Forests-Mountains-Streams

 

Monday, 31^st October

WE CLIMB ABOVE THE CLOUDS

 

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

 

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.)

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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 17^th 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.

 

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).

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.

 

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.

 

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 I could see Graham’s tiny figure far out on the end of the ‘peninsula’.

 

 

 

 

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.

 

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.

 

Text by – Jackie Usher, SWWJ. (aka author Debbie Darkin, & ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.)
Photographs by – Graham Usher.