The Real Italy

Which way to Pescina?

Before departing on a road trip through Central Italy, I got hold of a guide book to the Abruzzo region by an author named Rock DiLisio: 'Abruzzo Travel Guide - The True Italia.' Rock and his family hail from the Abruzzo, and after conceding that there is a lot on offer in Rome, Florence, Venice, Milan, Naples, Tuscany and Lombardia, he asks: "But where can I go to see the true Italy?" and concludes: "The typical answer to the question would be the Province of Abruzzo."

Actually, it's not uncommon for most Italians from small towns to assert that their town shows you the true Italy - la vera Italia. I was sure that we would indeed encounter la vera Italia on a road trip through the mountains of Abruzzo, past Italy's tallest peak, the Corno Grande (2912 m).

Like any road trip on secondary roads, we had our share of great scenery, changes in weather, small towns and the occasional interesting traffic. Stopping in the small towns, meeting the locals, surveying the many crops - corn, tobacco, olives, walnuts, sunflowers, vegetables of all kinds, hazelnuts, almonds - si, abbiamo scoperto la vera Italia. (Yes, we found the real Italy).

Here's a photo journal of the road trip through Abruzzo, as seen through the windscreen from the passenger seat. Buon viaggio.

Headed North on the A1, Napoli to Roma.

It was some help, but generally we relied on the Italian Way - asking directions.

Our first hill town.

In the province of Molise, looking for Abruzzo -- which way?

Ah, mountains!

"Scanno 44" - our destination appears at last!

We're in Abruzzo!

Beautiful Lake Barea.

The medieval village of Barea.

Into a pine forest.

Watching out for deer - and chamoix!

The Valle dei Scannese.

Traffic hazards.

Beautiful Scanno - 1050 m ASL.

Lago di Scanno. Like Lake Louise, only Italian.

The lovely hidden Valle di Sagitario

Another hill town appears.

Tunnel through the rocks.

Coffee stop in the heart of the Real Italy.
Anversa di Abruzzi.

No, not a Roman aqueduct, a rail bridge.

Local harvest. Near Sulmona.

Fields and mountains.

Dusk in Abruzzo.

Parco Nazionale d'Abruzzo.
Passo Godi, 1540m ASL. 

Giro d'Italia!

It wouldn't be Italy with a traffic snarl. Pecasseroli.

Close to our highest point, near Pecasseroli.

A patriotic town on the plain.

This is definitely a Roman road - in the Piana del Fucino.

Colour in Celano.

Towards L'Aquila, the capital of Abruzzo.

Clouds coming in.

Sheep and hay. Le pecore e il fieno.

Into each road trip a little rain must fall.

Pine forests as we climb higher.

Another traffic hazard.

A local resident.

Mountain scenery above the farmland.

Near the highest area of Abruzzo. Mist in the valleys.

Impressive road tunnels.

Rainy view.

Yes, that's what the sign says.

Back to farmland.

And a misty rainbow to end our drive.

The best place in the world

Cradle Mountain and Dove Lake

It's a big call, but I make it confidently: of all the places I've travelled - and there are many extraordinary destinations amongst them - this one is my all-time favourite. There is something very special about Cradle Mountain and the Tasmanian wilderness that always has me on Cloud Nine when I visit. There's a special vibe in the crystal clear mountain air.

One of my earliest memories as a very young child is of picnicking with my family at Waldheim, the rustic chalet built by Gustav Weindorfer, an Austrian nature-lover who not only settled in this amazing wilderness, but fought to preserve it as a National Park. 

The northern entry to the park, under the twin dolomite peaks of Cradle, marks the beginning of the six-day Overland Track, one of the world's great wilderness tracks (yes, I've walked it - twice). If you don't have time for that, the three-to-four hour hike up to Marion's Lookout and back not only leads you through buttongrass plains, temperate rain forest, past waterfalls and hidden lakes, but - if you haul yourself up the rocks - brings you out onto a spectacular viewpoint. From here you can look down on Dove Lake, nestling at the foot of Cradle, and observe the mountain itself - perhaps considering a climb to the top?

I like to stay at Cradle Mountain Lodge, right on the edge of the park - cosy rooms with fires, balconies to watch the wildlife at dusk, great Tasmanian food and wine, and a yummy spa for that post-hike massage and hot tub. 

Didn't I say that it was the best place in the world?

A Little Welsh Weather

Proud summiteer: Pen y Fan

I climbed a mountain. And not just any old mountain, but the tallest in South Wales. Or, to put it as one brochure so eloquently did, the tallest in Wales (except for Snowdonia); or the tallest in Britain (except for Snowdonia and Cumbria). I also climbed the second-tallest in South Wales, because it is in the way of the tallest one, and the path goes over it. I know you need their names and stats:

Pen y Fan - 886 m

Corn Du - 873 m

Approaching Pen y Fan...notice the lovely sunny weather

When I set out on this enterprise, the sun was shining and the Welsh hills looked green and inviting. By the time I’d completed the ascent, a wild hailstorm was blistering across the mountain tops, driven by a blustery wind. Then the sun would appear again and peace would reign; only to have the hail come driving on back. It was nothing if not interesting.

Uh-oh...

Nevertheless, I had a splendid time. It was a great walk with stupendous views at the top. Who knew that South Wales was so beautiful? The hills drop away dramatically, and little lakes glisten here and there in the folds. It was charming, though unfortunately not the day for lingering.

The summit

A three hour hike.

In the Brecon Beacons.

Yes, there was a little bit of snow still about.

The locals seem very redoubtable - the trails were thronged with other hikers, most with small children and/or dogs in tow. But there is a memorial up there to one small hiker who never made it back...

Tommy Jones was a five-year-old miner’s son. In August 1900, he visited the area with his father to see his grandfather, who lived on a farm below the peaks. They walked from the old railway station in Brecon and stopped for a rest at a local army camp, where they were met by his grandfather and also his 13-year-old cousin, Willie. The two older men were enjoying the company of the soldiers so decided to stay at the camp for a while. They sent the two boys on ahead to tell Tommy’s grandmother of their impending arrival. It was getting quite late and, as it started to get dark, Tommy was scared and decided to return to his father. Willie continued to the farm to tell his grandmother as arranged. Tragically, however, Tommy never made it back to the camp. 

A huge search ensued. The army became involved and so did the daily newspapers - one actually offering a reward for information. Sadly, weeks went by without any sight of him and then as local woman dreamed of the boy and led her husband straight up onto a ridge, where she’d never been before, and where they discovered the small boy’s body. He had died of exhaustion and exposure. An obelisk now stands close to the spot where his body was found.

Tommy's Memorial is 300 metres down this ridge.

886m. But whose counting?

The story comes courtesy of my small guide book, “Brecon Beacons - great short walks for all the family” by Tom Hutton. Tom does mention that

The hills, mountains and moorlands of britain, though of modest height compared with those in many other countries, need to be treated with respect. friendly and inviting in good wether, then can quickly be transformed into wet, misty, windswept and potentially dangerous areas of wilderness in and weather. Even on an outwardly fine and settled summer day, conditions can rapidly deteriorate...

Tom is quite right.