We left Tripotello on our fourth morning. We would be staying in Carini, a town just outside Palermo. Our country road crossed the island to the North Coast. It would lead us through a very large forest.
Golden woods of Parco Dei Nebrodi
My one regret in planning such a late holiday had been that already (on 8thNovember) I would have missed autumn in Britain. I love to see the colours each year. I had not expected to see them here, as back in mainland Italy there was hardly a sign of yellowing in the trees. To my delight, as we entered the forest we found the whole area was gleaming with brightly golden autumn leaves. If anything, they grew even brighter as our road climbed and then started to descend, a mountain. After two hours or so I begged Graham to stop where we might take a walk. Presently he was able to park the car by a grassy glade.
Our Golf parked by the grassy glade
Cattle of the Parco Dei Nebrodi
JOURNEY TO CARINI – AN ABRUPT END TO AN IDYLL
No sooner were we out of the car and enjoying the birdsong and the feel of soft grass through our sandal-sides than a tinkling of bells grew rapidly louder, and we could hear conversation. A large group of men and animals were obviously coming down from the mountain.
To our great consternation a largish herd of bulls appeared out of the trees. They proceeded to cross the road not very far in front of us – about twenty yards. We could see many coming up behind. So I had to forfeit my walk; but Graham took great pleasure in filming the handsome beasts with their long horns. I admit that I stood well behind him! We debated whether to post the video as it was of such poor quality, but the sounds that it captured were so evocative of the region. Several times we stopped the car in the forest. Though we only saw the cattle roundup once, we heard it several times.
Parco dei Nebrodi, Sicily.
Cattle of the Parco Dei Nebrodi
CEFALU
Duomo at Cefalù
As there was time for some sightseeing, we took the coast road to Cefalu. Itwas high time, we decided, to visit the sea again. After all, we were staying on an island!
We are not lovers of beach resorts. Rather, ‘culture vultures’, I suppose, seeking out historical buildings and art. Unlike many, though, we love to get off the beaten track. Our chief joy is diving down any little country lane that looks inviting – seeing where it leads. Though not infallible, we have discovered many a hidden gem this way.
Nobody can blame the Italians for ‘prettifying’ their fishing villages, and filling them with souvenir shops. Nevertheless, it was a joy to discover that Cefalu offered much more. It had evidence of an important past.
Its impressively grand cathedral, we learned, was built by one of Sicily’s Norman rulers; Roger the Second. As well as its twin towers, it had some intriguing and delicate arches along its front.
Deciding we did not have time enough to justify paying a rather steep entry fee, we settled for sitting just outside, sipping Peronis. Feeling cooler, we started exploring the town. Buildings gave witness to its history. We saw Byzantine and Spanish influences, as well as Norman and Arab; then rather fine Italian styles.
We made our way down to where we overlooked the rocky harbour. This still retained the look of an honest fishing village. We soaked in the view along the coast before getting back in the car.
Cefalù
Days 4 & 5:
CARINI – TROUBLE FINDING OUR B&B – ‘THE GREEN HOUSE’
Our next B&B was in The Green House, in Carini – run by Alesso and his mother. We had terrible trouble finding it. Miss Satnav would insist on sending us down an empty back-alley right beside the elevated motorway we had come in on.
This was not the first time that Airbnb had given insufficient directions. We tried telephoning the number on our sheet, but with no success.
Finally we retraced our steps and found a café nearby. After a refreshing coffee, the owner tried phoning for us, and obtained more detailed directions.
Our B&B was in the road behind the alley, and had to be approached from a different direction entirely!
CARINI B&B – HELPFUL HOSTS
As we turned into a very private small road, our host came out to direct us to a parking place, and then, with his mother, helped Graham carry in our luggage.
We found ourselves in a very nice private house – the inside reminding us vaguely of ‘haciendas’ seen in Hollywood films.
We had a large bedroom, although the wardrobe was at that time filled with someone’s clothes (this may have been unavoidable). We had to share the bathroom, but that proved no problem.
CARINI B&B – CAKES FOR BREAKFAST
Mamma (Janice?) went to great lengths to produce nice breakfasts, cooking many cakes (which is about the only time Italians eat cakes – and little else!) It was very reasonably priced. We felt very welcome in their private home, and we stayed two nights.
Adresse Chambres d’hôtes Green House : Via Medusa 3 – 90044 CARINI
(We booked this place through Air B&B – but as so often with them, we had vexing complications regarding payment (through exchange rates, I think). We will not use them again – at least for staying abroad. They are never as cheap as the first advertised price anyway.) To be fair, many friends back in England have been pleased with bookings in our own country.
The next day we visited Syracuse – city of living history. Principally because we love history, Central Syracuse impressed us the most of the whole island of Sicily. In truth – Syracuse (or ‘Siracusa’ as the Italians call it – and it is THEIR city) is a place so full of beauty, history and charm that we know we only touched the surface. If we are ever able to return to Sicilia we will make Siracusa our base.
SYRACUSE – FIRST THINGS FIRST – WE PARK IN THE BUSY HARBOUR
As I remember, it took a long time to traverse the road from the highway that led down to Syracuse. Like most early settlements, it was built by the sea. Following the signs to ‘Harbour Car Park’ we saw, as we got close, the spars of yachts and other boats, large and small. Then we entered a wide, clean street lined by smart hotels. We emerged by the most impressive: a quietly grand, pinky-terra-cotta building of some age. It took up the entire corner at the end of the horseshoe-shaped enclosed harbour.
Near the Harbour
Even more imposing was the ‘palazzo’ we could see beyond the large bridge spanning the river that disgorged into the sea. We parked, and strode into the small piazza where they sold tickets for boat trips. But we were both thirsty, and there was a tempting little bar facing the sea.
Cafe
SYRACUSEHARBOUR – AN EXCELLENT LITTLE BAR
A pretty, friendly girl served us with Peronis, while I admired the covered snacks that lined a long, covered ‘cooler’ counter. It was too early for lunch. Later, when we stopped at a place that gave us the ‘end of season’ treatment, I bitterly regretted that we had not gone back to that bar – but we did not wish to retrace our steps so early.
Cats attracted by a birdcage on a balcony
SYRACUSE – WE CLIMB NARROW OLD STREETS
There was quite a trek up narrow, winding streets of elegant, tall houses. I would guess them to be late eighteenth century – like our Georgian era. Cats hogged every patch of sun until frightened off by motorbikes. These roared down (and up) at fairly regular intervals, somehow dodging around us in the confined space. Then the cats would reclaim their patch of sun. Italian love of cats may be because they keep rats and mice at bay in these warm old towns. Every so often we would find ourselves in a small piazza, generally with a fountain in the centre. Some of these had stately and elaborate stone carvings as a base.
SYRACUSE – THE BEST THINGS ARE ALWAYS AT THE TOP
Emerging from the deep shadows of a narrow street we were lured by the airs of Vivaldi being expertly played on a guitar. As soon as our eyes adjusted to the brilliant sunlight, we found ourselves in a very large and elegant piazza. Graham was enchanted by the expertise of the romantic-looking, curly-haired young man who sat outside the cathedral, absorbed in his music. He was very talented indeed. After taking several photographs, and engaging in conversation, Graham asked permission to make a small video. After buying a CG, and exchanging email addresses (sadly mislaid since), Graham left a generous tip and we resumed exploring.
SYRACUSE DUOMO – UNIQUE IN BEAUTY AND HISTORY
The Duomo
We especially admired the Duomo (Cathedral). It had a very clean, elaborate, baroque frontage – all rosy-white. But the gasp factor came when we went inside and found ourselves in a vast, mainly empty space with pitted columns of enormous girth. We had to look right up to see the tops – so high was the ceiling. To our right, beyond the nave, we could discern many chapels hidden behind them.
A DAGGER IN HER THROAT.
One of the inner chapels was dedicated to St Lucia– one of the three patron saints of the city. There she stood, richly dressed in real clothes, with a large, fearsome dagger stuck in her neck. She gets regularly paraded like this throughout the city.
AN EARLY CONVERSION.
Inside the Duomo
We learned that the whole building is an early conversion, using parts of an ancient Greek temple to Athena. Indeed, on one side of the exterior you can see where the walls have been contrived. They were built in-between the ancient columns, still standing strong in their entirety.
SYRACUSE’S ANCIENT TREASURES – HIDDEN BENEATH THE BAROQUE.
We had to pay a small sum to enter. It was explained that our tickets also included the remains (next door, and below the level of the cathedral crypt) of a much older, (5000 year-old) temple to Artemis. She was the daughter of Zeus (chief god) and Leto. Artemis was Goddess of Hunting, like the Roman Diana. We also saw the few remains, below the Duomo, of the 5th-century BC great Greek Temple of Athena aforementioned, which had been ransacked to build the present cethedral above it. Archeological site excavations by Paolo Orsi in 1907-1910 show that Greek temple to have been built on even older foundations. They uncovered a wealth of archaic and pre-Hellenic artefacts. Many are held by the Museo archeologico regionale Paolo Orsi in Syracuse.
Part of the Old Temple
THE PLINTHS FOR THE SHATTERED COLUMNS STOOD HIGHER THAN ME
We had to approach the ruins of the older temple (to Artemis) through a rather scruffy, neglected garden. Some shallow steps led down until we finally stood at the bottom, on a wooden walkway. A marvel met our eyes: We appeared to be about three feet above the uneven floor level of an enormous chamber. The sheet of explanations stated that most of the pillars had been broken up or transported to build the temple to Athena that was the basis of the Duomo next door. Even so, I got down and stood on the base of one of the plinths upon which the original pillars were erected, and the square block of stone reached to above my head.
5,000-YEAR-OLD SPECIAL SEATS REVIVE OLD MEMORIES
As we progressed along the walkway more marvels emerged. Namely. a glass-covered relief model of the original layout, and then an intact row of stone latrines. They reminded me of the old ‘karsies at the bottom of the garden’ that I had to use each time I was evacuated to the country as a child. (I wondered if those very, very Ancient Greeks had the equivalent of little squares of newsprint strung on gut dangling down beside them…) These were grander, as they had armrests carved between each hole. I had a vision of Greek worthies sitting solemnly reading their scrolls like Mr Bridger in ‘The Italian Job’.
The Latrines
WE DISCOVER THE BACK HARBOUR (ORTIGIA ISLAND)
By that time we were quite thirsty, but we took that stroll round the back of the headland, and found a completely different harbour from the one we had first encountered. There was a feeling of it being much as it would have been in the Renaissance, with sailing ships pulling up to disgorge cargo into the smaller warehouses that lined the long sweep of the quay.
Syracuse harbour
HUNDREDS OF PHOTOS – SPECIAL MEMORIES
Graham has many, many photos of this wonderful ancient city. Its old side streets captivated him, as well as the grand squares with their fountains. Below is a taster of the many ‘quiet corners’ where people live their lives, relatively undisturbed by tourists.
A Quiet Corner
A Cartouche
HIDDEN FROM TOURIST EYES
While in that area we explored some other, lesser-known towns inland, and closer to Mount Etna. Most of these betrayed the very real poverty Sicily is still suffering. We got curious stares as we entered one town where we had to turn around because the road leading out from the main square and down the mountain had completely collapsed, right in front of a house! We felt great empathy for these struggling people, and could not help wondering why more of the riches culled from tourists like us could not be shared to improve the lot of these inner, less-penetrated towns and villages.
We were going on a ‘drive of discovery’ when, close to Tricarico, we happened on this restaurant at 2pm on All Saints Day – another Bank Holiday. We were hungry, but expected to find the door locked.
Not a bit of it! The first thing that caught my eye was the strange headdresses hanging on the wall. Multi-coloured ribbon streamers hung from one; the other was black. Nearby a log fire was blazing in the large grate, and even at this time of day, two or three tables were occupied.
WE GET A COUNTRY WELCOME!
Everyone looked up and gave us ‘Buon Giorno’, and the son of the house hurried to welcome us. He offered us a table near the fire, but we thought that might be too hot. So he placed us near some rapidly filling tables in the middle of the room.
SURELY A LOCAL RITE LOST IN ANTIQUITY
Carnevale delle Maschere
We asked him about those long-ribboned headdresses.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Those are my father’s and mine. We wore them for the Carnevale delle Maschere, Tricarico. My father was all in black, with the red streamers. He represented the bull. I was the cow.’ Seeing our puzzled faces, he quickly explained – though by now the other local customers were anxious to add their bit.
It seems that sometime in January comes the day dedicated to the patron saint of animals. Local people take their animals (many adorned with beads and necklaces) to pass round the local church three times. The animals then enter to be blessed. Well, we have something similar in Britain – but not like this. I hope I’ve remembered this aright –
‘The old town is awoken at dawn by ‘low’ bells: The same service is provided by drums and clashing wooden battens. There follows a procession of men dressed from head to toe in white or black – women are forbidden.’ he continued.
‘The men in black wear the black headdresses with scarlet streamers down to their feet. They represent bulls. Those in white wear multi-coloured streamers – they are the cows. They all shake cow bells as they walk, as do the animals awaiting blessing, as bells are hung to their harnesses.’
It seems they are presently joined by the townspeople. At intervals there is a ritual ‘fertility dance’ between cows and bulls, with an enactment of the inevitable outcome. Rude humour indeed.
This sounds very primitive indeed – and reminded us of our English maypoles and Morris men. One wonders just how universal these old rites are – and just how old?
The festival lasts several days, but the procession of ‘masks’ is repeated on the Sunday, when the procession climbs up to a chapel ‘at the top of the mountain’. I cannot be sure, but it seems logical that is where the animals are blessed. There are feasts also – but when was not made clear.
‘Do you know that Tricarico is placed on a ‘transhumance’ route?’ A man in the far corner piped up. His English was good. ‘Which means,’ he continued, ‘that in the proper time and place animals and men can change into each other – and back again?’
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ quipped another, and they all joked in Italian.
‘Because of this custom Tricarico,’ Our informant resumed, somewhat importantly, ‘–and its masks, in 2009 became part of the European Federation of Carnival Cities. It is a founding member of the Southern Italy Carnival Network.’
Antipasti
A TRULY LOCAL, RUSTIC MENU
Suddenly, we all became aware of filling tables. The son of the house quickly handed us a menu and moved on.
The menu he handed us was not large – but boy, it was tempting. Hard to choose…
After a ‘lagniappe welcome’ of buffalo mozzarella whipped with chopped hazelnuts (or was it walnuts?) we each then enjoyed a very nice, generous starter. Graham was delighted with the quality of the varied antipasti; he particularly enjoys a slice of good, paper-thin braesola, and there was plenty of that for him.
Carving the Boar
WILD BOAR – FOOD FOR THE GODS
Next we shared a mixed salad, and then were served with beautifully cooked wild boar meat and porcini. (We both chose the same because there should be a poem written about this dish – oh boy!).
A HIDDEN GEM WELL WORTH FINDING
We cannot remember if we had desserts – we were probably too stuffed. We still somewhere have the receipt for this feast, and it was amazingly low-priced. A hidden gem – do find it if you are travelling that way – and it’s a beautiful drive on the top road leading to Tricarico. _Ristoro_della_Civita-Tricarico_
Turbines by the roadside
A SHORT WALK YIELDS PHOTOGRAPHS
After coming out of the restaurant we headed down a side road for a way. I had pointed out to Graham the satisfying curve made by the very tall wind turbines that had been installed – rather incongruously, on that lonely road. Even so, those stark vertical lines sweetly curving on the edge of a seeming precipice (for the ‘view’ was set well back behind them, across an invisible divide) made an arresting contrast.
A CRUMBLING BEAUTY
Masseria
While Graham trotted off with his camera, I dove down a steep, short track, and was soon rewarded by the charm of a dilapidated but once-gracious masseria. It looked to be a few centuries old, but that may have been the effect of decay.
I went to join Graham and told him of my find, and when he was satisfied with his photo shots he followed me to my vantage point. Equally enthusiastic, he took a few photos, but said he was by no means certain that the place was empty, as I had assumed. He pointed to a TV aerial on the roof. Being British, we were relieved that nobody came out of the house and spotted our interest. So fond are we of this old building that we make no apologies if it has already appeared on another blog. We think it bears a second viewing…
Lone Tree
SO OFTEN TOMORROW NEVER COMES…
Afterwards, we completed the short ‘new’ road into Tricarico, and this time became aware that just up from the square, behind all the parked cars, there was a complete medieval city. However, the sky was darkening, and there were spots of rain, and the narrow, grey streets looked dauntingly steep to me. So we left it ‘for later’. As so often, that ‘later’ never came. We never learn…
This has to be the day when I found myself eye to eye with eagles.
In bed that morning I said to Graham:
“Remember all those gorgeous small mountains we passed on the way to Pompeii? I marvel each time I see them – particularly a cluster on the left of the road.” He nodded. “Well,” I wheedled, “I’ve just looked up Google maps, and then Images. There’s a really attractive little village called Trivigno. It’s not too far away, honestly – 40 minutes, if you take the main roads… And if we don’t go now, we never will.”
WE TAKE THE ROADS LESS TRAVELLED
Hilltop town
40 minutes? At least, that’s the theory. Of course, we did not go by main road: at least, not once we had left behind the boring bits. Graham is just as fond as I am of diving down side roads (or in this case, up). And up, and up again until, our little Golf quite dizzy, we reached the top. Even from afar off we could see a small town perched atop a high mountain.
A MOUNTAIN TOPPED WITH SILVER
It was dominated by a large dome. It gleamed bright silver, reflecting the sun in quite a dazzling way. (This proved to belong to a large Planetarium). This was not Trivigno, but the nearby town of Anzi, which we visited afterwards.)
Anzi with Planetarium right at the top
To resume: As we rounded each bend the views became ever more breathtaking. Mountains pushed behind more mountains. We sometimes saw down to the now-distant highway. Toy cars passed insect-sized animals in the fields far, far below.
Mountain peaks on the way to Trivigno
And thus it was that we visited what became one of my very favourite places. We could never think to stay there –as it had no restaurant, not even a café. There were just two bars. One was really tiny, run by an elderly couple.
Mountain roads
TRIVIGNO – FULL OF SURPRISES
Once we turned off the main road our valiant little Golf tackled potholes that belonged by rights in the Grand Canyon. Dog-leg curves went round nearly 300 degrees in places, and that on a 45-degree slope. In many places the low ‘safety barrier’ had been stove in, or was missing altogether. Round and round we went, and up and ever up. We declined Miss SatNav’s suggestions of tiny little grass-grown tracks that shot out like arrows. They sped in a straight line (almost vertical, they seemed) directly to the top.
AN OMINOUS ‘PONG’
At one point an awful smell assailed our nostrils. I kept trying to guess what it was.
Graham said, “look down to the left”. I did so, to see a small graveyard – the type with mausolea above ground. A woman completely swathed in black clothes was making her way along one of the paths. We assumed that there had been a recent burial in a tomb in need of repair. This was not surprising in what might well prove to be a very poor mountain-top village.
Main Street – Trivigno
WE ATTRACT STARES
We arrived at 1.30, and found some men gathered outside a bar; but that one was closed. When we asked for a Ristorante, they shook their heads. They pointed to a very small, shabby shop at the top of the steep street by the square where we’d have to park our car.
Only half-believing, we went inside to find a clean and well-stocked little shop. We waited for all the locals to be served first. After all, this was probably their lunch hour. Finally, we asked the old lady who was serving if she would kindly make us a sandwich. But I spotted, in a glass case, half of a freshly made foccaccia. This delicious Italian flatbread was loaded with tomato paste, sun-dried tomatoes and olives.
WE BUY A WHITE CHEESE ‘BALLOON’
We bought a tiny cheese to try with it; one of those shaped like a party balloon. But when we opened our ‘picnic’ this cheese proved to have a wax skin, instead of a length of cleaned intenstine. When we cut it, the inside was extremely creamy and milky. Pure white, it was too mild for our taste. But we decided we must try some of those larger ‘balloon’ cheeses before we left the area. They come in all sizes, and they probably vary in taste according to where they are produced.
A PICNIC ABOVE THE CLOUDS
It was 26 degrees Celsius or more, so we looked for a patch of shade. We chose a thick stone bench overlooking the mountaintops opposite. We brought out the cheese and prosciutto (ham) we’d purchased. It was quite a feast, washed down with bottles of fruit juice.
Courtyard entrance
NOT THE BEST CUP OF COFFEE
Then we walked down to the little bar at the bottom for kaffé. It was manned by a toothless inhabitant of great age. I had a hard time making him understand my need for – you’ve guessed it…
The kaffé was not good, and the little cups less than spotless. It transpired that he was minding the place while his wife (younger and fitter) was out shopping or something. Presently she came down from the hill the other side, clucking at him reprovingly.
We then made our way slowly up that very steep hill. I clung to Graham’s arm while using my stick in my other hand. We passed very old and pretty small houses and the open door of what must have once been the ‘Palazzo’. Looking past the few restoration bits and pieces we glimpsed several arches and wide steps disappearing from a sizable courtyard.
STATUES DRESSED IN SILK AND VELVET
Next came a little building that did not from the street look like a church. However, the door was open and we glimpsed the stained glass and effigies. Was this where some life sized lady saints (dressed ‘up to the nines’ in 17th century fashionable silks and velvets) were enclosed in glass domes? I know we saw several of these, and it is hard to be certain that it was in this little church in Trivigno that there were so many, and so sumptuously dressed. One especially impressed me in a generous gown of dark green velvet trimmed with intricate cream handmade lace. She was wearing a rich-looking ruby necklace.
Alter screen at Trivigno
SO MANY CHURCHES – SO SMALL A TOWN
There seemed a surprising number of churches for such a small, mountaintop town.
One in particular left a lasting impression: It was dedicated to San Pietro (St Peter).
Church organ at Trivigno
We were surprised and delighted when we went inside. We admired a handsome malachite and gold barrier topped by most delicate intricate wrought iron separating the sanctuary. It supported the pure white pottery Jesus on a wooden crucifix. All that wrought iron was studded with lit candle-type lights that bathed the figure in dazzling white light.
MORE JAWDROPPING BEAUTY
As we turned around to leave we were astounded to see a large golden balcony above the main door. Rising from it were the silver pipes of an organ. Such riches for a tiny church in a modest little mountaintop village!
THE GUARDIAN OF THE STEPS
Suddenly, round a steep corner, we were confronted with a long, narrow ‘staircase’ of shallow steps. They led up the steep slope to a facing row of houses like nothing I’d seen so far in Italy. We had just put a foot each on the lowest step when we were startled by fierce barking from a dog; heard but not seen. We paused, uncertainly, and at last a woman came out on her little balcony and led him indoors.
I COME TO A HALT – I GET VERTIGO
She waved us on up. We rounded that terrace to go further up amongst abandoned, if not ruined dwellings. There was still a steep climb until we came out right at the top. There was nothing but a very narrow path leading round the house on our right. It looked out, like us, over a sheer drop. We looked across miles of apparently empty space to the closest mountain of a range. In the clear air I felt that I could almost touch them.
Jackie’s View – closer to the peaks
LOOKING DOWN ON BIRDS OF PREY
Kites and buzzards and eagles wheeled around us. ‘In fact’, said Graham, standing on that narrow corner, ‘I’m actually looking DOWN on birds of prey! And I’m not in an aeroplane!’
As for me; I stepped cautiously sideways, and with quaking legs lowered myself onto a slab of concrete.
ALONE WITH EAGLES SWOOPING ROUND ME
Graham was, of course, enchanted. He took snap after snap, and then noticed some very narrow steps to his left, leading down around the rooftops. He hoped it led to what resembled a short runway and helicopter pad sticking out on a promontory.
Trivigno’s Platform in the Sky
HELICOPTER PAD – SACRIFICE JUMP-OFF
I don’t think it was – we think it was built for religious processions – but it was a unique viewing platform that Graham had to attain. So for 30 minutes or so I sat steadfastly unmoving, gazing over the void to the spectacular mountaintops. An eagle flew over to study me, and when I summoned the strength to stand up and turn around Icould see Graham’s tiny figure far out on the end of the ‘peninsula’.
Jackie on Terra FirmaLocals putting the world to rights
ON THE EDGE OF THE VOID
It looked to me as though the railings ceased right at the end. Visions assailed me of this being used for human sacrifices in days long past. I prayed fervently that my venturesome husband would not stand on the edge. He did; of course. He waved, and I quickly sat down again until he finally returned to me, safe and sound. It was a long twenty minutes until he returned; I could only study the eagles, hoping they did not wish to study me at closer quarters!
I’ll never forget tiny, humble, magic Trivigno. It’s Sump’n Else!
ANZI – A PLANETARIUM ON TOP OF THE WORLD
We had to go back via Anzi, so we eventually took the winding road up to this much larger hilltop town. We went along a quite smart street, and were able to locate the road up to the unmissable Planetarium. However, when Graham saw the rough, unmade track leading to it, he balked… He’s tackled some hairy roads in his time, so I respected his wishes. Anyway, science isn’t exactly my passion.
Zig-zag road to the Planetarium
THE LOCALS SEE US TURN ‘CHICKEN’
To the bemusement of some of the local population we rejoined the road at the point where it started corkscrewing down the ‘small’ mountain. The toy cars gradually became larger and the pinpricks in the fields turned into cows.
ROUND DIZZYING BENDS – A RECEPTION COMMITTEE
It was with relief that we at last emerged from the last bend. Lovely to drive on a nice flat surface on a nice wide junction of empty roads. But then a shock! We wondered why no less than THREE Caribiniere (and officers of high rank at that, from the look of their uniforms) were waiting to greet us. What had we done? What crime had we committed?
But it was soon evident that these were comrades who had just emerged from some Ceremonial lunch or something. They greeted us with polite waves, and then laughingly passed cigars around. Graham pointed the car back to Grottole. We were satisfied with our Day in the Clouds. Amongst all our travels of recent years we were certain we would be able to call to mind quite vividly the remarkable Eagle’s Nest that is the tiny village of Trivigno.
We went over to Pompeii to share our 40th wedding anniversary with our ‘Italian Family’.
Our Italian Family
Again we were taken to Andrea and Antonella’s comfortable house overlooking the town. As Graham walked in bearing the loaf he had bought that morning, Andrea, our host, shouted in delight: “Matera bread! Bellissima!” (Matera’s bread is famous all over Italy; that country where food is revered as much as in neighbouring France).
Andrea straightway cleared away the pre-laid baskets of bread, and bore the Matera loaf away to be cut up and presented in its stead.
After a starter I cannot remember – only that we found it delicious, washed down with the wine we had brought, came salad, followed by toasts to us on our 40th wedding anniversary. –
Pompano
GRAHAM DOESN’T ENJOY FISH – BUT REALLY ENJOYS EATING POMPANO
– And then Andrea brought from the kitchen a whole Pompano he had cooked. Even Graham, who on the whole has to be coaxed to eat fish, cleared his plate. He then, to the delight of Andrea, mopped up the juices with a hunk of the aforementioned Matera bread.
– AND I PIG OUT ON ANTONELLA’S DESSERT
The ‘boys’ had all dashed over to the couch by then, while Antonella’s dessert was handed round. It was a chocolate and hazelnut torte or cake, if memory serves. Both husband and wife are excellent cooks (well, to my knowledge Andrea always cooks the fish).
LOCALS CELEBRATE US – DULY TOASTED – ‘IL FOOTBALL’ TAKES OVER
They all rushed to explain that there was a major football match about to start on the television; (Napoli v Milano, Graham says.) Due attention having been paid to our Wedding Anniversary, the entire family now squashed onto the couch for the Main Event.
Graham and Antonella perched on the arms. Every eye was glued to the screen. Italians are just as intense about their football as we English (with notable exceptions).
I am one, though out of politeness I tried not to show it.
LOCALS CELEBRATE – Le FIVE ‘FOOTBALL FANS’
When Vincenzo offered to give his place to me I said I was happy to sit on a chair to the side, as I was ‘so full of food’. I quickly learned which team to cheer for, and which to shout down. My consolation was that so many of the footballers were real Hollywood Beefcake material. Italians are, taken as a whole, an extremely good-looking and sexy race.
Of course, being Italians, and Italian football fans at that – and Napoli just down the road, there was as much shouting and punching of the air as if we were in a stadium.
LOCALS CELEBRATE US – GIVE ANNIVERSARY PRESENT
After the match was over we gathered our things to go back to La Casa di Plinio, where we had our usual room reserved (but at no charge, they insisted). Antonella disappeared, to return swiftly with a present for us. It was a lovely warm, furry comforter blanket. We are both currently enjoying it now this winter has REALLY kicked in. It is on our bed, giving extra warmth on cold nights – but is as light as a feather. We think of our lovely ‘family’ each night and morning.
LOCALS CELEBRATE ANOTHER ‘BIT OF A DO’ – MASSERIA MAZZAPEDE
We also had an inkling there’d be a ‘bit of a do’ back at the Masseria in Grottole on the Sunday; to celebrate the return from Rome of the elder son. But, even though Giuseppe had only just learned of it, we felt our Wedding Anniversary would not be forgotten! We had strict instructions not to be late for the lunch.
Sunday, 30th October:
LOCALS CELEBRATE AT MASSERIA MAZZAPEDE -A FAMILY REUNION –
AND OUR 40TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY
We hurried back for the Celebration Barbeque at 1pm.
On the Veranda at Masseria Mazzapede
A DOUBLE CELEBRATION – FAMILY REUNIONS – A LOVELY CHILD
Giuseppe’s brother Alfonso had come from Rome with his friendly wife and their little girl; a child so beautiful she took our breath away. She had long, glossy chestnut hair and those smoky, truly grey eyes that are so rarely seen in Britain. One might come across them more often in Southern Ireland – but we had also noticed a glamorous beauty with those identical assets on a couple of episodes of “Inspector Montalbano”.
LOCALS CELEBRATE WITH A TYPICAL ITALIAN FAMILY MEAL – A LONG TABLE NEEDED!
This little girl was pleased to meet with her young cousins; also the granddaughters of Giuilia’s best friend. This time the veranda was filled with the long table – about twenty people seated. I imagine every Italian family must have these folding tables stashed away somewhere. Everywhere in Italy you see these family feasts. When there is a special Saint’s Holiday the residents will be joined by visiting American, Canadian and Australian cousins. We found it the most heart-warming sight.
LOCALS CELEBRATE – A SPEECH IN TWO LANGUAGES – SIGNORA GIULIA RICCARDI
Giulia with Jackie
Giuilia made two speeches. One in Italian, of welcome to Alfonso and his family, who we gathered could not get time away often enough for his mother. Next came a lovely one in two languages saying how much they had loved meeting we Ushers. We heard repeated references to our many good qualities. It was hard to recognise ourselves, and we joshed each other afterwards.
LOCALS CELBRATE US – WE RECEIVE MORE LOVELY GIFTS
We were also presented with lovely gifts. I was especially touched to be presented with a large embroidered tablecloth, clearly a treasured heirloom. If only I could let Giulia know that I too treasure it.
LOCALS CELEBRATE WITH A SPECIAL HEART-SHAPED CAKE FOR US
And she had baked another of those wonderful, unique lemon-filled cakes. There was another in the shape of a heart, topped with the icing figures ‘4’ and ‘0’. It was filled with raspberries and pink cream. Giulia presented it to us ‘For your Wedding Anniversary.’ We cut and shared it with full and happy hearts.
LOCALS CELEBRATE THE IMPORTANCE OF ‘FAMIGLIA’
Family means everything to Italians – and friends are enclosed into the family. It will not take long to be received as their friend. I love these openhearted, direct Italian people so much.
Carlo Levi described Ferrandina as a hangout for vultures and bandits. That was in 1936, when he was taken there as a political prisoner. Presumably still so in 1947 when ‘Christ Stopped at Eboli’, his book on the area, was published in English.
FERRANDINA – FIRST PASS THE FLATS
He described the town as standing high on a wooded bluff. It sounded interesting, and we were not disappointed when we visited. That is, once we had passed the blocks of flats that dominated the road until you reached the top of the sprawling modern town. At first it seemed like we would not be able to access the hilltop citta istorica at all.
FERRANDINA – WE RISK A HEFTY FINE
Suddenly there was a Zona Traffico Limitato sign (click here for info). The only car park was just beyond it and across the road, behind an old building. We took the chance of a hefty fine and crossed the few yards over, but the small space was full. We retraced down and looked for another way up, but without luck.
FERRANDINA – A TRUDGE UP AN ENDLESS HILL
Finally, we had to park at the bottom of the town. I took my stick and Airomir atomiser, and with the help of Graham’s arm, I tackled the long, steep slope to the old top town.
Duomo from the entrance to the citta istorica
FERRANDINA – FOOTBALL IN A TINY YARD
I am happy to report that the climb was worth it. We passed some intriguing little shops, including a Gelato, which also sold kaffé and little cakes. Gratefully, I could sit and finish an ice cream while recovering breath for the rest of the climb. When we commented to the proprietor about the length of the steep hill, he clucked through his teeth in exasperation.
“Those kids again,” he said. “They think it funny to turn the sign around. It should point to a very small, private back street. Sir – you can bring your car up here and park just at the top there.” He took Graham to the doorway and pointed. When we complemented him on his English, he said he had worked in London and some of the home counties for some years. He was very courteous and suggested places to look out for. Graham walked down and fetched our car, then we thanked him and made our farewells.
Soon we reached a very small central square, passing schoolboys playing football in a small concrete yard next to an old seminary.
Being Scrutinised
FERRANDINA – WE ARE SCRUTINISED BY LOCAL MORALITY-MATRONS
Just above it stood the modest Duomo, which appeared closed. Some older women, stockinged and robed all in dark clothes, their heads covered (as you still often see in the far south of Italy), sat on the steps of a nearby cottage, knitting and chatting. They all stopped to stare long and hard at us.
Above a door
We passed through an arch into a narrow, tiled street of what had once been quite grand houses. One had the sign ‘Palazzo’ above it. Graham took many photos.
At the end, we passed out onto steps leading down to a spacious ‘promenade’. This stretched almost right round the town. It gave onto impressive, far views. There was no old stone wall, as in other hilltop towns. Thankfully, it was girded by a railing.
FERRANDINA – MY SILENT CONVERSATION
We discovered that we were indeed on the top of the old City Wall. (We were amazed at how incredibly high it had been built all those centuries ago, when later we viewed it from below).
A more barren outlook
As I reached the bottom step a smiling lady of about my own age addressed me. She had no English, and my Italian is almost non-existent. We both carried sticks, and waved them in greeting. We got along just fine, and appeared to understand each other perfectly. We puffed our lips out and waved our hands in front of our faces to indicate the tiring effect of the heat, etc.
Edge of City wall
I found this connection delightful, and Graham was vastly amused.
Cloister
While I was negotiating the steps down to the wall Graham had moved further round on the other side. Soon he was peering round a large, open doorway. The dignity and beauty of the courtyard drew him in, and he found that he was within the confines of a convent. He could not resist taking a photo of this corridor, viewed through another, open door. We now know that this building has been turned into an hotel, so he was not such a trespasser after all!
FERRANDINA CONVENT – TAKEN FROM OLD NOTES
We do not know if the contents of the building are still as described in these old notes:
The monastic complex of Santa Chiara dates back to 1688. It is an imposing building in which there is a tower that dominates the entire city.Inside, in addition to a Crucifixion by Pietro Antonio Ferro, there is a painting depicting the Immaculate attributed to Francesco Solimena, dating back to around 1730, is of great value. The monastic complex of San Domenico dates back to 1517 and was restored in Baroque style, and completed in 1760. Paintings from the Neapolitan school, a seventeenth-century organ and a high altar with polychrome marbles.
FERRANDINA – DIFFERENT OUTLOOKS
Olive groves & arable fields in the distance
The views varied on each side of the wall. From one we looked out on flattish cultivated fields. From the other there stretched a panorama of greyish-white clay hills with only small occasional tufts of grass – exactly the barren landscape described by Carlo Levi.
The Clay
Strolling towards the sun in a cool dim street
There was a nice, very small park on our way down. It was in grassed terraces, and had many seats looking out upon the open view. Trees crowned it. I wondered if it might be a remnant of the bandits’ forest? We never found the castle itself, although we saw it from the road. We were probably right behind it when we had to turn back along that ‘promenade’ walk.
FERRANDINA – FAREWELL WITH KAFFÉ AND CAKES
Before walking back down to our car we went back to the gelato and each had a kaffé and cakes. The owner was very chatty and informative about the colourful history of his town. His English was perfect. He’d worked for many years in Britain. He said he had loved it in our country and had only come back to take over the running of the family business. Apart from the suspicious old ladies, everybody we met had been very friendly and greeted us. We felt we would like to return to explore a bit more.
FERRANDINA – A POTTED HISTORY:
The early chapters of Ferrandina’s history are thanks to archaeological findings, and historical evidence discovered in the old centre. Written testimony dates back to around 1029.
Ferrandina’s origins are extremely ancient. Its dominating position favoured human settlements since the Iron Age. (Ancient discoveries were found under the city). 1,000 years before Christ a community from Magna Grecia named this hilltop settlement Troilia, in honour of legendary Troy.
Nearby, another village was founded, constructed around the castle of Obelanum: (Uggiano). Both towns reflected Greek culture. During the Byzantine period Troila underwent considerable development, becoming important. The Byzantine rulers weakened, and new conquerors arrived in the south of Italy. First the Lombards, then the Normans.
In the 1400’s a violent earthquake destroyed the villages around. Frederick of Aragon had a new city built with the help of refugees from nearby Uggiano. They transferred here and named it Ferrandina, (probably in honour of the son of King Ferrante I and Frederick of Aragon’s brother, Ferrandino, who died very young). Frederick of Aragon built a defensive system of walls and watchtowers; also a castle. He laid the foundation stone of the mother church, dedicated to Santa Maria della Croce.
The 1500’s brought economic growth through agriculture, sheep farming and the ever-increasing demand for “Ferlandina”, a high quality fabric produced by the women of the city. The largest purchases of Ferlandina were by Dominican monks who settled here, dug a well, and organized an urban centre and a church dome dedicated to San Domenico.
Later, Ferrandina suffered a long period of social struggle and uprisings. The well-known independent spirit of the inhabitants became very evident. Citizens of Ferrandina still proudly display the same fierce resistance to interference to their way of doing things!
During the Risorgimento Ferrandina took a liberal stance and actively participated in the revolts of 1821 and 1860. After the Unity of Italy, there were military clashes between the “briganti” (local rebels) and forces from Piedmont representing the King. In fact, it was here that the infamous “brigand” Carmine Crocco defeated an entire company of the Savoy army.
The advent of Fascism brought about one of Ferrandina’s darkest periods. The population had never approved of Mussolini’s operations or his regime, which made the town a target for his hit squads, eventually leading to the assassination of the mayor, Nicolo Montefinese.
In 1943, toward the end of WW2, the people of Ferrandina rose up once more against Fascism. The protests grew more heated and bitter after the 2nd of August, 1945, when they began forcefully demanding the exile of the Fascist landowners and the restitution of the land they had seized. The government feared this spirit of rebellion would spread to other towns. Ferrandina was put into lockdown, left for days without electricity or telephone lines. The situation slowly normalized when the provisional anti-Fascist government sent a garrison of the police, followed by a visit from the acting Minister, Scelba.
In 2003, a new spirit of protest ignited the inhabitants of Serrandina, who did not hesitate to take to the streets to demonstrate against the construction of a toxic/nuclear waste collection center in the nearby municipality of Scanzano Jonico.
The Church of Santa Maria della Croce:
In 1491, Frederick of Aragon laid the foundation stone for the mother church in Ferrandina, which is all we know about its construction. The stark façade has almost no decoration. Only three rose windows and three portals; the centre one has two carved stone columns. The interior of the church dates back to the 1700’s, but echoes earlier Baroque style. The central altar is a masterpiece of multi-coloured inlaid marble, creating a play of colour and light. Behind the apse, hidden from curious eyes, there is a hand-carved wooden choir, a pipe organ and two statues carved in wood, of Frederick of Aragon and his wife Isabella del Balzo. The mother church of Ferrandina holds two great treasures, one inside the other. The first;a stauroteca bearing the oldest stamp of the goldsmith’s art in Naples, dating back to 15c. The second, the holy relic it jealously guards: sacred slivers of wood ‘from the Holy Cross of Christ,’ to whom the church is dedicated. Every 14th September Ferrandina holds celebrations in honour of this holy relic.
If it rains on your holiday in Italy, do not be put off! Here is what happened when my bad leg was nearly healed and we took off one gloomy morning. It got worse; heavy skies, pelting rain. But it turned out to bring us some of our best memories of our three-month slow tour.
WE KITTEN-SIT
One of the many Kittens
We had not yet visited Salandra or Stigliano.
I was still recovering from my leg, but tired of staying in bed. Giuseppe had to go to Rome on business. He stayed with his brother, no doubt.
So we were left to care for the kittens (seven now, with two ‘new’ babies) and ‘the Dog’. He was Nero to us, though by now Elena had named him Bruno. He answered readily to both names.
Basically a sweet-natured animal, he was totally confused by being love-starved. (And quite often food-starved as well, I suspect, when Giuseppe stayed away for days at a time). As our gentlemanly, genial host repeatedly explained, ‘This is a farm, and I need an alert guard dog to protect the property.’ We have to accept that even in our country some farmers take this view – and without being a farmer one cannot question that its validity.
Ce La Vie! Autumn approached. It felt very cold one morning at 15C. I wondered, ‘how are we going to cope with December at home?’
RAINY DAY – FINDING LOCAL COLOUR FOR A CRIME NOVEL
While I was laid up Graham was getting on nicely with writing a crime story about a lovable, fat Italian Detective Inspector. He found plentiful material in the area to provide ‘colour’. As well as the regional food there are boar, wolves and deer in the woods and around the lake, where we came across a snake (off-putting). Boar and even wolves I can just about walk amongst, but snakes…
Lago San Guiliano
RAINY DAY WALK BY THE LAKE
About Lago Giuliano: it was a reservoir for Matera, and had been built in the 1950’s.
One day we decided to brave the wolves, despite Giuseppe’s insistence that they had already moved down in this comparatively warm weather at the end of October. Our scepticism grew when he added bears to the list when talking to me; just how gullible does he think I am?
One of my first outings in the support stockings was to explore this tourist attraction nearby. Not for its boats and swimming (at least not when we went down – everything was closed). We went for the peace and the guided wildlife walks. On our second visit, when I could walk further, we went there expressly to use their services but we found the Wildlife Centre also closed. However, we saw plenty of flora and fauna to interest us.
RAINY DAY WOODS – WHAT NO WOLVES? – WEASELS INSTEAD
It was not really raining on THAT day – just a brief shower.
Lake Giuliano is not a very large lake, but it is very beautiful. There is a road right around it, so we moved off after mooching around in the woods at our end. We spotted many attractive birds, even egrets. Further on we stopped to admire a little island. We caught swift movement in the bushes. We worried – a fearsome boar? A wolf perhaps? But no – we kept still; the creature emerged – a weasel.
We got back in the car and found a rusty but attractive sign for a restaurant. The wide gates just off the road were open, so we drove up until we found some more, larger gates – locked this time.
Through them we could see an attractive complex, with the restaurant at its centre. I looked up the place on the Internet and it appears very pleasing; a sort of holiday village as well as the restaurant. The name of the place bears out some of Giuseppe’s claims; it is called
Agriturismo Tenuta la Volpe, which translates into Farmhouse Estate of the Fox.
GRAHAM IS GIVEN A GIFT
Graham was doing all the shopping in Miglionico. On one such visit he obtained for my cousin Clive a nice piece of olive root with twisted markings: Vincenzo, who had inherited some very small, old olive groves, found it and gave it to him.
He took Graham to his house and his family ‘cave’, deep beneath. It is a storeroom full of old farm implements and other fascinating stuff. Graham values this new fast-formed friendship, and has a great respect for Vincenzo, who is very kind and courteous.
23rd October:
RAINY DAY EXCURSION – DEFYING DOCTOR’S ORDERS
Our highly enjoyable visits to Salandra and Stigliano happened this way:
That morning, we did a big laundry wash. After giving Graham time to put in an hour or two on his writing, we opted to ignore the doctor’s orders for me to stay in bed. Life was too short!
Instead, despite threatening rain, we decided to venture again into the nearby Regional Park of Gallipoli. We would take a roundabout route I’d printed back in England. (I was pretty sure we’d find where those two chaps on the telly went to see ‘the best’ boar sausages made).
Regional Park of Gallipoli
SALANDRA & STIGLIANO – A CHANGE OF PLAN
Finding Salandra was a case of Serendipity.
Our Rainy Day tour started like this:
Graham noticed that we had already been to two of the places on my previously planned route. So I modified it. It was Graham’s turn reading the book ‘Christ Stopped at Eboli’. He was currently learning about Stigliano in the 1930s. So we chose to go there instead.
RAINY DAY IN SALANDRA
Chiesa di Sant Antonio
We stopped first in Salandra, a charming and very clean little town. Apart from the very old building housing the municipal records we did not see much evidence of a ‘Citta Mediaevale’. Perhaps there had been an earthquake, or it had been razed in the wars. Or perhaps we completely missed an old part, which would have been in the true centre.
WE MISS THE ‘CITTA STORICA’
We walked round a few short streets behind the modern church, but could see no sign of a ‘Citta ‘Storica’. Knowing Basilicata, we feel we may well have been quite mistaken. Unfortunately, we met nobody with any knowledge of English sufficient to understand our enquiries.
But it was a pretty town for all that. We were immediately given a welcome upon getting out of our car, and presented with a sheaf of booklets on the area (sadly, all in Italian.) We guessed that Salandra was not on the main ‘tourist route’, but we found it charming. There was an attractive, modern looking church overlooking a large, paved piazza (Chiesa di San Rocco 2 pictures below). A stall set up in the square was selling nuts.
The Nut Seller
RAINY DAY SURPRISE –
SALANDRA’S SPECIALITY – WE BUY NUTS
Nuts of every kind and quality and all picked in this region. So – we bought Christmas walnuts for many of our relatives. They were fresh off the tree. The vendor broke one open for us to taste the crisp, creamy flesh.
We also bought pistachios (we decided to eat those before they ‘went off’). Also three kinds of almonds, and a great bag of uncooked peanuts. Graham loves them. I imagined the dog, Nero, might like to help him out. The chickens could tackle the shells.
There was general hearty laughter when a cheeky local resident disappeared and came back with a tiny bag of nuts for which he wanted 6 euros. Even the stallholder joined in, as he tipped generous amounts of his beautiful shelled almonds into our bags. Everybody was very friendly, as you find in the South. Especially so in the sparkling little bar, where we had Kaffé Machiata and some delicious pastries.
Chiesa di San Rocco
Main Piazza with the Medieval Town Hall
STIGLIANO
RAINY DAY – WE FIND A REFUGE
Then, despite spits of rain, it was off to Stigliano. We drove through the Little Dolomites, as this range of relatively small mountains is called. The lower slopes and valleys are bright green with grass and trees; unusual for Basilicata as a whole.
In a lull in the rain we spotted this once grand, deserted Masseria. Graham grabbed his camera and hopped out of the car. The road was empty, so I followed him up the track. A screech made me look up. Circling high above were two graceful predators – red kites. Graham was lucky to capture one in his shot.
Abandoned Masseria
Up and up we went after returning to the car. We negotiated hairpin bends and chestnut forests, to tiny Garaguso. Then close by we found SanMauro Forte. Graham ignored my pleas to explore this small citadel. (“We’ll never get anything to eat here, and it’s almost two o’clock”).
As rain started to fall heavily, we at last swept down and entered Stigliano.
Stigliano
STIGLIANO: A HOTEL AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL
We passed a hotel at the bottom of the hill. It appeared to be closed (and in any case might be too expensive). So we toured the streets a little, looking for an alternative place for lunch. The rain increased, and this did nothing for Stigliano. The grey stone buildings were all shuttered and bare. To us, with our growling bellies, the town looked dismal indeed.
STIGLIANO SEEMS A DESERTED TOWN – ON SUNDAYS
We were wondering at the ‘deserted’ look of Stigliano until we remembered it must be Sunday. (You lose track of days on a long holiday). At last we saw a van coming down a side road. Graham deliberately blocked it, to ask the driver where we could get something to eat. He said the only place where we ‘might be lucky at this hour’ was in the hotel we had passed. He assured us it was open even though by now it was nearly 3pm.
RAINY DAY RACING – BACK TO THE HOTEL
This time we approached it from a different angle; from the back. We saw a waiter fetching chairs in from the covered terrace. Graham stopped the car and I raced through heavy rain, crossing the road to intercept him. Yes, certainly they were open; we could still have lunch.
Gratefully, we followed him in the back way, past the ‘facilities’.
RAINY DAY SURPRISE
We trooped, mud on our trainers, into a beautiful light and airy room done out in cream. It had many elegantly laid tables. About four were occupied. A very long one took up one whole wall, to accommodate a happy, chattering family party. You see this everywhere in Italy. Italians love to meet up with their extended families – and eat together.
WE GATECRASH A BIRTHDAY PARTY.
THAT ONE WAITER was kept very busy indeed serving about thirty people in all. There was a young lady at one end of the long, cheerful table. She lifted her short cape and started discreetly breastfeeding an extremely young baby. Of course, that was when the waiter came in with a stack of plates to put before each person in that party. Then he and the owner/manager came through with platter after platter of gorgeously arranged seafood, salad, and the selection of cured meats called ‘Antipasti Misti’.
RAINY DAY FEAST FOR TWO:
GRAHAM’S ‘BEST BRAESOLA’ – MY SHRIMP AND ORANGE SALAD
He ran back and returned with our Antipasti. Graham enjoyed some of the best braesola he’s had in Italy (air-dried beef cut very thin). It came on a bed of rocket, and was sprinkled with thin shavings of parmisana. I had a salad with shrimp (prawns) AND would you believe, thin slices of peeled orange, served on a bed of rocket and tiny lambs’ ears. It was sprinkled with corn kernels, and drizzled artistically with balsamic vinegar. Delicioso! Good Matera bread and Vino Rossa la di Casa (house red – just a small half-carafe).
TAJARIN ALL’UOVO – VERY SPECIAL PASTA
Graham then was served with very thin, spaghetti-type pasta, made rich with many eggs (Tajarin All’Uovo’). It was smothered with porcini – the most prized mushrooms, and by far the most ‘mushroomy’. I had Agni something – I knew that was lamb. It proved to be four thin but tender lamb cutlets accompanied by a large plate of cooked spinach, (bright green and delicious). Also potatoes boiled, cut into wedges, and then fried in olive oil. Not quite chips, but both tender and crisp.
I AM CORRECTED
Meanwhile, the jollity level at the big table was rising. When glasses were raised in a toast we held up ours and said ‘To il Bambino!’ (Though when the mother passed, on her way to change the baby she gently explained that it was un Bambin-a; a girl.
WE ARE INVITED TO JOIN IN THE ‘BUBBLY’ BIRTHDAY TOAST
Nevertheless, our toast was well received. We were slightly embarrassed, though, when one of the gents came over and said in good English ‘Actually it’s my 50th birthday.’ So we congratulated him and offered a glass of our wine, but he was obviously drinking much better stuff.
We had not yet ordered dessert. Indeed, were discussing whether we really had room for it, when the owner/manager came bustling in bearing a very large box. This could only contain a birthday cake. He set it down on a small extension-table, took out the cake and lit candles.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY IN TWO LANGUAGES
The guests then all clustered around the host, who was holding aloft a large silver cake-knife. We looked on and just as they were about to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in Italian, Mr 50th Birthday beckoned the waiter. He asked him to place two champagne flutes by us. He himself came over and filled them with bubbly. Then we were brought generous slices of the cake, in time to join in (in English) the singing of ‘Happy Birthday’. (The rest sang it in Italian). They followed this with a much jollier Italian birthday song.
We will never forget that lunch, made special by being included in that family’s private celebrations. Perhaps it does happen in Britain, but I feel it would be much more remarkable than amongst warm-hearted Italians.
Indeed, during the next weekend we would twice be celebrating with Italian families our own 40th Wedding Anniversary. Watch this space!
“Let’s have a look at this place called Irsina,” I suggested, pointing to an illustration in a booklet we’d been given. So we got ourselves together and set the SatNav, only to discover that the turning to Irsina was literally just up the road. We had not often gone along it in the Grassano direction, and had certainly not noticed the signpost to Irsina. What a discovery!
Green, flattish fields, and then suddenly an enormous, high ‘wall’ that dived down below the earth’s surface. Clearly an old quarry to build the ‘new town’ which sloped quite steeply upwards above it.
Irsina by the glow of the setting sun
One of the two archways into the Cittia Storica
IRSINA – MORE RAUCOUS STARLINGS IN A QUIET PIAZZA
We found ourselves in a very long, steep High Road full of shops. The road was suddenly faced with what was clearly a very old arch (the Porta Maggiore – Main Gate). We passed through into the Citta Storica. We found ourselves in a piazza that had a grand building (for a modest country town) all along one side. There was another at the back.
The centre of the Piazza Garibaldi was taken up with thick, square clipped trees that formed a block. They were faced at intervals by park benches. As we walked in deep shade beneath these trees they suddenly came alive with loud rustlings and birdsong. They were obviously chock-full of Starlings.
IRSINA – YOU CAN SEE FOR MILES AND MILES AND –
We emerged to find ourselves looking at one of the most impressive war memorials we had ever seen. Not that it was large or elaborate; it was the vitality of the charging soldier atop his high white plinth.
War Monument
Beyond, a low wall overlooked the panoramic, colourful landscape of the feature photo at the top of this page.
We looked out over miles of typical Basilicatan plain and low, swelling hillocks dominated by a flat-topped mini-mountain in the near-distance.
A diminutive gentleman of impressive age sat on the seat facing it. Suddenly he spoke to us in very good English.
“I look at this view every day, and I never tire of it.”
“We understand. We have noticed that in Basilicata particularly, as the sunlight moves around it constantly changes the view. It’s wonderful. What a beautiful town to live in.”
And it was – very special, although in some back streets we noticed that a few of the pretty old houses had been ‘gentrified. Many were now painted in pastel colours.
(We do have a photo of that friendly, courteous citizen, but we decided not to show it, out of respect to him.)
View from Irsina
(The illustration just above was taken looking along to the left of the main photograph at the top.)
IRSINA – MORE EVIDENCE OF GREEDY BRITS – HANDS OFF!
PLEASE GREEDY DEVELOPERS – RESIST THE URGE TO ‘SNAP-UP’ PROPERTY HERE
On the Internet I discovered that this might well have been under the aegis of, I regret tosay, some Englishwoman who is advertising property in ‘Basilicatashire’.Graham and I fervently hope this person stops this cultural plundering. We have seen too many historic towns and villages in many countries ‘Disneyfied’ at worst, and ‘prettified’ at best.
In Cornwall, most of the Tourist Trap villages are now lucky to have even one single Cornish person living in them. Their pretty cottages were snapped up when cheap to buy, and ‘developed’ for incomers who now live in them for short periods. They then let them out as short holiday lets. Some villages are almost empty in the winter months because the locals cannot afford to live in the place where they were born. The inflated prices outrun the local wages.
Heaven forefend that this will be the fate of unspoiled, authentic Basilicata! We would hate this magic land to go the way of ‘Dordogneshire’. The generous – handed people who live here might become resentful, as in Cornwall and some of the scenic areas of France.
We are not saying that people should not emigrate and settle in other countries; but the incomer should always be mindful of the sensiblities of those they are joining.
Irsina’s Duomo
IRSINA- MORE INFORMATION FROM A FREE GUIDE
Irsina Citta Storica is an exquisite old hilltop town, which never ceased to fascinate us. Staying so close, we visited it at least three times. It has a small but very old (11c) Duomo. The inside is beautiful in a pleasingly unfussy way. We were privileged to hear a full account about its treasures. This was given to us by our free guide; a senior schoolboy with excellent English.
A GREAT SCHEME
In Italy there is a very good scheme whereby children learn all about the history of their town (and probably other facts.) On certain days (this was a Friday afternoon, after school) they set up a stall in the town square. They offer themselves as free guides to visitors. This also helps them to practice their foreign language skills on foreign tourists.
Giuliano, our guide, was as full of pride in his town as in his knowledge. We could be sure there would be no vandalism from him or his mates. Indeed, in all our many trips to Italy (and France) we’ve seen virtually no evidence of the vandalism that mars so many of our British towns and villages.
IRSINA – A PRETTY FEISTY SAINT
St Euphemia
The great treasure of Irsina is the delicately painted and gilded stone statue of S Eufemia (Euphemia) that stands to one side of the altar. It had stayed hidden for centuries behind dusty glass on a high shelf in a storeroom of the Cathedral – and was only discovered in 2004!
From a newspaper report at that time –
Masterpiece unnoticed for 500 years: John Hooper in Rome:
Saturday 23 October 2004 00.35 BST
‘Almost two decades of detective work, triggered by a Latin poem found in the Vatican archives, has led experts to conclude that a statue that had stood unnoticed for five centuries in a small southern Italian town is the work of a Renaissance master.’
It is attributed to the great painter Andrea Mantegna – claimed locally to be a native of Irsina, though other records show him born in Padua. All agree that he was son-in-law of Jacopo Bellini, and an influence on Giovanni Bellini. Mantegna was born in 1431, and executed (sic) in Mantua in 1506. He created his exquisite statue of St Eufemia when he was only 23 – she is the patron saint of Irsina (– and quite a gal.)
St Euphemia
(Vivien, who loves cats, would have liked Eufemia as the saint had a pet lion. We had an embarrassing time confessing to Giuseppe (after she had left) how we could not stop Vivien taking all the kittens into her bedroom at night and feeding them all with meat from our fridge as well as their kitten food. (He wanted them feral and a bit hungry, so as to catch mice. )
IRSINA – MORE THREATENING WITH HAND IN LION’S MOUTH
Eufemia’s statue is uncannily lifelike, and most remarkable in that it depicts a clearly strong woman. Here, for once, is a lady (although a saint she lacks any sort of halo) who looks extremely stern. She sends off the Saracens by putting her hand into her tame lion’s mouth.
The Saracens captured the town around 320AD. When young aristocrat Eufemia refused to meet their demands to make a pagan sacrifice (one wonders what that entailed, as she looks very pretty) they threw her into their lions’ den. She tamed and befriended the beasts. That was the story we were told, but there are some other, somewhat confusing versions.
Her expression said to Graham and me ‘Don’t f…. with me, fellars.’ (With apologies to J. Crawford).
It’s an exquisite piece. She is on a rotating plinth and at certain times they will work it for you…
IRSINA – MORE INTRIGUING SYMBOLS – IN A TEMPLAR-TEMPLE
Steps leading down to the Templar Crypt
The priest approached Graham.
I was surprised to see them in animated conversation. After the slow rotating of this remarkably beautiful statue to gasps of wonderment from all of us visitors, the caretaker took the two of us down to the 11thc cross-form crypt. It is massive, and amazingly intact. It is attributed to the Knights Templar. As well as a fading fresco where God the Creator looks down benignly from the centre of the ceiling, there is a well-preserved escutcheon with an elderly pilgrim as centrepiece.
Pilgrim and Face
Above this is a carved and painted, fat and very large heavily-moustachioed face with no apparent chin. We saw this face carved into walls (and also on stables) all over Basilicata. It is very primitive, and we wondered if it is the Italian equivalent of our ‘Green Man’.
In the centre of the floor is a roundel with classic geometric ‘flower’ or ‘daisy wheel’ pattern. (Looking it up, I think it means ‘The Seed of Life’). As at Stonehenge, the very centre of this symbol is caught by a beam of light at sunrise at both Summer and Winter Solstices. Three round windows set into the ceiling of the half-dome enable this.
Crypt – Solstice Point
St Francis
We went back several times to see more of Irsina. We walked round the ancient streets and alleys, and the small squares with fountains. In one we found a most lively statue of St Francis of Assisi holding aloft the Dove of Peace. He is standing in front of the Church of the Purgatoria.
IRSINA – MORE SURPRISES – WHIZZING PIZZAS & FINE DINING
Near the main piazza there is the pleasant Caffe Ducala Ristorante & Pizzeria serving ice creams as well as food and drink. The proprietor, who spoke perfect English, delighted in amazing us with a performance of flipping pizza bases up and around himself.
We also had a lunch and at least two evening dinners at the excellent trattoria in the main square; Trattoria Nugent da Mario e Gigia, where we met a friendly Belgian party of four. One gentleman made films in time spared from his business. Graham, with similar aspirations, was delighted. The rest of us made polite conversation while those two got ever deeper into their subject. Email addresses were exchanged, but so far no further connections have been made.
MORE GOOD FOOD – WHERE IS THIS WONDERFUL DELI-CAFÉ?
The Duomo – Martina Franca
Graham and I went back to Martina Franca to explore it further. There is much to enjoy there if you love history and quaint old buildings. We found a great little place with more good food for our lunch. I wish I could find it on the Internet, to give it a good review. It is a tiny WIFI café on one of the main streets. I can see it in my mind’s eye, but unfortunately, we have no photos.
Inside the entrance is a glassed-in counter displaying excellent hams, sausages and cheeses. Further into the dark, beamed interior another room has been opened up. It is large enough to hold just four small tables, covered in red checked cloths. Everything is of great age except the food – and that was simple but superb. The salad was crisp and tasty, and the steaks cooked just as we like them.
MORE GOOD FOOD IN SMALL FAMILY RESTAURANTS
After years of experimenting, we have found more good food, reasonably priced, in these small family restaurants than anywhere else. This one was a proud little family business. Father took our orders, and I believe, did all the cooking (unless Mother was also in the kitchen). One son waited on the tables filled with Italian families, while the other ran the shop. When we were paying our bill a young and pretty woman entered and hung up her jacket.
“My daughter,” explained the proprietor, and names were exchanged all round, our hands shaken and calls of ‘Arrividerci’ followed us down the street. How I wish it were possible to go back to all these places that bring warmth in remembering them.
15th October
Grottole
MORE BASILICATA – WE EXPLORE IN DEPTH.
We were left with three weeks to further explore Basilicata for ourselves. The temperature had gradually dropped from 36C (96.8 Faranheit) to about 21C (69.8F), though we would soon have a few days as low as 15C. (59F). Graham had entirely lost his paunch, due to heat, the Italian diet and more walking than we generally do. I lost quite a bit too – but we stumpy types seem to hang onto our tummies longer!
We did a lot of exploring in the area around Grottole.
MORE BASILICATA HOME COOKING – BELLISSIMO!
We found a little family-run trattoria in Miglionico that Lolly would have loved. The family did not speak one word of English, but somehow they understood us and produced a feast. We enjoyed the special homemade ‘Little Ears’ pasta with mushrooms, meat and tomatoes; then a nice fresh salad and 3 kinds of grilled meat.
MORE FUN teasing GRAHAM
It gave me great pleasure to tell Graham that the particular item he was cooing over was a sweetbread – something he wouldn’t touch in England. Maybe that will change now and I won’t be deprived any longer… Suggest that if you don’t know of them you Google ‘Sweetbread’ meat! We also had fabulously good French fries. It was not expensive. I sent an account of this to Lolly, back in America. I stated how I had a bit of fun with Graham, letting him wolf his sweetbreads down before enlightening him with what he’d just eaten (according to a popular but erroneous idea that they are sheeps testicles, that I had been given way back by giggling girlfriends.) This is quite wrong – they are really the Thymus or Pancreas glands of veal or lamb, though other meats like beef or pork can be offered if you are lucky enough to find a butcher selling these delicious morsels. Lolly says that in New Orleans they also call them sweetbreads.
MORE FOOD FOR YOUR MONEY AT THIS ‘TRAT’
If you visit Miglionico, do eat at the humble L’Incontro “A true family trattoria…” We had two or three very tasty meals there during our stay. The décor is unremarkable, but a window table had us looking out over the town walls to the plains and olive groves below.
The menu is small, the price very reasonable, and wine and water was on the table. Superb, honest country food cooked with love. It can be found on the Via Roma, 38, 75010 Miglionico, tucked away in the back streets.
View from Miglionico
MORE BASILICATA – ITS LIT-UP LANDSCAPE IS UNIQUE
Everything IS special in BASILICATA – and really different from the rest of Italy; and certainly from Britain: Landscape like nothing we’d ever seen. Not smart compared to Tuscany and Umbria, but of a unique beauty. The endless swells and hills change with every light. Ranges of mountains in the distance appear in every shade of grey, lavender and blue.
It is all very subtle, and deceptively gentle looking, considering the number of destructive landslides that have happened – because everything is built and grown on clay. Mind you, there are many impressive ruined farmhouses around; most caused by landslip, but others from the sheer impossibility of making a good enough living from the land.
A lot of poverty, but as in Ireland and other places that have known bad times, the food is good because all organic, and the people are wonderful: funny, kind and generous.
Vivien’s stay with us was drawing to a close. We wanted her to see historic Martina Franca. Also the very high Roman sea wall still in its entirety at Monopoli, which we had discovered in 2011. It has a most attractive harbour front.
We decided that if we left in the morning there would be time to visit both towns before we drove to Brindisi to see her off on her mid-evening ‘plane home.
VIVIEN SAYS GOODBYE TO GIUSEPPE AND MASSERIA MAZZAPEDE
By the time we had waited for Giuseppe to arrive at the villa so that Vivien could say her goodbyes and thanks, the morning was well advanced. Giuseppe was typically charming to Vivien. He told her she would be very welcome if she chose to return. Graham and I were trying not to look at our watches, as we wished to reach Monopoli in time for lunch.
A RELUCTANT RISTORANTE
We followed the coast road to Capitolo, then turned off for L’Assunta, to take us into Monopoli. We stopped right there in L’Assunta when we saw a nice-looking fish restaurant still open. We checked the menu outside to make sure that Graham could get an alternative option.
The inlet we overlooked
There was a pleasant, shaded table overlooking an inlet where surf dashed against the rocks. We had passed their impressive display of fresh fish and seafood, but it was evident that the waiter was not willing to serve us anything but pasta or salad.
SERVICE IN RESORTS OFTEN DIFFERENT
(A resort, again – you can find this attitude in resorts the world over.) They assess you by their past experience of your countrymen en masse, who might not have displayed their best manners. We have often felt ashamed witnessing the behaviour of many Brits abroad.
After a time they brought the drinks we had ordered, contenting ourselves with sitting at the empty table and staring at the surf dashing against the rocks just below us.
Jackie & Vivien waiting for lunch
Eventually we discussed going elsewhere, but because of our time limit we decided to stay put. When our meals were plonked down before us they looked less than tempting. We put all this down to being end-of-season fatigue, although the place was almost empty.
A LETDOWN – VIVIEN’S LAST MEAL IN ITALY
A pity; their fish display near the entrance was ‘awesome’, as our American friends are so fond of saying. But in any case we had to press on to see the sights of Monopoli and Martina Franca. Most Trip Advisor revues of this restaurant are very good. La Gran Pavese Ristorante, 15 Contrada Capitolo, L’Assunta.
MONOPOLI
MONOPOLI’S ROMAN SEA WALL – STILL INTACT
Part of the sea wall at Monopoli
Monopoli Harbour
We made for the harbour when we reached Monopoli. At first glance you find yourself in an ultra-modern resort. We walked along a broad avenue of gleaming cream stone. It was squeaky clean and new looking. Cream marble benches were placed at intervals. They matched the wide pavement stretching along by the sea.
DIVERS & SWIMMERS
We passed diving rocks close by in the sea. There seems always at least one cluster of happy young people pushing each other off. Their laughter carries across the water. We also admired a gaggle of brightly painted little boats.
STILL INTACT – ROMAN SEA WALL
Other holiday makers were enjoying the powdery, almost white sands of the beach. It led your eye to the other side of the harbour and that amazingly intact, very high Roman sea wall – still doing its job after two thousand years!
MONOPOLI’S CITTA ANTICA – GLORIOUS DUOMO
A tight squeezeA Narrow street
We had been very smitten with the small city on that previous visit. This time we ventured further. The Citta Antica still has signs of Arab occupation. We found it both beautiful and very interesting. At intervals, arches in the sea wall offered nice views of the very blue sea and the nautical traffic upon it.
STREETS GLEAM CREAM AND WHITE – DESPITE MOTORBIKES
The graceful buildings were all in the main of that cream stone, although we found whole little streets where the houses were white. There were few pavements (sidewalks), but the streets were paved in the same diamond-shaped marble tiles we had seen in Bari. It was a wonder how they stood up to the constant traffic of motorcycles that whizzed past us as we walked. (Ever since the Vespa craze of “La Dolce Vita” it seems Italians are in love with their motorbikes, especially the young. They see no need to slow down, even when passing ‘il touristi’ under the narrow arches, which lead to so many streets in their cities.)
The windowed dome of the Duomo Madonna della Madia
BEAUTIFUL CATHEDRAL
When we went into the Duomo of Santa Maria della Madia we were stopped in our tracks. Who would not be impressed that every pillar and high arch – every surface, it seemed, was covered in intricate designs of inlaid marble of many colours? One prettily windowed dome was a poem of blue and white and gold – with real gilding enhancing the religious paintings that edged it. The church had been built in the 12thc, but had been ‘upgraded’ in the eighteenth. This accounted for the baroque exterior, and the intricate decoration inside.
The Duomo Madonna della Madia
Dazzled, we tore ourselves away. We turned into a narrow little street that had one of those wide windows in the city wall that gave onto yet another view of the harbour. Time was passing; we located our car park close nearby.
WE JUST ESCAPE THE STORM
We piled in just in time to escape the approaching storm that looked to engulf Monopoli, and joined the direct, fast road to Martina Franca.
Gathering storm over Monopoli
MARTINA FRANCA
Martina Franca
For some reason Graham and I had not on our previous stay in the area bothered to visit this much – admired town so close to Cisternino. Now we were to be grateful for our second chance.
We were well rewarded. We drove first as high as we could, to the Citta Antica. After parking, we found a vantage point with great views of the surrounding countryside. It was generously dotted with those unique trulli.
INTRIGUING STREETS AND ALLEYS
Streets of arches and flowers
It was a pity; the sky was heavy with threatening cloud, which cast rather a veil over the scene. Through elegant, carved arches we walked past substantial, well-designed Italian versions of Georgian-type buildings and shops. Then we found narrow, winding streets of little white houses. Many had steps up the side bearing pots of geraniums. Nearly all had arches from which hung swathes of greenery; sometimes gaudy bougainvillaea.
Disturbed from a snoozePassages & Alleys
Clearly, the residents of the old town missed having gardens. They made up for this lack with pots and window boxes filled with brilliant colour wherever they could be placed.
Eventually we found ourselves faced by an extra high, classically carved arch. It led into a most impressive, architecturally grand central piazza. The Piazza Maria Immacolata held statues. A curved colonnade of magnificent arches stretched all around. It supported grand stone buildings.
MARTINA FRANCA – CLASSICAL GRANDEUR
Piazzza Maria Immacolata
There were parterres of greenery at regular intervals. They gave a cool relief from the sun now glaring on the white paving beneath our feet. Squashed in, behind the identical arch on the other side, was a tall, fairly simple Duomo – almost white, with some baroque ornament.
Basilic San Martino
It was approached by steps. It was, indeed, the major cathedral, dedicated to San Martino.
NO ENTRY TO THIS CATHEDRAL
When Vivien climbed up and tried the door she found it closed. We had to content ourselves with ‘looking inside’ using Google images when we returned home.
Graham and I decided that we must go back to Martina Franca (hopefully in the not-too-distant future) to explore more of this beautiful, fascinating town.
Detail – Basilica San Martino
TRAVELLER IN A HURRY
We could have seen more, but Vivien was anxious to get to the airport in Brindisi. She’d have a wait of around three hours if the journey was uneventful, and we were not held up by a crash further on, or accosted by bandits, or kidnapped! Graham and I had to accept that the world is divided on this one. There are some people who just like to guard against every eventuality that chance might throw at them to make them miss their bus, train or ‘plane home. Our friend urged us not to wait with her at the airport. She said she’d be quite happy reading her book until called for her flight.
We rather guiltily said goodbye and slunk off to enjoy the rest of the afternoon and our return to fondly remembered Casalini.
CASALINI.
Driveway into Riposo del Vento
HELLO AGAIN FRANCESCA
We drove back to take advantage of Francesca’s very kind invitation. After all our constant sightseeing we felt ready to draw breath for a day or two.
We stayed in the same little trullo as in 2012. Next day we re-explored the area we had loved so much five years before. Sadly, Jean-Vito was still not back in his smart little mini-mart, so we had to forgo the pleasure of renewing our friendship.
TO OUR SHAME WE FALL FOR A TOURIST-TRAP
Then we drove the few miles to Cisternino. We two remembered it well as an honest, working country town. Now we found it much smarter and more ‘touristy’ than when it was our base for a week in 2012. We tried a new Macelleria Restaurant. These are where you choose the meat from the butcher’s array, and they cook it for you in a full meal. We should have gone back to the old-established one Francesca had recommended before. Now we felt ripped off.
WE FIND AN EXCEPTION
However, there was one new tourist place we really enjoyed, as much for the friendly chat in English as for the excellent coffee and little cakes. It is a tiny café in the corner of the miniscule ‘park’ which contains the war memorial, and overlooks miles and miles of land, right to the sea…
Cisternino, relaxing after sunset
LOCOROTONDO
Bronze alter piece
After two nights Graham and I said our fond farewells. At Francesca’s urging we took a country route back through Locorotondo. When we had visited in 2012, it had a great street market stretching all the way down the considerable main thoroughfare. I had bought a heavy, silver-set white stone drop from an African stallholder.
ANOTHER GREAT CHANGE – BUT ANCIENT CHURCH INTACT
Today that street was empty, but we noticed many smart new shops.
We went up to the top and found a pretty church with a baroque façade. A board outside gave details in English. This was the Chiesa Madre San Giorgio. When we went inside we discovered that the building was actually very, very much older. It was simpler than the Duomo in Monopoli – but still extremely beautiful. It held some wonderful art treasures. A striking bas-relief in a pale wood depicted the disciples falling asleep in the Garden of Gethsemane. Then Graham spotted some wonderful, very old – looking woodcarvings incorporated into the base of the simple modern altar table. In a side chapel he found a very striking modern sculpture in bronze. He guessed it depicts the raising of Lazarus . There were quite a few visitors like us in that church. So we had to conclude:
