A sound that delighted Mahler who said ‘it’s the last sound to be heard from the earth by the lonely in the extremest height’ and used it in his 6th and 7th symphonies. Here encountered on our Sunday afternoon walk among the appenines.
Yesterday we visited Gioviano, founded in Roman times and with a name derived from an emperor. Perched on a hill commanding the Serchio valley the settlement clearly shows an origin as a castle. Its circular nucleus and high defensive walls enclose narrow but very well kept streets.
Again with these mountain settlements there seem to be rather more cats than humans around.
We once thought of buying a house here and certainly Gioviano has several fine dwellings with large rooms and noble porticoes. The Serchio valley views are also stupendously extensive.
I find tonight’s article in the ‘Evening Standard’ about poverty in the UK harrowing stuff. I just feel so grateful I am not living in a country which, largely through the Brexit fiasco and unworthy government, is self-harming itself more and more.
We ourselves are not particularly well-off. To heat ourselves we often forage in the forests surrounding our Italian mountain cottage for wood, much of what we eat comes from our allotment and we’ve had our second-hand Fiat Panda for over five years now.
Let us hope, however, we never have to undergo the insupportable pangs of fuel and food poverty which apparently a third of all children in the UK are now suffering. Our hearts go out to them and their families in these times of especial need.
As a friend commented ‘Food poverty in one of the world’s most wealthy countries is an utter disgrace. But, of course, it’s the people’s fault for being losers. Trump says these things openly but the UK Government just thinks them – and then persuades the ‘better off’ it’s true.’
Last Sunday’s afternoon saunter around the village of Anchiano..
Fortified from mediaeval times to World War II when the Axis built bunkers under its church Anchiano is now rather more peaceful and remains a pilgrimage stop. Fine doorways, a massive gothic arch, a Romanesque campanile and long Serchio valley views are some of its memorable features.
Let’s hope that Anchiano’s picturesque Christmas living crib returns soon.
With a permanent population of a little over six thousand the comune of Bagni di Lucca in Tuscany seems to have more than its fair share of what are termed ‘creative people’. I have, for example, rarely come across so many published writers, exhibited artists, concerted musicians and healing practitioners in any other similarly-sized population in the world. Is one drawn here because of the natural beauty of the area, because of the ease of finding a decent habitation at a reasonable price or even in the hope that one might locate a Rive-Gauche or Greenwich Village in a less fashionable part of the globe?
I was born and brought up in London which remains a highly creative location despite the persistent efforts of high prices to drive away artists and musicians seeking studio space. Yet I am often surprised by the inspired talent I encounter in and around Bagni di Lucca. True, the area was particularly favoured by such romantics as Byron, Shelley and Heine. It’s good to realise, however, that they have their very worthy successors today.
It’s therefore no surprise that several of the volumes in my library have been written by those living around these parts and that they include both English and Italian authors. This year, for example, I have enjoyed reading two books by writers I have met and become friendly with. The first is by a lady who writes under the pen name of Anna Valencia and her novel ‘The Chestnut House’ is set in an area near where I live. It weaves a contemporary story with recent history as seen through the eyes of some local families and is both grippingly and lyrically told. Absolutely to be read especially if one is in love with Italy and wants to understand more about this unforgettable country. My review of ‘The Chestnut House’ is included with other reviews at The Chestnut House by Anna Valencia (goodreads.com)
Another book I have recently finished which draws upon local landscape and traditions is ‘The Bird of Heaven’ by Peter Dunseith. Again, the author is someone who lives in our area and with whom we have struck up a friendship. In this case, however, the story is set in a more distant scenario, that of Eswatini which until 2018 was better known as Swaziland, a land-locked kingdom of a little over a million people in the heart of Southern Africa. Peter Dunseith, who was for over thirty years a Human Rights and Industrial Court Judge living in the kingdom’s Umbuluzi valley, has set his novel, published in 2009, as a Bildungsroman dealing with a boy’s formative years and his evolution towards manhood. The pursuit of right judgement and development into maturity is set as an adventurous battle against the forces of evil witchcraft. There is, of course, also good witchcraft as exemplified in the powers of the King whose life our young hero dramatically saves. In a country where the majority believe in the malevolent powers of witchcraft to the extent that sorcery becomes a criminal offence punishable by the law I particular appreciated Dunseith’s verbal virtuosity in describing the various confrontations his young heroes had to face. Everything, in fact from nearly falling into a crevasse to being almost swallowed by a crocodile!
If the contest between good and evil in ‘The Chestnut House’ was represented by the guerrilla warfare between partisan and fascist so in ’The Bird of Heaven the good is demonstrated in the ‘Sangoma’ or healing diviner who shows his skills in uncovering the evil wrought by witches and sorcerers.
Both books, seemingly so different regarding the countries they are set in and particularly in the traditions they evoke are, at the same time, united in the way they rely heavily on history and local customs. Indeed, the two titles have a final section which lists references the authors have consulted in their writing and which they feel will be useful to readers keen in discovering more background to the novels. They also include a glossary which was particularly useful in understanding Swazi terms!
It is thought-provoking in both cases that the novelists have been drawn to an area of Italy in which I have found myself a permanent resident for over fifteen years. This begs the question. Why have so many authors chosen to live either wholly or partly in a country which is not their original birthplace? I think of writers like Patrick Leigh Fermor who chose to live in the Manu peninsula in the Southern Peloponnese, Noel Coward who preferred Jamaica or D. H. Lawrence who never quite decided where he wanted to live permanently as long as it wasn’t England.
There are clearly economic reasons for one’s choice but increasingly today I feel that authors throughout the world are perhaps permanent exiles who are for ever seeking their perfect island or sylvan haven and have only managed to find it in the worlds they have magically created with their own highly expressive vocabulary.
Finally, I recommend both books particularly as winter is beginning to draw upon us in our still leaf-laden forests. They are captivating reads suitable for young and old adults alike. In our case we enjoyed reading the books aloud to each other of an evening. Surely reading out ‘viva voce’ to a convivial audience is one of the best ways of enjoying mankind’s most faithful companion.
And what book are we reading aloud to each now? It’s Roberto Andreuccetti’s ‘La giunchiglia del monte Croce’ . Immaculately written it’s a searing love story between a middle aged lonely shepherd who keeps his sheep on the slopes of a mountain known to us for its dazzling display of early summer narcissi and a young Roumanian girl who lives in Lucca. A great part of the pleasure we are obtaining from this book are the descriptions of beautiful places well-known to us in these parts like Fabbriche di Vallico and Palagnana. Incidentally the author is also an organiser of the Valdottavo olive oil festival.
Now, with the dangerously fine weather there’s a new phenomenon: the ‘Novembrata’, a time for enjoying the countryside and participating in rural activities
The often dusky month began with sunshine ‘con brio’ and a weekend full of convivial events at Villa Webb and at Gombereto including talks on subjects dear to me: railways (with Emiliano Maldini) and mushrooms (with Massimo Betti).
Today, November 5th, in the United Kingdom it’s Guy Fawkes day, the occasion where children have traditionally made an effigy of Fawkes with a note saying ‘penny for the guy’ and collect money towards fireworks. Bonfires are lit in the evening and fireworks let off. I remember celebrating this event from an early age when, in London’s Lewisham Park, a big blaze was lit in a large hollow and locals gathered together to celebrate.
But celebrate what? The discovering and consequent failure of a Roman catholic conspirator, Guy Fawkes, to ignite explosives underneath the Houses of Parliament, blow up the protestant King James I and replace him with a Catholic monarch? Isn’t that a bit discriminatory towards Roman Catholics and anarchists? Surely we have now moved on.
I had always a fear of loud and sudden noises. I remember my mother, in a mistaken attempt to ‘strengthen me’ carting me past the great steam locomotives which then pulled many trains out of Victoria station in London and also at the stazione Centrale of Milan. The impulsive belching of steam coming from these mechanical monsters scared the hell out of me and, to a certain extent still does, although I think nostalgically that I should have feasted on those engines which now are only to be seen on privately owned ‘appassionato’ lines and on Italian national railway’s secondary lines ‘special outings.
Later it wasn’t just the noise that scared me. Penny bangers and their progeny were now not enough to put me off attending the notorious night. For surely celebrating the failure of a catholic plot and burning an effigy of poor Fawkes was not exactly a tolerant, integrative action. At this stage in my life I had become aware of my Roman Catholic heritage, something which in my teenage years I would throw off with a vengeance but which was then still fostered upon me by my pious grandmother who had accompanied me to catechism lessons and ensured that I would attend Mass every Sunday.
Apart from that neighbourhood bonfire night at Lewisham Park our celebrations on November 5th were family affairs. Sometimes our dad would give me a quid to buy some fireworks from the local newsagent – I tried to avoid those bangers at all costs and favoured more peaceful displays like Roman Candles. Sometimes we would go to our uncle in Beckenham for the bonfire. It was on one occasion there that I noticed my mother was particularly downcast. I did not have to wait long to know the reason why. My anti-capital-punishment mother reminded me that Podola had been hanged that very morning in Wandsworth Prison. Guenther Podola was born in Berlin and was the last man in England to be hung for killing a policeman. His trial was full of controversial issues including pleas against the death sentence because of amnesia. The year must have been 1959.
Italy, of course, does not have any Guy Fawkes Night and ex-pat Italians celebrating this event in the UK might be a little shocked to discover what the origins of that night are. However, Italy does have bonfire nights. In both cases they date back long before 1605 and into the mists of time. At nearby Cerreto there is the festa Della Baldoria where a gigantic bonfire is lit to celebrate the arrival of the spring equinox and the sweeping away of winter and its miseries. (I’ve described this event in my post at https://longoio.wordpress.com/2014/05/04/mayhem-in-cerreto/). I should add that the original pagan basis of Cerreto’s festival was syncretised by the Roman Catholic Church so that it has become a celebration both of Saint John the Baptist and of Easter.
Again, with primeval roots is our Garfagnana custom of lighting large bonfires during the Christmas period. In Minucciano, for example, the bonfires are lit on Christmas Eve at which time the bells intone the Ave Maria. This festival has connections with the Roman festival of light and has been re-created to signify a suitably warm environment for the birth of the Christ-child. Some of these bonfires are over forty feet high and are built by interlacing juniper branches onto a chestnut pole, usually placed in dominating locations in the valley so that the flames can be seen over a wide distance.
Two festivals have done much to downgrade the importance of Guy Fawkes Night in the UK. One is Halloween which, as a perspicacious commentator has reminded me, is a re-import of the original ‘All Saints eve’ now tinged with pumpkins and witches. We have the event at Borgo a Mozzano in previous year, an experience described in my post at https://longoio2.wordpress.com/2015/11/02/heavenly-halloween-hell/. This year, however, we gave the event a miss after seeing the immense lines of cars parked outside Borgo and were reminded of the recent tragedy in South Korea where celebrations turned into chaos with over 151 people killed and more than 100 injured when a crowd of mainly young people celebrating Halloween festivities in Seoul became trapped and were crushed to death.
The other is the Hindu festival of Diwali. As befits a multi-cultural society Diwali has gained the upper hand over bonfire night in many parts of the UK and its fireworks displays are often even more spectacular. Again, however, Diwali has its roots in prehistoric times: it, like Halloween and the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, is a representation of the triumph of light over dark, good over evil.
The fact that these festivals prosper today in our increasingly secularised society is evidence that as the winter nights become longer and the days colder we all still need some persuasion to remind ourselves that the sun, our primal source of life, won’t disappear for ever, to be eaten up by some cosmic monster but will re-emerge triumphant if we only have trust in Nature and its miraculous workings on our planet earth!
Looney tunes? Our peregrinations along the Versilia coastline yesterday landed us in one of the most important Roman cities of northern Italy largely excavated since the 1960’s. Particularly fine were these fishy mosaics,
frescoed villas,
armoured and togaed statuary,
and an amphitheatre worthy of Russell Crowe.
Although not quite Pompeii-like in scale, without the city of Portus Lunae exporting chunks of Apuan Alps south to the capital Emperor Augustus could not have boasted. “I found Rome a city of bricks and left it a city of marble”.
One of the strangest ruins we saw at Luni, however, was not from ancient Roman times but dated from 1962. This was the former museum built in a flurry of optimism and in the full throes of post-war modernism but unfortunately built in the wrong place since archaeological investigations have subsequently revealed ancient temple ruins underneath it. The authorities gave the all-clear to demolish the museum last month and already parts of it are looking like something out of the war in the Ukraine.
Significantly, preservation societies and architects have remonstrated against the decision and defend the building as a fine example of sixties brutalist architecture. However, the authorities have hit back stating that the museum needed to go as it was not up to current seismic standards.
My opinion? It will need more time for me to appreciate the former museum’s architecture and I’m glad if its clearance means that more of the archaeological site will reveal new discoveries. In any case, many of the exhibits formerly housed in the old museum have now been placed in some well-restructured old ‘case coloniche’ or old farmhouses in the area which are rather more in keeping with the landscape than a building which at least one inhabitant of the United Kingdom would call ‘a carbuncle’.
This was our second visit to Portus Lunae, the first being over ten years ago in July 2009. I have come across our photos of Luni from then. My reflections on this visit now thirteem years ago are that how happy we were with our ‘new’ Cinquina’ car and that there were more archaeological relics on show. But which museum was it? Had they already been removed from the one now being demolished?
I do not have any exact memories of the ‘old’ museum but clearly there must have been a lot more space for displaying archaeological remains. We were able to enjoy the new displays in the old farm buildings and found their documentation excellent. We just hope that the exhibits in storage will also relocate and that the promised new excavations of the cleared site will not be unduly delayed.
The fact is, however, that it may be said that Italy has ancient ruins at two-a-penny and that there are far more spectacular Roman ones in other parts of the peninsula. We felt that the site of Luni had a melancholy, neglected tinge over it which was rather appropriate for a once grand classical city that had subsequently been torn apart by a combination of major earthquakes and Saracen pillage. The staff was very convivial towards us and filled us in with considerable information about the site. But it was a little sad that during our three hours there we were practically the only visitors present.
It was also a little odd that the site was kept open until 7.30 PM, well into the hours of darkness in such a poorly lit area and that it was somewhat frustrating that the amphitheatre was now only open from Fridays to Sundays because of a newly implemented winter timetable. From its perimeter fence, however, I was still able to get some decent pictures of this majestic monument.
On leaving the amphitheatre I came across this amusing but clearly very necessary notice placed there by a private house in the Luni area. I just wonder how many cats may have found themselves transported unwittingly to other areas of the Roman Empire!
What’s the best time to enjoy Viareggio? Halloween perhaps? A gorgeously clean sea and warm sunshine till sunset made for a perfect dip!
