ITALY in September

I fornaci by night at Ponte dell"Orso

Emilia Romagna: Ponte dell’Olio

When we planned to go to Italy with Leslie and Bob,  my main concern was that we could return to Hure fairly quickly in order to pack up before our departure and as I had never stayed in this part of Italy and, as it was within easy reach of the border with France, it seemed ideal. Despite its proximity to Milan, the area around Ponte Dell’Olio was remarkably rural . We stayed in accommodation organised by Leslie in a newer part of the old town and we were pleasantly surprised by its spaciousness and comfort. A walk down the main street revealed the town as a traditional Italian community although the  freshly built area around our accommodation, the Piazza dei Fornaci , so named because of its proximity to the old brick furnaces near by, and the brand new supermercato situated in its centre, foretold modernisation to come.

Lunch in Parma

Parma Duomo (Cathedral)

In the 6 days of our stay, we visited Parma, Piacenza and Como, all medium sized major towns of the region. Of the three, Parma was the most impressive with its impressive Duomo and attractive streets.   Of course, part of a trip to Italy was the food and in Parma, our choice  was very good pizzas which we ate enthusiastically for lunch. Como was not seen as its best as the weather had turned grey and this, coupled with what appeared to be pollution, made visibility poor. Piacenza was our homeward drink stop that day and if it hadn’t been for the fact that we drove around in a number of circles trying to link up with Leslie and Bob, we might have appreciated it more. As it was, the excellent pinot grigio and the nibbles provided at a bar near the centre were the high point.

 However all was not lost. Our visits to smaller parts of the region were more interesting. On the first night, we had a most impressive (in terms of size, taste, interest and price) meal that was enjoyed by everyone. The wine was excellent as was the pasta (local speciality was tortellini con spinaci, although we also had it con funghi.) The waiter who had been advised of our arrival by the owner of our apartment, was very helpful although I plunged on in my best Italian, since in fact he spoke no English.

In fact, one of the things I liked best about the holiday was that there were many occasions when no English was spoken and so despite its inadequacy, my Italian was required. I much prefer this type of travelling when I can use the local language although of course when I can’t, English speaking service is much appreciated.  But travel through the filter of an English speaking guide, or in an environment when the tourist trade assumes English everywhere, seems to me a little sterile.

Toasting with rosso frizzante at the Trattoria in Ponte dell'Olio

Toasting with rosso frizzante holding bowls the correct way

We discovered a few interesting aspects of the local food culture in other restaurants. In a very small trattoria in Ponte dell’Olio, with only a few locals drinking in the bar, we had an excellent introduction to local customs. Mine host, unsmilingly friendly, negotiated our meal ( he actually told us what to  have): antipasto, pasta (tortellini con funghi e spinaci, get the pattern?) and porchetta which was a sort of salted roast pork (or ham). We drank the local wine, in this case a Rosso frizzante (sparkling red), which he gave us in 1.5 litre bottles (we consumed 2 ).This was served (typically) in round white thick porcelain bowls and custom demanded that this be drunk with either the thumb or the third finger in the bowl which was supported by the other fingers. Quite easy really. We finished off with expresso coffee (particularly significant for Murray, who never touches coffee) and generous doses of grappa offered by our host.

Indeed, our visits to small towns were often more rewarding.  We set off on the first day and found a small market, and Bob discovered the challenges of driving on small Italian country roads; we visited Bossetto, the town near Verdi's birthplace, which despite his unenthusiastic lack of support, insisted on feting their local hero with the construction of a theatre in his honour. Jack and I visited late on the Tuesday, the tiny town of Vigoreno, perched high about the rest of the countryside, a tiny fortified castello, still occupied and quite beautiful in its serenity and the vista that unfolds down the hills. We returned there on Friday for a lunch of antipasto, pasta and round pig cheek parcels, all washed down by rosso frizzante (bottle 1) and a good solid still red – the joys of the sparking wine were wearing off.   Despite the cobblestone descent in the much larger but equally picturesque town of Castel d’Arquetto, we ventured from top to bottom: no mean task for Leslie, who, unencombered by George, her prosthesis, was instead settled in her wheelchair, nor for Bob and Murray who were pushing. Despite their difficulties, there is never a word of complaint,  and their positive approach often makes this self-obsessed little person feel rather small.

cattle at the market

Castello Riva, a private castle just outside Ponte dell'Olio

Inside the Verdi Theatre

Verdi

Romanesque church at Castell d'Aquetto

  

The ramparts at Vigoreno

Vigoreno from the tower

guillotine in the tower at Vigoreno

On our last night we strolled down our local street, hoping to immerse ourselves in the local atmosphere and have a drink. And we did. Bianco frizzante was on offer and not to break with tradition, I partook.  The only other offer was beer.

On Saturday morning we said goodbye to Bob and Leslie who were setting out on a much bigger travelling adventure, and returned to France. En route we stayed at Beziers, visited the fascinating nine locks just outside there to remind us of our canal trip and then we returned to Hure to pack up before our summer finally came to an end.

Dinner in Beziers

les neuf ecluses de Fonserannes

I always find it sad when our summers here in France come to an end. We are very lucky to be able to come here and spend time with our family and friends in what has become a comfortable house . As summer closes down and the sunflowers turn from a glorious yellow to a depressing brown, there is both a recognition of good times past and a sadness for their passing. I resolve again to focus on the positive and to extract from that what I can, as the future is as uncertain as the past is unchangeable.