A peaceful visit to the hillside Rocca above nearby Villa Basilica

We keep finding new favorite places here. Wednesday it was the Rocca di Villa Basilica, something that I had not heard of despite it being only 16 kilometers away, and it is basically visible from Montecarlo. This destination was suggested to us by Renzo Tori, a local bicycling enthusiast and poet who often posts scenic photos and poems on his Facebook page. As Wednesday was too cold for me to go for a bike ride, we hopped into our borrowed car and headed out on a dry but mostly overcast day. Our gps said it would be a 22-minute drive.

While Lucy and I had been to centro storico of Villa Basilica once before, we didn’t realize that just above the town is an abandoned stone fortress built in the 12th century. A rocca (literally, rock) is a type of Italian fortified stronghold, typically located on a hilltop, beneath or on which the inhabitants of a village or town might take refuge in times of trouble. We passed Collodi and headed up the valley, winding back and forth on sharp switchbacks once we reached Botticino. This would have been a challenge on my bike, even with the electric power boost. While there is a road all the way to the fortress, the last 200 meters looked a bit challenging for our car, so we parked and walked in.

I managed breach the defenses.

We enjoyed the vista for about 15 minutes—both the view of the Rocca and the view from it. We were the only ones there, and the fortress gate was locked, but we figured that was only a suggestion. If a fence can be scaled in two seconds by a 70-year-old man, it must have been designed with that in mind. Inside I found a rectangular cistern partially filled with rain water, and a wooden platform that looked like it could be used for a band or theater group in summer months. I climbed a wooden ramp that led to the circular lookout tower and tried to imagine being here 700 years ago while preparing my weapons to hold off advancing enemies.

We had a birds-eye view of Villa Basilica, and in the distance to the south, we saw Montecarlo—the fortress, the church tower and the two trees that are right outside our house. Looking north, we saw the isolated hillside village of Pariana. What must it have been like to live in one of these villages during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, when it would have taken two and a half hours to walk uphill from Pescia to Villa Basilica, and another two hours to Pariana? It’s fun to imagine. But then again, maybe not so fun to have been here when the village bounced back and forth between the warring kingdoms of Lucca, Florence and Pisa. The Rocca and village were sacked several times in the late 1300s and early 1400s. The city was burned, and the inhabitants killed, imprisoned or driven away at least three times in a period of 100 years. I think I prefer the isolation and quiet that Lucy and I experienced there today.

Praise for the picturesque Padule

Yesterday’s bike ride took me to the Padule di Fucecchio, Italy’s largest swamp. What a treasure this place is! I parked my bike at the Casotto (or Casin) di Lillo and walked down what was labeled a percorso didattico, a teaching trail. I had hoped there would be some signs telling me about the flora and fauna, but no luck. Probably the teaching is normally done by an experienced guide, but I had none.

However, I did see about 200 herons and egrets, all at the same time gathered in a cluster of trees, raising a huge racket. Startled turtles plunged into the canals just ahead of me. Fingerling fish by the hundreds of thousands flitted on the edges of every canal, and the water glistened and reflected the pristine blue Tuscan sky heavenward.

As much as Italy is renowned for its stunning man-made paintings, sculptures and architecture, I still prefer the God-made art. I’m admittedly in the minority, as I was the only person in the park at the Casotto (or Casin) di Lillo from 3-4:30 p.m. Despite people in Italy being pretty environmentally conscious, I found a stagnant part of one of the canals choked by both naturally occurring and man-made garbage. Come on, people! Still, my walk was 99 percent gorgeous.

Well, not 100% beautiful.

On the ride back, I worried that my bike would run out of power. As I left the park, it dropped to three bars (out of five), and I vaguely remembered that the one time I did run out of power last fall; it had gone to one bar and then died almost immediately. I had used two bars to get to the Padule, and if it took me two bars to get to San Salvatore (the bottom of the hill), I’d be on one bar starting up the long hill and could be stuck pushing a heavy bike up the very steep last two kilometers.

When I reached Chiesanuova, it looked like my meter had dropped to two bars, and I panicked and switched off the power and pedaled on in manual mode. I wanted to have two bars when I started up the hill, and I was still two kilometers from San Salvatore. Whoa, I slowed to the pace of a walk, albeit a brisk one, but it definitely took more effort than walking. That bike is heavy! But as I came to the outskirts of San Salvatore, I pulled over and switched the power back on. Three bars! The battery must have recharged slightly, I thought, but nope, it stayed on three bars all the way home. I think what happened is that I had misread the gauge because I had my dark glasses on and not my reading glasses. Had I pulled over and looked more closely at the gauge before cutting the power, I would have been fine. Lesson learned, with the added benefit of getting a more thorough workout. I just hope that no one reads this and sees how stupid I was!

More bike riding under the Tuscan sun

Last fall I wrote a blog on why I love bike riding in Tuscany, so I shouldn’t be writing another one so soon—but I just can’t help it! With the temperature in the high 60s and the sun shining brightly, I took two rides today, a short one to Altopascio in the morning on an errand, and then a longer pleasure trip to Tofori in the afternoon.

Looking south from Tofori towards Montecarlo and Montechiari.

Elation floods my senses from the combination of freedom, beauty, independence and serenity. My Italwin electric-boost bike glides quietly and effortlessly over the multitude of little-trafficked backroads in the Valdinievole. On my hour-long afternoon ride, I encountered fewer than a dozen cars, with the exception of a half kilometer stretch on the moderately busy via Pesciatina that I needed to traverse to get from Gragnano to via San Gennaro. Starting from Montecarlo, I took the road northwest to San Martino in Colle, passed the Quercione and continued on to Gragnano. Once I left via Pesciatina, it was all uphill to Tofori, an elevation increase of about 220 meters in 3.5 kilometers, but with the power from my e-bike, I never broke a sweat. And what goes up must go down, but oh so quickly and effortlessly.

Wild flowers in Gragnano.

I glided past twisted grape vines, rolling hills of olive groves and numerous multitextured and ancient stone-and-brick buildings, some of them more than 600 years old. Many of the roads are rough, as they consist of asphalt placed directly over ancient mule and cart paths that were carved out centuries ago. With minimal grading and no placement of gravel sub-base prior to the paving, these hillside roads are subject to settling and development of potholes, and only minimal efforts are made to modernize them.

A hazel dormouse!

On my return trip, I pulled off on an off-shooting dirt trail and followed it over a tiny brook, until it became too rough to continue. I stopped to admire the wildflowers and towering oaks, and to just soak in the silence, broken only by the songs of wild birds. I even found what looked like a cross between a mouse and a ground squirrel hiding in the weeds. Thanks to some online help from our friend Wendy, I later identified it as a hazel dormouse. I've not seen a mouse with a bushy tail before. I mentally filed the location away as another great place for a picnic with my wife and a nap on a warm summer day.

Oak trees in the sunshine in Gragnano.

Our home has been blessed by the Montecarlo parish priest

We experienced a first today: We had our home blessed by the parish priest of Montecarlo, don Lorenzo Battioli. I had read that this was an Italian tradition during springtime, and a letter from don Lorenzo had been put in our mailbox about a week ago with a schedule stating that he would be offering blessings to homes on via Roma this afternoon.

I had neglected to note this on our calendar, and it was only because of the providence of God that we were home. We had scheduled an appointment at the massage parlor for Lucy this afternoon, but because of some confusion about the time (our fault—we don’t want to talk about it!), I had just called to reschedule it for the next day.

Don Lorenzo
(photo from noitv.it)

At about 4 p.m., our doorbell rang, and Lucy looked out the window. Below was the priest and another man, probably a lay volunteer. I had been reading on the couch and had dozed off. Lucy asked me what she should tell them. I fought a brief internal battle with my innate shyness and the adventurous side of my nature that had compelled me to buy a home in Italy. The latter side won out, thankfully.

We went down to greet them, introduce ourselves and invite them up. The man with don Lorenzo introduced himself as Claudio Donatini, and as is a common experience, he said he was related to a Spadoni through a marriage between a Capocchi and a Spadoni. I told him my great grandmother was a Capocchi, so we undoubtedly have a common ancestor somewhere. This is not at all unusual here. Indeed, I’d estimate more than half the people in Montecarlo are related if only we had complete records dating back 800 years.

We bowed our heads, and don Lorenzo recited a short prayer and sprinkled holy water before he shook our hands and went on his way to the next house. He and I have passed on the street several times, and while each of us knew who the other was, we had never formally met, so this was another small but important step in our slow integration into the community.

Now fully awake, I suggested to Lucy that we take advantage of the remaining daylight and take a walk on a trail that I had noted last fall. It had looked a little too rough to negotiate on my bike, but I had kept it in mind. We drove to the cemetery and then walked for 10-15 minutes down the hillside, first past tall oaks, then groves of olive trees, and then more oaks. We found an open grass field with benches, where we sat and enjoyed a view of the hills on the other side of the Valdinievole. One of the towns clearly visible was Stignano, where my Spadoni ancestors lived from around 1490 to 1630. We filed this away as a great place to come for a picnic lunch during warmer weather. Anybody want to meet us here?

Back to the slow life of Montecarlo--just the way we want it to be

It’s been about two weeks since we arrived back in Italy, and only a few things have happened worth writing about.

For the first time, we were asked by the police for identity documents in a random check while we were sitting on a train. I had heard that this sometimes happens, and we showed our American passports. We could have used our Italian carte d’identità, but I’m always a little self-conscious about identifying as Italian because of my lack of fluency. I’d rather be complimented for speaking Italian well considering I’m a foreigner as opposed to coming across as a poorly educated Italian.

Piazza San Marco, Venezia

Every time we arrive in Montecarlo, I hold my breath while checking the mail, wondering if there will be a new letter from the Agenzia delle Entrate demanding I pay taxes incurred by someone who has assumed my Italian identity. As far as I know, the AE still thinks I owe nearly 1,000 euro in auto and phone taxes for purchases that took place in other cities almost 10 years ago. I filed a police report, called a denuncia, denying responsibility for these taxes, and I haven’t heard from the AE since. Whether this is because they actually received, read and believed my denuncia or whether my supposed transgression has been buried in a blizzard of bureaucratic inefficiency I may never know. In any event, there was no new letter demanding payment, and I tend to lean toward the latter explanation.

We found our home here to be in great shape after being away for almost four months—no broken water lines, no strange odors, no mold on the walls, all appliances working fine. Even the cold water tap in the bathroom had somehow healed itself. During the previous year, only small drips of water came out when we turned the faucet on, presumably caused by a buildup of calcare—calcium—which is a common problem in Italy. For some unknown reason, now it flows perfectly. This just validates one of my life philosophies learned while reading Peanuts in my childhood. Linus once said, “Learning to ignore things is one of the great paths to inner peace.” However, I should add a disclaimer that I only apply this to the minor annoyances of life. I once shared this concept with my son Randall when he was in grade school, and he used it as an excuse for not starting a major project—and then he told his teacher that he learned this from his dad!

Claudia and Sauro cut and colored Sandy's hair

After a leisurely week recovering from jetlag, we took a two-day trip to Venezia to enjoy some explorations with Dan and Sandra and their kids, who were on spring vacation from school in Nigeria. March is the perfect time of year to be in La Serenissima, as the crowds are low and the weather just starting to warm up. A few days later, we all enjoyed some time together in Montecarlo. Sandra, Clara and Juniper got haircuts from Magic Hair and cousin Sauro, and we picked up Italian citizenship documents for Josie and Ferhan in Pescia. We also took a nice drive into the Apuan Alps to Pizzorne for a picnic lunch and short hike.

We played football and threw the Aerobie in the Altopiano delle Pizzorne.

In a stroke of good fortune, our former exchange student Simone and his dad Luciano offered to loan us Luciano’s car for the next two months. We had planned to get around only on our electric bikes for most of the time, but even though spring is drawing near, it’s still chilly and rainy here about half of the time, today included. We wouldn’t have gone to church this morning without the car.

Clara & Junie at the park in Pizzorne

Now we’re settled in and have no specific plans for the next month. We’ve said many times that we don’t come to Italy to be tourists. We are just here to be. We want to be as Italian as possible, living the slow life, enjoying the cuisine, learning the language, mixing with the locals. We know that we will never be anything close to truly being Italian, but that won’t stop us from trying, from enjoying the process. Norman Vincent Peale once said, “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.”

 

 

A fun but non-scary suspension foot bridge in the province of Pistoia

After having crossed the frightening 227-meter long and 120-meter tall swaying Ponte alla Luna in Southern Italy in the fall of 2021, Lucy and I jumped at the chance to cross another narrow pedestrian bridge closer to home this winter. I recently read online about a bridge located about an hour north of Montecarlo, in the comune of San Marcello Piteglio, and we knew right away we had to experience it. The fact that it was free made it even more appealing.

Compared to the Ponte
alla Luna, the Ferriere
is not at all scary.

We had flown into Firenze on Thursday and had a rental car reserved for four days, so there was no time to waste. We left early Saturday morning on a brilliant sunny day, choosing the most winding and scenic route of the three options offered by Google maps. Weaving back and forth on the almost single-wide roads of the Appennini mountains, we passed deep forests of chestnut trees still bare from the winter. We stopped briefly to watch parents and children sledding in a large, sloping field of snow not yet completely melted.

The Lima, as viewed from the bridge.

A few kilometers from San Marcello, we saw a sign directing us to the Ponte Sospeso delle Ferriere, which passes over the Lima river, and we easily found a parking space right next to the entrance. The bridge was only a five-minute walk. Since this is still the low season, we encountered only one other couple on the bridge.

We learned from the interpretive signage that the Ponte Sospeso for many years had been the longest pedestrian suspension bridge in Italy. It had been built in the early 1920s not as a tourist attraction but as a way for metal workers to reach their factory more easily, saving them from what otherwise would have been a six-kilometer daily commute. To cross the bridge takes less than 10 minutes, though for us it took 15 minutes, as we paused to enjoy the scenery and take photos.

Looking upstream at the Lima and beyond into the Appennini mountain range.

Though the bridge is 227 meters long and reaches a height of 36 meters (118 feet), it is not frightening to cross—at least not compared to the modern Tibetan-style pedestrian bridges being built in other mountainous areas of Italy as tourist attractions. Its floor is a continuous grid, and the sides are high enough that there is no possibility of falling off. The Ponte alla Luna, on the other hand, has undoubtedly been built to attract tourists not only by its height but also because it seems dangerous (although it really isn’t), with open sides and floor rungs separated by large gaps.

When the Ponte Sospeso was built 100 years ago, it had wooden flooring, but now pretty much every part has been replaced and improved, making it completely safe. It doesn’t even sway very much, so it’s not particularly exciting for thrill seekers. However, the setting and view are very pleasing, and the price is unbeatable.

Chestnut forest in the Appennini.

On the return drive, we couldn’t resist stopping at a bar in Prunetta with the appealing name Crema e Cioccolato. Yum! I had a slice of chocolate and cream pie and a cappuccino, and Lucy enjoyed a chocolate covered donut washed down with a thick and creamy Italian hot chocolate. Literally, la dolce vita!