73 years and 1,176 meters: Finding my limits in the Tuscan mountains

Lucy asked me recently to name my favorite moment from our last two months here in Montecarlo. It’s a deceptively difficult question. How do you choose? Often, the “best” part is simply the quiet rhythm of Tuscan life—the  way the light hits the stones as I walk the streets, the ritual of a morning cappuccino in my own living room, or watching the sunset dissolve over the hills from my terrazza.

But if forced to pick a single highlight, yesterday’s trek would be a front-runner. I set out to summit the Penna di Lucchio with my friend and cousin, Davide Seghieri. There is a specific kind of magic found at that altitude—the deep, rhythmic clanging of cowbells, the scent of damp earth in the silent forest, and the bite of crisp mountain air that stays with you long after you descend.

From here, we could see at least seven of the ten castle cities of the Svizzera Pesciatina.

Here's where the trail divided. We 
chose to go up the direct route.

Davide picked me up at 8:30 a.m. for the 45-minute drive through the valley above Pescia. We wound our way past Pontito, the highest of the legendary “Ten Castles,” until we reached the Oratorio Madonna delle Grazie. Shortly after the landmark, the asphalt gave way to a rugged gravel track scarred with ruts and embedded stones. Not wanting to test the limits of Davide’s car, we decided to park and continue on foot. Though a few brave souls had managed to nudge their vehicles further toward Croce a Veglia, the walk was exactly what we needed to wake up our legs.

Here I am on the steep part.

Our path led us through lush, emerald meadows with grazing cows before diving into a dense canopy of beech, oak and chestnut trees. For the first hour, the trail was a gentle, rocky road—perfect for a mountain bike or a 4x4. However, the final thirty minutes transformed into a steep, narrow scramble. While it wasn’t a technical climb requiring climbing gear, it was a vertical challenge for my 73-year-old frame. Davide, fifteen years my junior and in much better shape, became my advance scout, pausing frequently to pick the best route and let me catch my breath as the trail tilted upward.

When we finally crested the summit, every ounce of effort was repaid in full. At 1,176 meters (3,858 ft), the Penna acts as a panoramic balcony between two worlds. To the west, the jagged, marble-streaked teeth of the Apuan Alps tore at the sky; to the east, the sprawling spine of the Apennines stretched away, dominated by the high, sentinel-like peak of Monte Rondinaio. Looking south, the green, velvet hills of the Svizzera Pesciatina rippled toward the horizon, and to the north, we had a bird’s eye view of the borgo of Lucchio.

A view to the west, toward the Alpi Apuane.

There's Lucchio, down below.

We sat at the top for forty-five minutes, swapping stories and snacking while a gentle breeze drifted past the summit cross. For the descent, we chose a longer, more circuitous route that dropped down the opposite side. It was a kinder grade for the knees, sparing us from the possibility of bruising our shins on the steep route we had taken for the ascent.

By the time we returned to the car, we had been on the trail for three hours. Google Maps had estimated two, but Google doesn’t account for photo ops—or the reality of a septuagenarian’s pace. Today, my muscles are reminding me of every vertical meter we gained, but there’s a deep satisfaction in the ache. I’m just grateful I can still chase these views and experience the wilder side of Tuscany.

My wall-walking adventure inside Montecarlo's Porta Nuova tower

Montecarlo is a village defined by its stone borders. We have three historic gates, but unlike the famous, sprawling walls of nearby Lucca, our fortifications are a private affair. Two of the gates are topped by towers that remain strictly off-limits to the public—sanctuaries for their private owners, and a source of endless mystery for me.

In my ten years of living here, I’ve often played a game of tower watching. I see laundry fluttering high atop the Porta Fiorentina, the town’s grandest entrance. I look at the modest Porta a Lucca (the Porticciola), which is too small to even support a tower. But my real obsession has always been the Porta Nuova, the gate closest to my home.

For a decade, I’ve stared up at the barred window of the room above that gate. I wondered: Who owns the keys? What does the world look like from those heights? Is the room a pristine hidden study, or is it just a dusty kingdom for the local pigeons?

Porta Nuova. See those windows up there?
What would it be like to be the owner?

Living in Montecarlo comes with a particular kind of “first-world frustration.” My terrace overlooks a beautiful private field and a majestic stretch of the city wall. I can see the stairs leading up to the ramparts, but they are always just out of reach. In Montecarlo, every watchtower and every stone of the portal belongs to someone. I knew I was lucky just to have the view, but human nature is a restless thing; I didn’t just want to see the wall—I wanted to walk it.

Three years ago, a brief moment of luck landed me on those stones, but I was too self-conscious to truly explore. I took a few hurried photos and scurried down, worried I was overstaying my welcome with the workers who had let me in.

Last week, everything changed.

I was sitting on my terrazza, reading my Tex comic book and reflecting on a classic Italian proverb: “La fortuna aiuta gli audaci” (Fortune favors the bold). As if on cue, I spotted movement below. Workers had entered the field. The gate was open.

I didn’t hesitate. I was out the door and through that “forbidden” entrance in an instant. With the blessing of the workers, I climbed the stairs and didn’t look back.

I had a mission: Could I make it all the way from the corner watchtower to that mysterious room above the Porta Nuova?

I finally found out what lies behind those bars. I saw the view I’ve spent a decade imagining, and I felt the history of the stone beneath my feet. I’ve never been one for “bucket lists,” but if I were, I’d be crossing a big item off today.

Want to see exactly what I found up there? Come along with me on my latest YouTube video: Walking the wall of Montecarlo!

Perhaps one day I’ll meet the owners and return with a formal blessing—maybe even to show a few guests the way. But for now, I’m just happy to have finally turned a private mystery into a personal memory.

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The grand Porta Fiorentina

More about The Gates of the Village

• Porta Fiorentina: The "Grand Entrance." The largest of the three, facing East toward Florence. Look up to see the laundry of the residents who still live in the tower today!
• Porta Nuova: The "New Gate." Reconstructed in the 16th century, this southern entrance features a mysterious barred tower room—the focal point of my recent exploration.
• Porta a Lucca (The Porticciola): The "Little Gate." A modest 14th-century opening facing West toward Lucca. It is the only gate without a tower, earning it its affectionate nickname.
  
  
  

  

  The Porticciolo, the little Porta a Lucca.