting the sat nav, the route took us down narrow, sunken lanes over hills & down tracks, past fields of harvested oats, black-trunked olives & grasping vines in this glorious landscape. In places, the road surface was reasonable, but in many spots there were dips & ridges & potholes of differing depths, hazardous at the best of times.

On a previous occasion we took a left too early and having driven for 2km down a rutted track ended up doing a U turn in a field of alfalfa to retrace our drive back up again.

Feeling mellow & replete after a wander, a beer & a splendid fish/spaghetti supper, we returned to the car. We sought to find an easier route home. But our three separate navigation devises failed to really register. So we sort of followed one out of town & waited for one other to follow & confirm our journey. Disappointed, we realised we were on the same road we came in on, but hey……..the next lane we’re told to take may be a bit narrow but it’s heading in the right direction.

Spirits began to sag as the road became a track & the surface deteriorated until the potholes merged together to create a scab encrusted, dry river bed surface up & down these hills & gullies – through a pepper grinder of a surface. This went on for kilometre after kilometre. Having descended gullies & climbed up the far side, headlights bouncing off overhanging vegetation, motor revving, tyres spinning for grip, stones & pebbles cracking the undercarriage, flashing yellow lights fleetingly appear in the far distance & then are gone – an obstruction? Warning of a deep hole?

Up one more Waltzer of a hill climb and suddenly the Angel of Death appears out of the darkness – a blazing Transformer rears above, at least eight headlight eyes on full beam blazing down on the car. This giant tractor ain’t moving. It edges forward, it threatens, it menaces. Its wheels are so high up there, piercing the blackness, chugging its throaty menace at the tiny black beetle that dares to enter its domain. The impersonal driver from up on high, obviously expects me to do the reversing into black darkness of hell.. with no effective reversing light! But this is what has to be done – nudging backwards along the track while my tormentor roars his engine & then, glibbly, with a final roar if rage, he clatters his way through the neighbouring field, leaving my world behind in silent darkness.Thankfully home is five minutes away. The stuff of nightmares!!

Sunday lunch in Ambruzzo

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It’s Sunday. We arrived at our beautiful, traditional farmhouse yesterday, meeting up with our pals C&D. This is situated along a narrow track through mixed arable farmland with glorious views across to a chequerboard landscape of clean cut, but compact fields of harvested wheat, bubbles of olive groves, lines of vines, model railway buildings & even a couple of fishing lakes with the Adriatic beckoning in the far distance.

We are delighted to hear that just 10 minutes walk down our track is Starinieri Agriturismo, a special farm offering rooms, and meals at a weekend…and yes, they can fit us in tomorrow for lunch.Under clear blue skies, we wander the track, absorbing the smells of the Ambruzzo countryside, taking in the mosaic of colour, texture & shape around us & sharing the joys of life & friendship, we arrive at the farm.

On the lawn rows of tables are laid out beneath & between billowing white cotton sheets that gently whisper to each other in the lightest of breezes. The great thing about this place is that though there is limited choice, what there is, is home reared & home grown, high quality ingredients & local produce, all from the farm & all very tasty. We shared three starters of lentil salad, cheese & charcuterie & delicious cheese balls in tomato sauce; Primo was either spaghetti with mini meatballs or asparagus & bacon ravioli; Secundo: lamb chops & sausages with potato; cheesecake or tiramisu.

It also helped that the other tables were taken by locals, a child’s birthday party & a large communion party, both of the latter setting the atmosphere & creating an ambiance of family & joy that we were quickly involved in.

And the very best was the farm’s wine – excellent Montepulciano Ambruzzo, sold at 4€ a jug which holds one litre. Such a bargain. We consumed 3 such jugs. After 5 hours at the table – excellent food, excellent service, excellent company, excellent ambiance, we shuffled our way home, feeling very happy & very content and fit for little else for the rest of the evening.

The route that keeps giving

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From Rome in the west, the autostrade rises into the Appenine Mountains. These stretch all the way down the Italian peninsula, the spine on which the nation depends. It means that most regions, & Ambruzzo is no exception, stamp their identity on coast, the Adriatic in this case, & crag alike. The commerce & industry of the suburbs soon relinquishes its grip on the land & the road gently rises through heavily wooded ridges of deciduous oak & ash & chestnut & walnut & countless other species I am unable to name. Ancient hilltop villages & stretched valley settlements, dusty & stoned, with a modernist halo of buildings around a historic core, appear at regular intervals, providing intrinsic interest to an already inspiring landscape.

The road continues to rise & travel through several dark, troll-favoured tunnels, the longest being 4 km in length. Each time we emerge & new scene greets us until we are truly in mountain land with truncated, helmet shaped peaks competing for height & reputation, bare of any real vegetation with only rough screed slopes trying to keep alive some scruffy bits of grass & an occasional stunted, spindly tree. It is like driving through a congregation of monks, moving through circular tonsures onto bald pates & soft rises.

Then it is out into the true Grand Sasso d’Italia revealing the true glory of Italy’s mountain core. Traversing lumpy peaks & trascending valleys on intestinal roads lined with abundant yellow gorse, the sight of ancient villages peering from balloons of foliage or tucked into the shelter of a valley side, becomes common place. The sat nav takes us down a slalom of a country lane. As the heavy, silver lined sky combines with the grey lumps of mountains, the yellow-brick road leads down through time, to the broad valley bottom.

Time stands still – it could be Roman times through rich woodland, the occasional small patch of tilled earth hosting a small olive grove or a handful of almond trees. No vehicles, no buildings. Just interacting with the scene & the place.Eventually the trip is complete. We descend from the heights of the Appennine passes to the coastal strip of the Adriatic.

Back to reality – out of town shopping centres, scruffy developments, uninspiring landscapes. But what a glorious journey between the two seas.

The impressive mountains of Calabria

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Calabria is shaped like a long tongue with all the taste buds in a narrow coastal strip around the low edge of the thick muscular mass of mountains & valleys. Travelling up the coast for most of the day we were overawed by the layers of brooding storm clouds that hid the mountains beside us. On the coast we were in the sun, but the tops of the mountains beside us were hidden by intensities of grey. We were turning inland to expereience life inthe mountains. Our destination was an agritourist centre in the heart of the Calabrian Mountains, within the peaks, lakes, streams & valleys that make up the Sila National Park. To reach our goal, we turn up through the clouds & grey pines where trolls & goblins hang out.

The road passes through several tunnels, the longest 1.5km, & we emerge into brilliant blue skies. Our journey has been transformed.

Our accommodation Is on a very efficient, working farm. Agritourisimo BioSilva has several large function rooms, a farm shop, restaurant, & rooms for overnight guests. Being Easter, the place is absolutely heaving during both Sunday & Monday, at least during the day. Some very classy cars drop off 100s of men & women dressed in black. I won’t mention the ‘M’ word but there was a certain feeling. 😆. Once the limos & mercs took their human cargo off home, we were the only guests there!!

Ahead, farmed hills & timbered ridges veer off around us. Those wonderful intestined roads, take us past open land, up & down & around sweeping bends over gushing streams, through giant pine collections. Whenever the landscapes open up, the hillsides are dotted, decorated, with white villas & clusters of traditional villages topped with clay tiles & a church spire. It’s difficult to tell if these are new builds or renovations. The countryside feels prosperous with an overall veneer of affluence although life seems harder in the towns & villages.

In the far distance a rim of peaks is topped in brilliant white, snow capped to show off the contrasts of stone structures & pine & harvested fields. Up here, 1,000 metres high , snow still lies on the ground. Locals drive up here with picnics & barbqs, with family & friends to take in the clean air & the freshness of the mountains.

There are numerous villages & small towns spread around the mountain scenery. Acri is just one – a modernish town that settled around the foot of an ancient village perched at the top.

A tumbling watchtower & the church of Serricella di Acri overlook the modern town below. A few locals still in this ancient hamlet but most of the small houses have now been taken over as holiday homes.

I made friends with these guys. We shared plastic cups of local rose & stories of pensions & childhood in the area.