A Walk Along the Top of the Botri Canyon

Mudslides and stone falls have damaged various stretches of road in our part of the world. The village of Montefegatesi is particularly affected, for example. Not only are the villagers inconvenienced but also trekking associations. From Montefegatesi a largely unmetalled road joins up with the even more unmetalled Grand Ducal road which leads to the Rifugio Casentini, an excellent starting point for some quite spectacular walks. At the moment there are various complaints from hikers that the rifugio is unreachable because of the bad state of the roads. We’ll see what happens in the next few days.

One very pleasant and well-signed walk from the rifugio is the ‘Orrido di Botri’ ring, or ‘anello’. It’s a walk I’ve done four times since 2008. Going back to January ten years ago I’ve rediscovered the following photographs of that walk.

The first part leads through a beautiful pine forest:

 

The path then opens out onto a ‘paleo’ or a wild grass covered meadow with expansive views.

 

The path now starts skirting the top of the ‘Orrido di Botri’, or Botri Canyon, a dramatic gorge created by the erosion of the Rio Pelago through the upper Apennine range in the Val Fegana. (The Orrido, whose sides almost seem at some places to be an arm’s length from each other, is another favourite walk I’ve done).

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(Part of the Orrido di Botri).

The path becomes ever narrower and rockier but it’s easily traversable in decent weather unless, of course, one suffers from vertigo since there are some passages where one has to cling on one side of the path with a steep drop on the other. It’s not just a do-able path, it’s also a ‘dog-able’ path as the presence of two canines (near some goats) on this walk, done in January 2008, demonstrates.

 

The path then moves away from the precipitous Orrido (which is said to have inspired Dante when he described the gates of Hell in the ‘Inferno’ of his ‘Divine Comedy’) and transfers back inland into the pine forest, on the way passing a hillock from which there is a great view of the whole Val Fegana.

One then finds oneself back on the path leading to the Rifugio Casentini and reaches one’s starting point around three hours after leaving it.

In summer the rifugio is open for refreshments and is a most pleasant place to rest one’s feet (see its Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/associazionerifugiocasentini/ ). We did this walk by ourselves and it’s easy to follow the clear path directions. If, however, you are not too sure about it there are guided walks run by the local trekking association. For more details see https://www.ilbivacco-toscana.it/en/botri-gorge-loop7

I’m truly looking forwards to better weather to do this walk another time. Tomorrow’s weather forecast predicts an improvement. Let’s hope so!

 

 

Ten Years Ago…

The weather this winter is proving most odd. The temperature has remained above zero and I have not yet had to break the ice on the water butt. Snow has only fallen on heights above 1,500 metres and there has been an inordinate amount of rain and cloudy days. Some people have described this winter as spring-like. Are we then going straight on to spring-time or will winter really arrive with a vengeance? This morning, for a change, it’s raining heavily

It’s a good time to look at old photographs and I’ve decided, from time to time, to include some taken ten years ago . After all, with the massive increase of my photograph collection since the advent of digital cameras, there are so many pictures to look at again and, perhaps, anew. Memories linger in the mind and for this reason some photos are a joy to view again while others are tinged with melancholy. Captured in the moment they stay forever fresh and young while we must inevitably step onward to our dusky end.

Here is a little collection taken exactly ten years ago in our part of the world. Let us remember the good times we’ve had with those no longer with us rather than continue to mourn their loss. We must look at our glass of life as being at least half-full rather than half-empty!

 

I Magnifici Sette

Il Natale, tra le sue celebrazioni religiose e secolari, è anche un giorno nel quale si guarda un po’ di televisione. Forse un bel film western? Ma il titolo di questa ‘post’ non riferisce al film omonimo ma, invece, ai cosiddetti ‘magnifici sette’ cimiteri urbani di Londra. Questi sono, in ordine della loro creazione:

Kensal Green 1832

West Norwood 1836

Highgate 1839

Abney park 1840

Nunhead 1840

Brompton 1840

Tower Hamlets 1841

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Fino al diciannovesimo secolo i morti erano solamente sepolti nei campisanti che circondano le chiese di campagna in Inghilterra. Quando c’è posto sono tuttora sepolti in quei luoghi, i nostri defunti. I miei genitori sono sepolti nel camposanto che circonda una chiesina nel Galles.

Una volta era così anche in Italia. Per esempio, esiste ancora parte della cancellata del camposanto che circondava la Chiesa di San Gemignano.

Nelle città, però, non c’era più posto per le sepolture attorno le chiese e, così, i primi cimiteri pubblici furono creati, secondo la legge del parlamento del 1832.

Kensal Green fu fondato dal legale George Carden che si ispirò al cimitero Pere Lachaise di Parigi. E’ un luogo meraviglioso, quasi un parco paradisiaco dove si può meditare a lungo sulle vane speranze della vita e la certezza della morte.

Esiste, però, tanta vita qui poiché il cimitero è anche santuario degli uccelli, le volpi, i gatti, gli alberi … Infatti Kensal Green è uno dei luoghi piu ‘verdi’ di Londra.

Qui si trovano parecchie tombe di persone famose. Per esempio, sono qui sepolti i compositori e musicisti Balfe, Cipriani Potter, Barbirolli, l’ingegnere Brunel, gli scrittori Wilkie Collins, Thackeray, Leigh Hunt (amico di Shelley), Pinter, Trollope e Jane Williams alla quale Shelley, innamoratosi, dedico’ delle sue poesie….e molti altri personaggi.

Inoltre, il cimitero offre un vero panorama di stili architettonici: dal neo-gotico al neo-classico e dal neo-romanico al neo-egiziano. Basta guardare a questi esempi che vidi sul viale principale del glorioso luogo.

 

Il restauro limitato offre una sentita visione della mutabilità della vita. Le edere che soffocano le tombe coperte di muschio, le sculture in fase di crollo, i nomi quasi spariti nel consumo del vento degli anni, l’erba che avvolge le lapidi e, (quando ero lì qualche giorno fa), il cielo grigio-piombo riempivano il cuore di dolci affanni malinconici.

In fondo al viale funesto si erge un tempio neo-classico, ai lati del quale si alzano delle colonnate che coprono le catacombe.

Più ad ovest si trovano le tombe dei caduti a fianco del canale che, una volta, portava le salme per barca per l’ultimo addio, un poco  come Caronte lo faceva attraverso il fiume Acheronte.

In fondo del cimitero l’edificio maestoso del crematorio apre le sue porte all’infinito. Fu qui che, quasi dieci anni fa, nel gennaio del 2008, entrò per cominciare il suo grande viaggio il babbo di mia moglie. In un giardino sempre pieno di fiori una targa ricorda questo grande italiano che tanto aiutò a ricostruire il rispetto per l’Italia dopo una disastrosa guerra. Per quasi quarant’anni fu segretario dell’istituto italiano di cultura a Londra, ente meritevole per tutti gli amanti dell’Italia.

 

Il Santo Natale si dice di passare ‘con i tuoi’. Ma ogni Natale che passa certi dei ‘tuoi’ non ci saranno, ahimè, più.

Questo mi fa pensare che la festa natalizia è anche un’occasione per ricordare quelli amati che non saranno uniti più con noi in questa vita terrestre. Qui includo tutti quelli che abbiamo amato e che ci hanno dato il loro amore, non importa se abbiano gambe o zampe. E’ stato proprio questo mese, il 17 dicembre che il grande compagno della mia vita, seguitore nelle mie camminate attorno Longoio, osservatore dei miei scritti e amico nei miei sogni riposerà per sempre, attraversato l’arcobaleno che conduce ai campi elisei dove un giorno saremo tutti riuniti.

Queste sono le ultime fotografie del mio carissimo gatto, Napoleone, scattate il 23 ottobre, un giorno prima che partì per l’Inghilterra dove tutt’ora sto passando il Natale. Per lui ci sarà sempre nel mio cuore il ricordo più dolce….e il suo cimitero sarà la terra vivente.

 

Mutabilità;

il vento soffia per noi:

tutto vola via

 

 

 

Pandering to Pandas

Artist and naturalist Peter Scott, the mastermind behind London’s wetland centre which we visited last month, was also closely involved with the worldwide fund for nature and designed its logo which is, naturally, the giant panda.

Having been deprived of giant pandas in England ever since Chi Chi died in 1972, (although there are two, Tian Tian and Zhang Guang, in Scotland), we were very keen to visit pandas in a research and breeding area near Chengdu.

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Our visit there was yet another high point in our China exploration. Who cannot fall in love with this adorable creature (which the Chinese call bear-cat) and is a great example of how an endangered species can be saved (the panda is now described as ‘vulnerable’ instead of ‘endangered’).

We saw pandas playing with each other, resting on trees, having a good slide-down and gorging themselves on their favourite bamboo shoots. Fortunately, we got to the reserve quite early and found the pandas awake and active and the area not too crowded with visitors.

Let these pictures give some feel of our experiences.

 

A few points about giant pandas:

The panda used to live in the lowland areas around Chengdu but deforestation and loss of suitable habitat have driven them to the hills and mountains.

The panda anciently used to be carnivorous but now 99% of its diet is vegetarian and bamboo-shoot centered although it will accept other foods including meat.

The panda is very finicky about mating especially when it’s in a reserve hence the big problems zoos and centres have which they get around by using artificial insemination and now also frozen semen.

The female panda gives birth to twins, only one of which survives in the wild. There has been one known case of triplets. While we were there we saw a baby panda which had been abandoned by its mum and was under care.

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Normally male pandas are the ones who don’t worry about their offspring, leaving it all to mum.

Giant pandas are not usually aggressive except when they are teased. Their bite is very strong, given they demolish bamboo for their diet.

Because of the low energy level of bamboos pandas spend most of their time eating them and, consequently, defecate around forty times a day.

Pandas in the wild have increased from under a thousand to an estimated three thousand in the last twenty years. There are around seventy pandas in world zoos today.

There is another type of giant panda with more brownish colouring and a smaller frame called the Qinling panda.

The panda was first seen by the west in 1916.

Pandas have been the best ambassadors in easing Chinese – western relationships after the difficult period of the 1960’s.

There is no direct species relationship between giant and red pandas although both live mainly on bamboo and have a false thumb called a sesamoid bone with which to hold bamboo. Here is the equally adorable red panda which is also in the reserve.

 

All-in-all, seeing so many giant pandas must surely have been not just a highlight of our China voyage but a highlight of our life!

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The Greatest Buddha in the World

Regrets are not good things to have in one’s life: as Edith Piaf sang ‘je ne regrette rien’. However, we all have still have regrets to some degree or other. I’ll leave out silly regrets such as not having reached the summit of Mount Everest or visiting the South Pole but there are two places I could have visited and which are no more.

One is Palmyra, when I hitched across Syria as a very young kid when the world seemed a safer place.

The other is Bamiyan with its giant Buddhas, again when I hitched across a friendlier Afghanistan.  Both places are now, sadly, irreparably damaged by Islamist fanatics.

It was, therefore, a wonderful discovery that I would still be able to see the world’s largest Buddha (clearly, once the second-largest) and that this Buddha would be the nearest I would get to the destroyed ones at Bamiyan, as it was carved in rock and was of similar antiquity.

We headed on a hundred mile bus journey from Chengdu to Leshan’s giant Buddha. From the town we took a boat across the river, followed its course round a meander and there it was, the world’s largest Buddha!

Depicting the Buddha as Maitreya, the one that is to come and replace the present Buddha, a sort of second coming in fact, the statue is 233 feet high and was built in the eighth century AD by a monk called Hai Tong in the hope that the presence of the statue would have a calming effect on the rushing waters of the river it overlooks. Indeed, the stone deposited into the river from the cliff to make the monolith did manage to slow down the current and make the passage for boats safer.

 

I found the statue’s presence awesomely inscrutable. Was I questioning this supernal apparition or was it questioning me?

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The Maitreya, edged by his acolytes,  was both calming and disturbing. What was he thinking? What was I to think?

 

Meanwhile, the river flowed gently, protected by the watchful gaze of a past presence of the future, a statue fading into the cliffside from which it was formed until the Buddha became a cliff and the cliff a Buddha.

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Impassive you look
upon a suffering world:
in your mind green thoughts

Three Little Gorges

We spent a total of four nights on the MS Yangtze II ship.

The next day we sailed through the second of the three gorges, the Wu, a little shorter than the Xilling at 45 kilometres in length but no less dramatic. The limestone peaks almost seemed sculpted by some gigantic monster in the country’s primeval past. Perhaps they were, indeed, petrified daemons.

 

We took a delightful detour up the Daning river tributary to the three small gorges. Their names are Dragon gate, Misty and Emerald. Although smaller in scale than the main gorges the ‘little’ ones have a wonderfully intimate feel as their sides truly hugged our vessel.

 

I wish I could have spent more time here among the forests which are filled with wild animals including monkeys and red pandas. Life is just too short for what there is to see on this wonderful planet.

In the evening entertainment was laid on in the opulent ballroom on the top deck. It was a sweet Chinese version of something reminisicent of the shows held in that immortal sitcom ‘Hi de Hi’.

 

Although we were in such mythical places, where earth, sky and water played with each other, in this same month of November, looking back at our photographs it all already seems a dream. Were we really there or was it just a passing vision?

 

A high-rise orient:
rock peaks instead of concrete;
kissed by green waters.

Sailing up the Three Yangtze Gorges

China’s three gorges are among the most spectacularly scenic parts of this fabulous country, and also one of its most controversial because of the changes wrought upon them by the dam completed in 1994. How could the relocation of over a million people, the submersion of valuable archaeological sites and the considerable erosion of the Yangtze river banks justify such a project?

In fact, the idea of a dam for the Yangtze goes back at least as far back as the 1920’s if not beyond. This seminal area of Chinese civilization has always been prone to the worst floods, drowning thousands, and the most risky navigational problems. The idea of adding the world’s greatest hydro-electric generating station to a dam was much more recent and has enabled almost half of the country to benefit from new sources of electricity.

All dam building involves difficult choices between environment and development. All I can say is that our cruise through the gorges still thrilled me with one of the most awesome journeys I’ve ever undertaken and that a whole new generation is provided with a future which more than compensates for the nostalgia an older generation must have felt for the destruction of their ancestral roots.

To get to the start of our gorges adventure we flew from Shanghai to near where the dam is situated at Sandouping in Hubei province.

A fine boat called Yangtze II was called into service and our cabin was most comfortable. Situated on the starboard it also had a nice balcony with wicker chairs and table. It certainly evoked a by-gone charm and was the first proper cruise we had ever been on.

 

 

We visited the world’s largest power station generating almost 100 megawatt hours (enough to light up most of Europe!) and enjoyed the view from the monument at the top of the hill dominating the development.

 

 

The dam, which is 7661 ft long and 594 feet high, has three main sections with the central part containing sluice gates opened to release the build-up of silt behind them.

We were lucky enough to have our luxury liner go up the recently completed huge set of five locks separating the lower river from the upper stretch above the dam. Having only had experience of English narrow boat canal locks I was completely bowled over by the almost superhuman scale of the dam locks.

 

 

For smaller boats there is also a lift, opened in 2016, but our vessel was a little too large for that!

It took us five hours to get up the series of mammoth locks, which also accommodated other boats. I was utterly stunned by the vast scale of contemporary Chinese engineering. Yet I was pleased by the fact that it was Leonardo da Vinci who thought up the modern mitre lock and that the brits developed it extensively in the world’s first industrial revolution.

Having used this extraordinary watery staircase our pleasure liner was able to enter the start of the gorges.

The first gorge is called Xilling and is 66 km long. We entered Xilling in a misty early morning. What a sight to greet us in our half awakened state…

Pictures are worth a million words here so here they are:

 

 


True, the risen waters have made the mountain tops appear a little lower but what a sense of rapt sublimity is evoked by the gorge. No wonder generations of Chinese poets have enthused about this part of their country. Yuan Shansong of the Eastern Jin dynasty, for example, wrote “the overlapping cliffs all constitute scenery beyond expression. I had never seen such a scene nor had I any similar experience. I felt mountains and water all had spirits.”

I felt the same too.

Note also the weird ancient coffins wedged in cracks on the gorge sides. No-one quite knows how they managed to get there.

 

 

They belong to an ancient Neolithic culture and date back to at least 1000 BC.

Mysteries upon mysteries as indeed so much of China is saturated with.

Nostalgic Boveglio?

How and when did I get to Bagni di Lucca? I first read up about the place in a Collins series guidebook my local library had thrown out. The history of the town fascinated me, especially its connection to a favourite poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley. However, the guidebook, by Archibald Lyall, did describe Bagni as having seen better days (which I still feel it has.)

We’d been visiting Italy regularly for many years, in particular Tuscany. But although we’d climbed such fabulous Apuan alps as the Pania della Croce, Monte Sumbra and the highest of them all, the Pisanino, we’d only passed by Bagni di Lucca station.

In autumn 2001 I hired a scooter and we visited Pinocchio land at Collodi. Sandra had already been there before we married.

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Here are some photos of our first visit to Pinocchio park together.

 

 

We thought our visit would end at Collodi but decided to venture further up the valley and eventually reached a village called Boveglio. I was impressed by its fortified, mediaeval atmosphere and the idea came to me to look for a place to buy there. A house was pointed out to us by a local as being for sale although there was no sign to say so.
Its owner was a lady who lived in Livorno. We arranged a meeting and were shown around the property. There was a small kitchen, a smaller bathroom, two little bedrooms but the house had a large main bedroom above an equally large living room, attached to which was a small boudoir. There was a low attic, half a cellar and a tiny garden. To get to both the garden and the cellar one had to step outside the front door and go round to the side of the house.

 

At sixty thousand euros with a good exchange rate (then) the semi detached house seemed a bargain.

I returned to Boveglio again at Christmas time. The house needed a test run and the owner allowed me to carry it out. I’d also got a short contract to interpret at a conference on the voluntary sector at Lucca’s town hall. I was really keen on experiencing what it would be like to live, and not just holiday, in Italy.

It was a steep learning curve. When I returned in December the weather had turned really cold and the house had only a small electric fire to keep me warm. I remember turning on my laptop to put it under the blankets and heat up the bed. To get to work in Lucca I needed to catch two buses, the first at 5 am. What was really spooky was that the village, although quite large, seemed almost deserted.

Fortunately, I had some neighbours, a coupled retired from an expat life working in Belgium. There was also a bar with a public phone.

One day I decided I’d go over to visit Bagni di Lucca. There was no bus service from Boveglio to Bagni (and there still isn’t) so I went on my scooter through the iciest roads I’d known. It was then that I first saw the astonishing Prato fiorito.
Not much was happening at Bagni. There was a juggler and a crib display but locals told me this was the first time the council had set up anything special for Bagni. I slipped badly off the steps of the town hall and made my way back to Boveglio in the darkening gloom. The following day the snowploughs were at work.
What happened about the house? I didn’t buy it. Although it had some nice features, including two large rooms, attractive views, an extensive balcony and some elegant bits of furniture (although how much of it would have remained is a different matter) I’m glad we didn’t buy it. The house didn’t have a garden one could step into directly from the building, there were too many wobbly floor beams to replace, there was the usual demarcation problem with the neighbour who occupied the other half of the property, transport to the main centre of Lucca was erratic, there was no public service to Bagni di Lucca and every summer Boveglio suffered from a severe water supply problem. Furthermore, the house wasn’t exactly quiet since both its front and rear area were bounded by a main road. Lastly, the valley approach to the village was filled with paper mills, some of which could have counted as fine examples of industrial archaeology but all of which emitted unpleasant smells.

In short, Boveglio didn’t tick all our boxes. Our present place in Longoio, although not perfect, ticks many more boxes and it’s now twelve years that we have chosen it as our rural italian residence. Boveglio, however, is looked back with a certain degree of nostalgia. We were seventeen years younger, more innocent about Italy, and certainly more ingenuously happy.

PS. The pictures of the house were taken with our very low resolution Kodak EZ camera which introduced us to digital photography.

 

 

Why Visit Dollis Hill?

A friend from school days remarked that the picture of roses from Dollis Hill I had uploaded on Facebook yesterday were probably the only things worth looking at in that area. Certainly one doesn’t make a beeline to this part of London when landing in the metropolis.

However, for at least two persons, prime minister Gladstone and writer Mark Twain, Dollis Hill was a beautiful stretch of the city where they could find peace and relaxation in Lord Tweedmouth’s farmhouse situated in what, since 1899, is now Gladstone park. Indeed, Mark Twain wrote that he had ‘never seen seen any place that was so satisfactorily situated with its noble trees and stretch of country and everything that went to make life delightful and all within a circuit’s throw of the metropolis of the world.’

Sadly the farmhouse was left abandoned in 1989 and that is fatal for so many properties in London. Vandalism and fire (the third in 2011) took its toll and, despite strong campaigning, the property which had given solace to so many distinguished people (including Winston Churchill, who held his war cabinets there) was finally demolished, thanks to Boris Johnson’s withdrawal of funds, in 2012. What a shame! Now there is just an outline of non-original bricks to show the extent of this historical venue.

Gladstone Park, however, remains as lovely as ever. With its avenue of oaks, its wildlife woods, its duck pond, its memorial to victims of concentration camps, its pleasure garden, its children’s play area and its extensive views a visit to this otherwise unremarkable area of London is certainly worthwhile.

(Incidentally, Dollis Hill helped save the country from the tramp of jackboots, for nearby, at the Post Office research station, was built the computer used at Bletchley park to break the Nazis enigma code and help hasten the end of WWII.)

London’s Parks

London would be inconceivable, indeed unliveable, without its parks. There must be over a thousand public parks, open spaces, wildlife centres and recreation grounds in the capital. About 47% of the city is termed as green space, excluding private gardens.

Of course, visitors to London concentrate on the eight royal parks: Hyde park, Kensington gardens, Richmond park, Bushy park, St James park, the Green park, Regent’s park and Greenwich park but there so many other parks worth visiting and each one has its own special feature.

The borough of Brent, for example, contains eighty nine parks and open spaces of which three: Fryent, Roundwood and Gladstone are historically listed and have received national awards.

The park we took our Sunday afternoon walk yesterday was not listed and is not remarkable for any special feature. That, however, did not exclude the pleasant walk we had in it, even with a freshening wind.

The park’s history is of interest. The idea of holding a great exhibition in Wembley park had already been mooted in 1902 but this involved the loss of the pleasure gardens created by railway entrepreneur Sir Edward Watkin in the 1890’s. In compensation land was bought by the council for a replacement park, opened in 1914 and called King Edward VII park in memory of the king who had died in 1910.

The park is bigger than it looks and has a good variety of trees including a ginkgo biloba or maidenhair tree, the oldest living species of tree (there are others at Bagni di Lucca’s Villa Ada and at Lucca’s botannical gardens, for instance.) There are play and keep fit areas, a disused bowling hut (which almost became London’s only Welsh school (now relocated at Feltham), fine views across to Harrow-on-the-Hill, an elegant entrance stairway and the usual scurry of grey squirrels.

It’s a pity there isn’t a memorial in the park to a king who was Elgar’s good friend. Elgar, however, did dedicate his second symphony to the king’s memory and, coincidentally, composed one of the very few works he wrote after his wife’s death, the ‘Empire March’, specially for Wembley’s Empire exhibition, finally held in 1924.

 

There are also, among others, Edward VII memorial parks in Lisbon, to commemorate the king’s visit there in 1902 and even one in Brisbane.