more italian adventures

and so it continues

Monday 31 July

The first weekday arrives and we are still without milk or water. Dry cereal for breakfast is becoming tedious. Surely the supermarkets are open now? After a leisurely morning we check with our landlady next door who tells us that they open after mid day. How do they ever do any business when they're shut all the time? The afternoon heat rises and we drive down the hills to find Esselunga open. The relief is palpable. Like kids in a sweetshop we run into the airconditioned store and pick up watermelons, olives (for Heather), ice cream and other delights.

Back at the house we struggle to bring out 12 bottles of water up the steps. To our delight the 'mama' next door, who loves to cook, has decided that she will make us spaghetti for tea. Fantastic. Spaghetti is my favourite food, and the real thing, made by mama from Bologna is too good to turn down. Heather and I hit the pool again and before long mama calls round with pasta and a bottle of home made wine from the grapes at the bottom of the garden. It was great, not too much sauce, all mixed in with the pasta, large chunks of grated parmesan melting in with the olive oil-covered pasta, and little bits of bacon throughout with a few basil leaves for good measure. The wine, while not exactly vintage, added to the rustic feel of home made spag-bol and golden evening sunlight. We took some ice cream around next door to socialise with our neighbours, drink grappa and fend off an enormous, enthusiastic great dame.

Tue 1 August

We didn't go anywhere yesterday and having lunch supplies safely in the fridge felt it was high-time we ventured out of the local area. In the summer of 2000, hungry and late at night, ten weary travellers stumbled into a restaurant in Gallicano called Elissio's for what was quite possibly the best meal of my life. Elissio has no menu, you eat what he cooks, but that's not a problem as he only cooks great food. As it is only up the road we thought we would try to recreate this experience. Our plan was to travel to Barga and Castelnuovo, and perhaps the mountains of Abetone taking in the
Maddalena's bridge or Devil's Bridge (ponte del diavolo) connecting the banks of the river Serchio.

The bridge is so called becase the master mason, after he had begun building it, noticed that he could not complete it by the required day. Gripped with fear he invoked the Devil for help. The Devil accepted to complete the bridge in a night in exchange of the spirit of the first that will cross it. The contract was signed but the constructor, full of remorse, confessed himself and the churchmen advised him to let a pig cross the bridge first. So the Devil was defeated and he disappeared in the deepness of the river.

I had planned a wonderful route that would take in the breathtaking scenery of the mountains to abetone. Scenery comes at a cost, and the rough guide advised that the road was 'impassable in bad weather'. Underterred we set off in the face of brooding skies only to hit lightening and thunder at Bagni di lucca. This little town was a favourite of Shelly and other romanticists. In its heyday people flocked to the famous casino from all over Europe where roulette was invented. We stopped, had a wonder around and an ice cream. After a weather check, we ventured on up the mountain a little more. Every corner was a hairpin and the nasty cloud over the peak did not look inviting. We stopped at a viewpoint, took in the view and headed back down the mountain.

We then made for Castelnuovo di Garfagnana, a lovely little town where years ago I bought my wallet. The windy roads put me to sleep on the way there and I awoke on arrival. Bleary eyed I followed dad and heather up the street for a coffee and window shopping in any number of shoe shops. Barga would have to wait, we were hungry and had a great meal awaiting us. Or so we thought.

We arrived at Gallicano parked the car and stroled down memorable streets to the door of the restaurant. Our smiles crumpled as we read the sign that said 'martedì chiuso'. Of all the days of the week, we had come on the one it was shut. Our hearts faded with the evening light and we drove home to investigate a lesser restaurant on our list. We eventually found Trattoria la Pia, or what we referred to for the rest of our time as 'object of desire'.

Full of confidence and rapid italian desks I asked for un tavalo per tre in vicino alla finestra upon arrival. Seated a grumpy bald man with a lip beard gabbled italian at us. I managed to order vino rosso della casa and acqua con gas. He didn't smile. After chatting to his friends he came back and gabbled more italian, the primo piatta course. I made out ravioli and asked for that, heather picked up tortelloni and dad some zuppa. A long wait ensued after which some very enjoyable fresh pasta. He waited a little longer and came back to take our meat course orders. This stumped us. We couldn't understand a word. There was no written menu and when I asked him 'parla inglese?' the reply was a curt 'no'. So we ordered steak and salads 'cause we knew the italian and the little man scurried off again. All the while, throughout his sour service he wore an easyjet-orange tea-shirt with the words emblazened across the front: 'OBJECT OF DESIRE'. The irony of it all.