-- Days five to ten of the ‘Walk like an Italian’ tour. --
Part of the Central Italian Alps, the Alpi Apuane (Apuane Alps) sprawl across north
west Tuscany; a region of rock massifs, alpine meadows, chestnut and beech forests,
karst cave systems, ancient marble quarries and a long human history.
If these mountains could talk, they would tell of the pilgrims who for centuries
crossed the passes on their journey to Rome; of the Liguri-Apuani people who from
300BC existed on subsistence agriculture, wild chestnut flour and mushrooms from the
forests, and who built churches and shrines to shelter the pilgrims.
They would tell of Michelangelo who came for the pure white marble to sculpt; of the horses and men carting massive marble blocks from ancient quarries; of the Partisan resistance hiding in caves along this rugged sector of the German defensive ‘Gothic Line’ in World War Two, and of the villagers who suffered shocking reprisals for helping them.
Life has been harsh in these mountains, but was not so for our happy band of hikers as
we set off mid-morning from Passo della Croce (a 1100 metre pass), following the Via
Francigena pilgrims trail.
As we walked through alpine meadows and chestnut forests, guide Marina took me all the
way back to 900 AD, telling of when the Archbishop of Canterbury walked this very same
way to Rome to be consecrated by the Pope. He travelled through the mountains, hiding
from the marauders of the populated plains, and took such thorough notes detailing his
route they are still referred to. For centuries, pilgrims followed his trail and
mountain villages grew to accommodate them, until the 1300s when the Great Plague
swept across Europe.
In recent years the Via Francigena has again become popular, the stone shrines and
churches restored. We arrived at a church in a small alpine clearing near empty stone
cottages, with a few grazing horses and muffloni (wild sheep). Villagers once planted
summer gardens in these clearings, said Marina. For us, with Anthony producing from
his pack vine-ripened tomatoes, pecorino cheese, salami, fresh focaccia, olives, plums
and grapes, it was a perfect autumn lunch spot. Later, we supplemented the feast with
wild raspberries, blackberries and blueberries, growing along the trail.
We came to another gentle pass, overlooking an old marble quarry, where Marina pointed
to several villages in the forested valley below. One of them, the medieval Pruno,
population 60, was where we would stay for the next two nights, in our very own
private apartments.
As we descended the aged, paved path we met a villager searching for porcini (wild
mushrooms). Sadly, it seemed we were just too early for the season, but no matter, for
hidden away in tiny Pruno was Trattoria Il Proveromo. With no menu, each day chef
Vasco Batelli creates his magic from the seasonal produce available.
What magic it was: antipasti of tomino cheese wrapped in lardo (cured ham fat),
cinghiale (wild boar) on polenta, spelt salad, olives and artichokes; followed by
ravioli with radichio, ricotta and truffle oil and beef braised in red wine; all of it
finally “digested” with Nocino, a walnut liqueur. Not surprisingly the trattoria was
filled with locals from other mountain villages, and from as far as the Tuscan plains
even.
Next day our climb to the fascinating Monte Forato, a 1200 metre high mountain with a
hole through its eroded karst summit, was not only a scenic highlight of the trip, but
also timely exercise to prepare us for the next evening’s creations by chef Vasco.
The Pruno villagers welcomed us into their tiny community. The priest invited us into
the 1614 baroque village church, explaining the history of its aged marble sculptures,
and giving us a private organ recital. He showed us the worn, stone altar in the small
piazza (village square) apparently used for pagan sacrifices, before Christians came
here in 830 AD. We were also shown inside the village clock tower, built in 1650,
which chimed with punctual precision every hour through the night, right beside my
bedroom window...
We departed Pruno the way we’d arrived, on foot, descending another paved path past an
old communal chestnut mill to the valley, before boarding the van and driving south
across Tuscany to the walled hill-town of Volterra.
Long before the Romans lived the Etruscans. Volterra, perched on a ridgeline with
sweeping views across the Tuscan countryside, was one of their most important centres.
The town’s monuments, piazzas and dual walls—Etruscan and medieval—show evidence of
thirty centuries of civilisation. Volterra alabaster, regarded as the finest in the
world, has been mined and crafted here for over 2500 years.
Our accommodation was “safe” inside Porta Fiorentina, the medieval wall’s northern
gate. We were close to the Etruscan Museum, a showpiece of ornately carved alabaster
urns, and Palazzo Viti, which housed one of the finest, if somewhat esoteric, private
art collections in Italy, and surrounded by enotecas (bars), trattorias and artisan
shops selling every kind of alabaster product one could imagine.
Outside the walls lay Tuscany: rolling ploughed fields, sunflower crops, olive groves,
apple orchards, grand Tuscan villas, and history. Anthony presented us with walking
trail instructions, his customary hand-drawn map and mobile number – just in case –
and we were free to explore the country lanes at will.
It was like a treasure hunt for adults. Our ‘treasure’? Charming Tuscan viewpoints, a
medieval church, risotto with truffle sauce for lunch at a country café. Two Etruscan
burial chambers, dated around four BC, were open to explore, and there was a grand
view into a partially excavated Roman theatre, dated AD1.
Over dinner – the local specialty of pasta with hare sauce - guide and art historian
Marina discussed Italian art. ‘If there is one painting to see in all of Italy, it is
the Deposition, by Rosso Fiorentino, and it is here, in Volterra so I can take you to
see it in the morning, if you wish.’
Which we did, and helped by Marina’s description, even art-philistine me was impressed
by this vivid, contorted and controversial (for its time) ‘Descent from the Cross’
depiction.
From Volterra we crossed to Isola d’Elba. the third largest island in Italy and the
largest in the Tuscan archipelago. We crossed from mainland Italy by ferry, sailing
the same waters as early Etruscan and Roman invaders, barbarians and Saracen pirates,
and today, Italians in their opulent pleasure craft.
Anthony drove us to a small village in the centre of the island, and we wandered the
afternoon away descending forest trails to the coastal town of Marciana Marina, where
the immediate priority was to fall into the tepid blue Mediterranean Sea.
Next day, the last walk of our tour was a fitting finale. First we rattled by local
bus above sheer rocky coastal cliffs to Chiessi village, on the south eastern side of
the island. We enjoyed coffee and croissants at a Chiessi café, then climbed to an
historic mountain path known as La via degli Eremiti, the hermit’s path. The trail
followed the high backbone of the island through its most remote region, past stone
church ruins, wafting scents of wild herbs, and views across the shimmering blue sea
to the distant, mountainous Corsica.
For our last picnic lunch guide Anthony excelled himself, producing like magic from
his pack a veritable feast; pecorino cheese, prosciutto ham, tomatoes, olives, plums
and the local delicacy schiaccia-briaca, or “drunken cake” that brought on the
definite need for a short siesta, before we continued along the ridge to the
distinctive ‘Napoleon’s Rock’.
It is said that during his 300 days in exile on Elba Napoleon would sit on this
prominent rock on the ridge top to gaze across to his birthplace Corsica and
contemplate his future. We, too, sat on the rock, watching two circling eagles and
contemplating our immediate future, the imminent end of this walking tour.
From Napoleon’s Rock we descended the well-worn steps to Santuario della Madonna,
Elba’s most ancient and famous sanctuary and church. Lining the path were 14 stone
shrines marking the Stations of the Cross. The sight of several older Italians, more
stylishly dressed than us and obviously devout Roman Catholic, determinedly labouring
up the long, steep path to the church impressed.
Which (forgive me) brings to mind the ‘last supper’ of this wonderful walking tour:
steaming, earthenware bowls of caciucco (seafood stew), a flavour fusion of squid and
squid ink, wine and olive oil, swordfish, mussels, cockles, octopus, shrimps, tomatoes
and parsley. Possibly I missed something.
With that final memory it’s time now to retire to the realities of my home kitchen for
lunch. What a let-down! What a great tour of Italy it was. Thank you Anthony and
Marina, of Tamarillo Expeditions.
[end].
