Our time in Italy is now limited as we’ll be moving on to the next adventure in October. As a result we have decided to make the most of every weekend here. So this last weekend we decided to go camping in Cilento; I’d found a nice looking campsite next to a river in a pretty area of the National Park so we hit the road once again!
Our spirits were high as we whizzed along the autostrada with Peggy curled up on the seat between us. As we left the motorway behind the speed slowed and Peggy , desperate to partake in her new favourite pastime, sensed the change of roads. She was then wide awake straining to get to the window where she paws at the glass for it to be lowered so she can stick out her head (and sometimes top half of her body) and feel the wind in her fur! She travels along for miles with the wind distorting her coat and her little ears flapping wildly!
The road turned to gravel track as we approached our chosen campsite, however when we got there it wasn’t quite the idyllic location we had in mind. We weren’t able to choose where to pitch up and were squashed in a corner of a large meadow right next to the only two other campers. So we bid a hasty retreat and quickly sought a plan b. Whilst back tracking along the road we’d come down to check out a couple of other campsites (which we suspected would have been very similar due to the proximity to Naples) we saw a sign for an Agriturismo called Il Melograno (the pomegranate) with a camping symbol on. So we slammed on the anchors, reversed up and pulled in to the steep drive. Agriturismos are usually farm or home stays with rooms, a restaurant and sometimes campsites in rural locations and usually family run.
However, Chiara the wonderfully friendly daughter who greeted us dashed our hopes by informing us the sign was old and they no longer provide camping facilities. Our Italian and her English meant the conversation could continue though and we learnt how her family had lived in this beautiful place for centuries and for the last fifty years they’ve run an agriturismo. She had a quintessentially Italian aura about her; petit frame, long dark hair that framed her beautiful, open face which when she smiled just lit up! Her friendly manner was so warm and welcoming that it made you question whether you’d actually met before. We were just about to bid her farewell to continue on our campsite hunt when she asked what sort of thing we were after. We told her somewhere wild and quiet and with that she was ushering us over to the terrace, round the pool where her children were splashing and giggling in a way that couldn’t fail to make you smile and pointed the short distance down the hill to the valley floor and said we were welcome to set up camp on her land. She was pointing to a glorious little wooded glade tucked in between two wild meadows, one of which housed a handful of white goats who could be seen marching up and down grazing on the lush, green grass. Beyond the trees and meadow was the babbling River Calore; this was just the perfect spot! We soon decided we could easily forgo electricity and shower facilities if it meant we could stay in this little haven. Chiara was so kind and refused to let us pay so we stocked up on some drinks, booked in for lunch the following day and then trundled off to set up camp.
Due to the current temperatures where the mercury was pushing forty degrees celsius, we’d opted to take our bell tent for the weekend, so it would offer a cooler experience then the hot, metal box of the camper van! After putting up the tent under the shade of the trees (which was a workout in itself) we walked the few metres through the tall grass to the river, where the glistening ripples offered a refreshing coolness as we paddled out on the smooth stones underneath. The water was crystal clear so we could see the tiny little fish darting about around our ankles and when we turned round and lifted our heads from the mesmerising water, through the vegetation you could glimpse the magnificent mountainous ridge towering up over the valley. Chiara later told us it was known as the Crown by the locals and you could see why; the bare, rocky spurs jutted up out of the vegetation covered lower slopes and in the afternoon light were glowing. It felt like like you could see every little crag and scar in minute detail from way down below. This ridge filled the beautiful panorama, towering over the rolling countryside filled with a delightful mix of trees offering the most varied palette of greens I’ve seen. It stretched from the left and disappeared off down the valley prompting one to wonder where it goes.
The evening was spent relaxing over a dinner of barbecued honey and mustard pork, grilled vegetables and red wine with the sound of cicadas and a distant dog bark for company. From our spot there wasn’t a soul to be seen or heard, even the nearby road had fallen quiet as though in silent reverence of the surrounding natural beauty, which was constantly changing under the reds and oranges of the dipping sun.
Peggy enjoyed her first night under canvas, not something we could say at one particular point in the night when she felt the need to tell us of an animal nearby by breaking into high pitched, sudden barking! But the increasing daylight seeping through the fly screens was a lovely way to wake up, as though we were in sync with the awakening chirping birds. I got up early and headed out for a bike ride before the heat of the day got too much. The ensuing four hours was just absolute bliss. The route I planned had me climbing straight away, along smooth tarmac with steep stretches up to the village of Controne where the road continued upwards leaving civilisation behind for a while and took me up and along the Crown ridge that we admired the night before. With the sun still not having crept up over the rocks above the air was cool and crisp tinged with the scent of pine as I wound my way up through forest past the pretty hilltop town of Castelcivita and onwards to where I wondered the ridge went the night before. After ten miles of climbing the road pitched up and down for a while, rolling through towns where the locals were starting to stir. Groups of old men were sat outside cafes drinking their morning coffees, chattering away and women could be seen sweeping their door steps or watering their colourful potted plants adorning their windowsills always with a cheery ‘buongiorno’ as I pedalled past. The views from way up the hillside were just spectacular and as I cycled along this particular road they were constant, no fleeting glimpses, the land was laid out below in all it’s glory, rolling hills covered in olive groves, patches of dense forest and distant towns basking in warm morning sun. Occasionally as the road looped in round a shoulder I would lose sight of the valley below but then it soon came flooding back, just as breath taking as the time before. As I took a right turn on to another road the climbing finally stopped as I left the beautiful ridge behind and was treated to glorious descent for miles and miles along meandering roads that weaved in and out of the landscape. I didn’t have to turn the pedals for about twelve miles. I felt like a child who’d discarded their stabilisers for the first time and was flying down a hill with gay abandon, without a care in the world! Except I did pull myself back to reality when the road surface became less than ideal and I found myself hurtling towards a stray dog in the middle of nowhere! I was now in the valley I’d been peering down on all morning and after a three mile climb up to the town of Roccadaspide I could look back at the Crown and track my route circling the valley. After the peacefulness of remote countryside and sleepy little villages the hustle and bustle of Roccadaspide was an assault on the senses. The usual beeping of car horns in friendly greeting (at least here it was, in Naples the horn is a different story!), the frantic chat and accompanying wild gesticulations between friends and the general hubbub of Saturday morning life was a joy to take in. I stopped for a coffee and a slice of apricot tart before setting off once again, dropping down to the rolling hills of the valley below and then arriving back to the campsite on a wave of pure, unadulterated joy. I think it was probably the best bike ride I’ve had here in Italy.
We headed down to the river where we discovered a spot further along which was deep enough to properly swim, so I cooled off in the gloriously cool water before we walked the short distance back to Il Melograno for lunch. Here, we were once again greeted by Chiara’s welcoming smile and fed the most delicious lunch, made by Chiara and her mother using all home grown produce, washed down by a bottle of home produced chilled red wine. We had a fantastic antipasti spread to begin with, followed by two different pasta dishes that were so simple but absolutely divine for it. Too full for dessert we took some fresh apricots and figs back with us at her insistence. The princely sum of this feast was twenty four euros…for us both…not each! Upon trying to give her extra for the camping Chiara dashed off and came back with a bulging bag of home grown, bright red tomatoes for us to take with us. Honestly, the hospitality of some people continues to astound me.
The afternoon was a lazy one of book reading in the hammock and evening drinks by the river and before we knew it, it was the next morning and time to pack up camp and head home. I know I can’t recommend Il Melograno for camping, as we were so lucky to receive a wonderfully kind one off gesture, but if you’re looking for a room or somewhere for lunch in north Cilento then don’t go anywhere else! You really won’t be disappointed.
Brand New Day 