VILLAGES AMONGST THE CLOUDS

8^th October:

HIDDEN AMONGST THE CLOUDS

From Masseria Mazzapede near Matera we drove to many hilltop towns and villages all around – each one picturesque and full of history.  One of the best trips was when we travelled into the mountain range we’d passed on the way to Pompeii, in search of ‘the village behind the fan-shaped ridge’.  From my previous notes from Google Images we guessed it to be Castelmezzano in the Lucanian Dolomites.

FORCED TO DETOUR

We turned off the highway to travel narrow roads that took us under a railway bridge built into the mountain.  Up and around, zigzagging.   Up and up we went, until eventually we met a road barrier.  It announced in English ‘Access to Castelmezzano denied to all but local inhabitants.’   Why they could not have put this notice at the bottom of that hairy mountain road passed our understanding.   As we reached the railway tunnel again two bikers informed us that we could at least go to a village the other side of the ridge.

LUNCH AMONGST THE CLOUDS – IN PIETRAPERTOSA

We had never noticed this one on ‘Google Images’, or even when looking up from the main road, but we retraced our tracks.  Then we drove on past the turning to Castelmezzano.  In due course we found ourselves right at the top of the mountain, in the only parking place, opposite a small bar/café.  To our relief it was open, and I made an unseemly beeline for the Ladies’, following the pointing hand of the barman.  After that we joined other holidaymakers and had a very pleasant late lunch.  We were  seated in a sort of loggia, peering over the boxes of flowers that surrounded it to the impressive view beyond.  (That is, after a coach finally moved from the main parking bay).  We think the restaurant/bar, which served excellent, reasonably priced  food, was called Orsa Minore (or something similar).  On the Via Umberto, but we could not find it in Google.

ZIPWIRE – WHAT, ME?

As I moved from the cafe to the balustrade fronting the turning/coachstop place, a  sporty-looking gal pointed out to me the almost invisible zip wire that stretched to the next mountaintop.

“You really ought to try it,” she said.  “You get the most tremendous views – just like you’re a bird.”

“Surely not, if you’re sitting in a chair, or clinging on to a chain,” I said, trying to recall what I’d seen on TV.

“Oh no,” she replied.  “On this one you’re suspended upside down from a harness on your back.”  It was all I could do not to throw up then and there, as a visualisation of such an experience swam around my inner vision.  I quickly shoved all such thoughts back into the well of forgetfulness.

“Er – I don’t think it’s for me,” I faltered.  “I suffer from vertigo – but I’m sure my husband would love it.  Graham – this lady says…”

ANCIENT PAINTINGS ON SLAB ROOF

It was as I turned around that I noticed two extremely old cartouches embedded in the natural rock ‘roof’ of the café.  Small painted frescoes of biblical subjects.  Despite being out in the open on a mountaintop, the colours were remarkably strong and fresh.  Below them was etched ‘1339’, so I guessed that there had once been a troglodyte dwelling there – or even a small church?

ZIPWIRE MOUNTAIN VILLAGE

We discovered we were in Pietrapertosa, and that the main village was tucked around the corner.  We went up a short, steep track amongst high boulders.  At the top we found a charming little house.  There was a thoughtful seat of stone right opposite, under the rock ridge.  We were ‘the other side of the fan’.

A NEW FRIEND FINDS ME OUTSIDE HER DOOR

Graham and Vivien made for the village, reached by a rocky ledge, which led downwards, showing why this village had not been visible from the road.  With my head for heights, and bearing in mind that what leads down eventually leads back up, I settled for the convenient stone slab seat.  It was comfortable, leaning my chin on my hands that were resting on my trusty stick.  Presently a lady of mature age came out of the house and offered me water.  I gratefully accepted, as the sun was beating down.  She stayed with me, and we enjoyed one of those ‘heavy on gesture’ conversations.

GAGGLE OF GIRLS SNAPPED

The others returned, enthusing about the unique view they had enjoyed from the old and pretty village.  The lady’s daughter came out of their house.  They requested that we join them to be photographed.  They soon pointed out the ‘B&B’ sign on the wall.  I wonder if Vivien will book there at a later date.  She is sure-footed as a mountain goat, unlike moi.  It is undoubtedly a very special place, with stupendous views and walks all around.  I repeat the information I was given at lunch.  For the best all-round panorama “You can also travel across from that mountaintop to the next, lying tummy-down on a zip-wire thing”.

I wish I were young and fit enough to contemplate staying there, but the wire contraption would give me a heart attack at any age.

DETOUR – A SECRET WOOD.

We took another route to return, seeking the by-lanes in some deep green country viewed from that high perch.  We found ourselves in an enchanting (and probably enchanted) oak wood; a natural film set for ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ or ‘Lord of the Rings’.  Absolutely beautiful and very green, with interesting outcrops of stone covered in dark green moss and silver lichen.

SECRETS IN A SECRET WOOD – HAD VIVIEN FOUND PORCINI?

We rooted around, hoping to find Porcini – and may have done so, but were not quite able to trust our judgment, as the fins were bright yellow.  I have since discovered, looking at photos taken on another holiday, that Porcini with bright yellow fins are to be found in markets over much of the Continent.

DETOUR – TO VILLAGE WHERE WE DRAW STARES

Graham drove us on unknown country lanes on the way back to Grottole.  The map showed that we were in the intriguingly named Parco Regionale di Gallipoli Cognato, and presently we found ourselves in the high hilltop town of Oliveto Lucano.

The few men strolling around the patch of grass between the loops of the road stared at our car with the right-hand drive, and then when we parked up near a tiny bar they stared at us again.  It was clear that few foreign visitors came to this noticeably poor little town, where it must have been difficult to scrape a living.  They all watched as we turned a tight corner to get out of the town.   We were now driving down a steep ‘loop’ road.

MY HEART IS GLADDENED AND SADDENED

Accettura was the next village.

There was one magnificent tree where two side streets divided. Close by we were surprised to see a modern statue of most startling, poignant beauty.   We got out for a closer look.  To us, it was not so much a war memorial as depicting the tragedy of parting.

THE TRAGEDY OF PARTING

Basilicata, like the rest of Italy (perhaps even more so) had many times seen its men depart for other countries. In England and America they had more chance of establishing a decent living, promising to send for their families later.  We learned that some did, and prospered in their new country; others disappeared and were never heard from again.

– AND THE TRAGEDY IN SOME RETURNS

Still others came back with pockets full of dough, but unable to buy land for one reason or another.  They were soon reduced to the peasant status they had been before.  This was aptly described in Carlo Levi’s book, ‘Christ Stopped at Eboli’.   So sad that such a beautiful country has seen such hopeless defeat.

I remember that we toiled on foot in the heat, up the narrow streets leading to the Duomo right at the top.  I, for one, was grateful when we descended to our car and were on our way again.  We saw one or two more equally affecting statues in the area as we passed through villages; they were clearly by this same artist.

DETOUR THAT IS LONG AND TIRESOME

I seem to remember that it was on the return journey that evening that Graham decided to go back to the main road.  He took a wrong turn, and had to drive back almost to where we had left it in the morning in order to regain ‘our’ highway.  I know we were all quite tired by the time we climbed the stairs into our flat after our lovely day out.  In the shady rooms I could see that Graham had acquired a deeper shade of tan – not quite bronze, but getting there.