Brand New Day

Bikepacking Le Marche – Day 5

What a disaster the last day turned out to be!

Rain was forecast for later on in the day but being orographic we were hoping it may be wrong and likely to change. Nevertheless we set off with high spirits, slightly weary legs and very sore undercarriages and made our way to the end of the valley. We managed four miles until another problem arose. The road was closed. We ignored the signs hoping we could get through but to no avail. After consulting the map we were faced with two route choices. Firstly, the main roads, most of which were dual carriageway and disappeared off into miles of tunnels. After the first day’s escapades we soon ruled out that option. The second option was to take the small, regional roads which would mean an extra 50 miles on top of the 50 miles we’d already planned. Which by itself wouldn’t be too much of a problem but combined with the poor forecast and the fact said detour included a couple of mountain passes we declined that option too! Luckily we were near a train line with a train arriving soon. So we took the train to Spoleto from where we could cycle back to Norcia.

The climb out of Spoleto was absolutely stunning, six miles of winding, quiet roads with fantastic views. The descent the other side was equally beautiful as we hugged the side of a remote, wild valley dropping 2,000 ft to the valley below.

We stopped for a coffee and a much needed boost of chocolate before continuing up the valley. We were nearly back, only 10 miles to go, when the heavens opened! Within minutes there was rain pounding down from above and coming back up at us from the ground. We were absolutely drenched, complete with socks squelching inside shoes. I’ve never cycled in such torrential rain, it was hard to see the road ahead. But with only a few miles left we battled on and eventually made it to our wonderful little Agriturismo at Norcia.

After 5 days, 285 miles, 17,500 ft of climbing and no dog chases we had made it back. An hour or so of rain was a small price to pay for such a fantastic trip. I really felt like we’d experienced this wonderful region to the full. Connecting with the people, tasting the food and drinking in the scenery. It really is the best way to travel and such a fitting way to end our time in Italy.

Despite being blighted by covid restrictions since the first day in country, I really don’t think we could have had a better Italian experience. We were lucky enough to see an empty St Mark’s Square in Venice, stand alone atop Vesuvius, pedal the deserted road of the Amalfi Coast and so much more. All these wonderful memories will be treasured forever. Whilst the downside of covid had it’s tough times, like not seeing loved ones, the lifelong friendships made along the way more than make up for it. It was an absolute blast. Best of all we’ve got a gorgeous, fluffy souvenir. Grazie Italia.

Bikepacking Le Marche – Day 4

It was bound to happen. Three days of glorious sunshine was more than we had hoped for. So when we drew the curtains back and saw a windy, overcast day it wasn’t a surprise! At least it was dry.

We hit the road and dropped down from Urbino to nearby Calpino where we saw the first and only proper bike shop of the whole trip. As we both had a couple of niggles with the bikes we stopped to get them adjusted and then set off for the day ahead. However we didn’t get far. Three miles down the road we approached roadworks with traffic lights. Stopped for the red light. On green Mr BND pressed down on the pedal to set off again and there was an almighty crunch and clank. The chain had snapped. Oh dear! Not having the required spare part to fix it we thanked our lucky stars the bike shop we’d just left was so close. I ditched my luggage and sprinted back to the shop to buy a spare chain link. It felt like I was flying without the luggage and with the wind behind me! Upon my return, after getting my breath back, we made the necessary repair, reloaded and we were on our way again. That could have been a lot worse!

We soon saw a group of other cyclists, the first we’d seen in a long time. As we wound our way up a climb we slowly passed some riders in the strung out group, which included a couple of Brits who I slowed to talk to. They were on an organised Guided Tour cycling from Bologna to Rome. Their company was a welcome addition for a few miles until our paths diverged as we made our way to the Furlo Pass. Now well and truly back in the mountains the Furlo Gorge sits in a Nature reserve and is a deep, rugged ravine with the River Candigliano running along it’s base. We’d been recommended to visit this spot, due to the wonderful colour of the water, traffic free road and the fact it’s a nice place for a dip to cool off. However, with 20 mph winds and no sun the thought of a swim wasn’t very appealing. We had planned to travel down the gorge the day before but due to a landslide the road was impassable at the far end (hence the lack of traffic.) So we took a detour and cycled up it a small way to have a look. With the rock faces towering high above, the river flowing below and the wind howling through the narrow space in between the rocks it really was a powerful place! The forces of nature were literally surrounding us. It also provided the first coffee stop of the day.

The rest of the day was spent winding between huge, raggedy ridges, up long passes and down remote, windy descents. The contrast in landscape from the day before was huge. This area was much more wild and mountainous. We’d kept the day’s mileage slightly lower so we could reach our destination in plenty of time and shortly after lunch we cruised down a wonderful road in another impressive gorge and rolled into San Vittore, a tiny hamlet with a hotel, a couple of restaurants, a beautiful 11^th Century Romanesque Abbey and a huge car park for tourists visiting the nearby Frassasi Caves. The latter being the reason for our visit.

We walked the mile or so out to the cave entrance and joined another couple for a guided tour. With there being so few tourists, particularly from outside Italy, we were lucky to have such a small group for the tour. Our guide lead us through huge, metal doors in the rock, up a dark, damp slope, through some more doors and in to the most wonderful cave system I’ve ever seen. The Frassasi Caves weren’t discovered until 1971, when a group of young men from the Italian Alpine Club discovered them by accident and at 5km long they are Italy’s finest cave system. Over the following hour and a bit our guide took us through the cavernous rooms pointing out features like the bacon slice, the crystalized lake, the organ, the room of candles and the many creatures that the stalactites and stalagmites resemble. These caves are a karst cave system and as such there’s pools and lakes adding to the magical atmosphere. The first room is called the Abyss of Ancona and is so big the Milan Duomo would fit inside. They really were spectacular and well worth a visit.

Near to the entrance of the caves, up in the rock on the opposite side of the gorge is the most beautiful coming together of nature and man made structure. The Temple of Valadier is an octagonal church built inside a cave that is thought to have offered refuge for centuries to locals and travellers alike. It was constructed in 1828 by Pope Leone XII and the eight sides are said to represent the eighth day when Jesus was resurrected. The juxtaposition between the smooth, straight surfaces of the church against the rough, jagged rock of the surrounding gorge was so striking.

That evening we ate at a restaurant opposite the hotel called La Scaletta, where despite our ridiculously early (by Italian standards) arrival time we were well looked after and fed some of the finest food from the region of Le Marche; including Pappardelle al cinghiale (pasta and wild boar ragu) and Tiramisu. Stunning scenery, riding our bikes and good food….what another great day!

Day 4 Strava Link – Click Here

Bikepacking Le Marche – Day 3

The third day of our bike trip around Le Marche was probably my favourite. After leaving the hustle and bustle of Ancona behind, we headed along the coast before turning inland where our route took us through some gorgeous countryside. After the first few miles it got lumpy and there wasn’t an inch of flat all day. It was wonderful! It reminded us of rolling hills back at home; a few minutes of effort up before coasting down, whizzing back up as the road replicated the Big Dipper roller coaster passing through the countryside. Once again we had the weather gods on our side, the sky was bright blue dotted with fluffy little clouds like cotton wool balls hanging above us. The sun was out but not too hot for a day in the saddle and the slight breeze was a welcome relief on the uphill sections. Life was good! It soon got even better when we stopped for yet another delicious coffee and pastry at Pasticceria Golosamente, “this is definitely the best one yet” I mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. A sentence that has been uttered most days in Italy!

We left the sleepy hill top town of Ostra and it’s wonderful café behind and before long we were grinding our way up the hill to Corinaldo, a member of ‘I Borghi più belli d’Italia.’ The most beautiful Italian Towns. An association set up to promote and protect villages and towns of quality heritage. Like so many dotted around Italy, Corinaldo is made up of little stone buildings, cascading down the hillside, providing a warren of lanes and alleyways all surrounded by the protective fifteenth century walls. One building in particular though was of interest to us. Casa La Scuretto. Being a very rural and sparse area of Italy, work was hard to come by and as result the inhabitants of Corinaldo were not particularly well off. It was for this reason that the son of the town’s cobbler Scuretto left Italy and travelled to America. He succeeded in finding work and regularly sent money home to his father in Corinaldo with the clear intention for him to build a house for his eventual return. However, for his father, the pull of the local tavern and hostelries was too strong to ignore and he subsequently spent all the money on alcohol. After a few years the son enquired about the progress of the house and requested a photo; not wanting to ruin a good thing the father had only a façade of a house constructed, photographed and sent to his son before promptly returning back to the bar! Needless to say the construction didn’t get any further and the money soon stopped but the façade of Casa La Scuretto still stands today, nestled between two bigger buildings with nothing behind but fresh air!

The route continued it’s wiggling journey through the patchwork of countryside, becoming greener and lusher the further in land we headed and the nearer to the mountains we got. Around lunchtime we found ourselves in a situation most cyclists fear. The growing rumble of hunger hitting whilst being in the middle of nowhere! Each promising settlement on the map resulted in disappointment as we pedalled through more and more sleepy, deserted villages. Getting quite concerned about Mr BND’s levels of ‘Hangry’ and his requirement to not go without real food for more than four hours (cycling or not!) I was starting to contemplate throwing ourselves on the mercy of locals and in my head attempted to construct an appropriate sentence in Italian. However, before door knocking commenced we cycled up yet another climb and in to the small town of Barchi where appeared a ahead of us, a bar, like an oasis in the desert. Thank the Lord. The next hurdle would be if they sold anything other than coffee and alcohol but the kind owner must have heard the urgency in our voices whilst requesting whether he sold paninis and agreed to rustle something up for us. I think it was a pickled spicy aubergine piadina, perhaps not what we would have chosen but it was soon wolfed down in great relief! We enjoyed our lunch on the terrace out the back of the bar with commanding views over the rolling hills for miles around. We left the cute little village behind, passing a highly decorated village gatehouse and descended down sweeping bends to the valley below.

As the shadows lengthened we weren’t far from our destination for the night; Urbino. A walled city and a UNESCO World Heritage Site notable for a remarkable historical legacy of independent Renaissance culture, especially under the patronage of Federico da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino from 1444 to 1482. It is also home to the University of Urbino founded in 1506 and is famous for being the birthplace of artist Raphael. We had one last (quite large) climb up to the city itself, then negotiated the least steep streets to eventually arrive in the main square in front of the Ducal Palace. Here we took on necessary re-hydration and sustenance (otherwise known as beer and snacks) and soaked in the hustle and bustle of this magnificent place. Being a University town it was much busier and livelier than we had seen all trip. With reluctance we declined another drink and mounted our bikes for the last couple of kilometres to our hotel on the edge of town. We were staying at Hotel Mamiani, a decision we made purely on the basis that it has a spa! Our legs were very grateful of the pummelling jets of water as we soaked our weary muscles. 69 miles and 5,000ft of climbing ensured we slept very well that night!

Bikepacking Le Marche – Day 2

As we rolled out of the Agriturismo’s car park, the sun was still low, there was a freshness to the air and the huge sky had that dark blue hue about it, promising another beautiful day. All was quiet with no one else in sight, we just had the soaring and swooping swifts for company as we made our way back along the gravel track to the road. We’d started the day in the only way one could on a cycling holiday; making the most of the beautiful breakfast buffet crammed full of locally sourced delights, washed down with a coffee. (I’m talking proper breakfast buffet here, a pre-Covid style where you can help yourself to as much as you like, not one of these “buffets” where you have to be handed things from behind a plastic screen by a member of staff in a hazmat suit. Where the English in me feels I shouldn’t have too much in case this stranger who I’m never going to see again judges me! Sidenote: MR BND does not have the same moral reservation.)

Today we were leaving the rolling hills behind and heading to the seaside! So the first 10 miles were all down hill, what a way to start the day. As the road disappeared off in to the valley below, so did my cycling partner who see’s every descent as a speed challenge. But on such a perfect morning I decided to take my time and enjoy the views. As I cruised down the hill and round hair pin corners I was able to fully appreciate the landscape. Row after row of neat and orderly vines stretched away from the roadside guiding the eyes to the patchwork of fields that covered the rolling terrain like a blanket. A palette of greens and browns below a bright blue sky. I passed a house up on a bank to my left where a veg patch was being tended to by an old couple, so engrossed in their task that my call of ‘Boungiorno’ seemed to be quite unexpected. As the gradient lessened our route joined another road where I was reunited with my fellow cyclist and we headed East to the coast. The rolling fields soon gave way to flat, agricultural land crammed full with polytunnels and nurseries. We pedalled straight to the beach at Marina di Altidona where the deserted seafront lay in all it’s glory. The blue, cloudless sky met the turquoise water, shimmering under the morning’s sun.

Being a Sunday morning the rest of the world was slow to wake but before long we were joined by many other cyclists who obviously use this flat, coastal road as their Sunday morning playground. We passed the time by shouting ‘Salve’ as we passed, to determine the serious, boring ones from those like us, out enjoying life! After 30 miles of flying up the coast with a belting tail wind we diverted inland to visit the town of Loreto. Just in time for lunch! Loreto is another hilltop settlement that can be seen for miles around and after a welcome incline after all the flat, we were soon pushing our bikes through the beautifully decorated Porta Romana in to the traffic free historic centre. Another bustling, lively place, we walked down the central street lined with individual shops crammed full of local produce, many complete with a Nonna stood in the door way watching the goings on. The main street draws you, almost inevitably, to Piazza della Madonna, a magnificent square bordered by some of the finest Italian architecture I’ve seen. At the centre sits the Fontana Maggiore, an impressive, elaborate fountain guarding the piece de resistance of the town, the Basilica della Santa Casa. This rare, fortress like Cathedral was built between 1469 and 1587 to protect a precious treasure. The Holy House of the Virgin Mary sits inside the Cathedral, under the huge dome. According to tradition this is the house from Nazareth where the Virgin Mary lived and it was brought to Loreto by Angels. As such Loreto and its Cathedral is a hugely significant site of Pilgrimage for Catholics all over the world. We decided it perhaps wouldn’t be the most respectful idea to go inside, particularly on a Sunday, clad in lycra! So we enjoyed the atmosphere, had some lunch sat outside in the main Piazza and then continued our journey. Not before getting a photo of the coolest looking police car and a random jet though! What a place!

Back on the coast we only had a few more miles of flat, seaside pedalling before we reached the Parco regionale del Conero, a hilly, forest clad nature reserve with dramatic cliffs dropping down to the sea. In the town of Numana the road pitched up and our speed dropped down! In what seemed like such a short distance we’d climbed high in to the park and the views behind were incredible. The Adriatic sea stretched for miles and we could see all the way down the coast to where we’d come from that morning. The gradient lessened and the road pitched and rolled, winding it’s way through this area of natural beauty. The reward for our slog up was the inevitable descent all the way in to the Region’s Capital of Ancona, sections of which were quite steep and as such prompted the question of ‘We’re not going out that way tomorrow are we?’ A question I pretended to ignore for a while to allow for a small amount of dread to set in!

The Grand Palace Hotel, our home for the night in Ancona, was definitely the smartest of the trip, perhaps the smartest we’d ever stayed at in fact! So turning up as smelly, sweaty messes on bikes wasn’t the greatest entrance but the staff were very professional and welcomed us as warmly as any normal guest. I guarantee the drinks and snacks in the complementary minibar have never been devoured so quickly though!

The afternoon and evening was spent exploring the delights of Ancona; one of which was a weird art gallery called Museo Tattile Statale Omero. Originally set up for blind people this museum actively encouraged touching and feeling the exhibits (very Covid friendly.) It wasn’t quite as good as we expected so after a long, personal introduction by a member of staff we spent the minimum amount of time walking round without seeming rude before escaping!

Due to it being a huge port city the centre itself was much more modern and international than most places in Italy so we opted for a proper pint of beer in an Irish pub and a curry at the only Indian restaurant we’d seen in the whole of Italy! Don’t judge….we promised to return to true Italian fare the following day!

Strava Link – Here

Bikepacking Le Marche – Day 1

Well this post is certainly long over due. Now having been back in the UK for seven weeks, so much of our time in Italy is fading in to a sepia-toned memory. So I thought I’d better record our last hoorah before it was forgotten forever.

To conclude our time in Italy we decided to embark on one last adventure. After 18 months in the country we only had a couple of the 20 regions of Italy that we hadn’t been to. (Not bad during covid times!) One of these regions was Le Marche. Now I must admit I’d never heard of Le Marche until I learnt it’s where one of my very good friends is from. It’s a relatively small, unassuming, beautiful gem of a place that is yet to make it on to the mainstream tourist trail. On the East coast of the country, nestled in between Emila Romagna, Umbria and Abruzzo; Le Marche is a region with so much to offer.

Ernest Hemingway once said: ‘It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them. Thus you remember them as they actually are, while in a motor car only a high hill impresses you, and you have no such accurate remembrance of the country you have driven through as you gain by riding a bicycle.’ And I quite agree! So we plotted a route, packed our saddle bags and set off on our last Italian adventure.

Day 1

Our start point was actually just over the border in Umbria, a small medieval town called Norcia. This is somewhere we had saved on our ‘Want to Go’ list as we learnt it was famous for its food! It didn’t disappoint. We thought it prudent and responsible to make sure we were sufficiently fuelled and hydrated the night before, so only 4 courses and a carafe of wine would suffice in a gorgeous restaurant called the Salsiccia Bar (yes sausage bar!)

Norcia is a magical but moving town in equal measure. In August 2016 this mountainous area of central Italy was struck by an earthquake which was to have a devastating effect. Followed by several more tremors in the following months the town was severely damaged. The walled exterior doesn’t give much away but once inside, the small, narrow streets are made even narrower by the huge amount of scaffolding. In fact it was easier to spot a building which wasn’t clad in scaffolding. It seemed the whole town was being held together by a giant lattice of poles. The once impressive cathedral in the main square just had one side still standing, it’s front facade stood defiantly, if you were to approach from the other side of the piazza it would take some time to realise the rest of the building was missing, like some strange movie set. In true determined Italian style, the locals demonstrated strength in the face of adversity and moved their precious shops selling local produce and quaint gifts to a new site just outside of the walls. Five years on one wonders if the town will ever return to how it was, a place without the constant presence of builders signs, plastic orange fencing and towering scaffolding but for now life goes on in this brave little town.

After a comfortable night at the lovely Casale nel Parco Agriturismo on the edge of town, we loaded our bikes and set off………and went the great distance of 2KM in to town for breakfast! Well we couldn’t start the day without it! Fuelled on chocolate croissants and cappuccinos we did actually start the journey properly and went straight in to a 7 mile long climb! As delicious as the breakfast was, I was slightly concerned I’d be seeing it again! But with the sun starting it’s inevitable, daily ascent in to a bright blue, cloudless sky we soon got in to a rhythm and before long we had the road to ourselves as we left civilisation behind for a little while. The climb went on and on offering panoramic views of the valley floor below until we reached a roundabout joining a busier road which we followed to the top. Here we discovered a tunnel. Not just any tunnel but one with a No Cycling sign. Our hearts sank. After consulting the map and deciding cycling all the way back down, round and up an actual mountain was not going to happen, as the only alternative suggested, we decided to leg it through the tunnel. To begin with it was fine, quiet, no traffic either way, well lit and wide. Then batches of traffic came through from ahead in waves, they started beeping and waving at us, which we soon figured was not out of polite greeting. The tunnel went on and on and on, in fact it was 5km long and we soon discovered what the motorists’ frantic gesticulating was all about. There were traffic lights ahead with half the road blocked off. Oh dear. We now had to make sure we got through before the lights changed the other end. My legs were burning, I couldn’t talk and all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears as I tried to hang on to the rear wheel of Mr BND as we time trialled our way through. We made it! We felt ecstatic at our achievement but also very foolish for not having sufficiently researched the route. A lesson we won’t be forgetting in a hurry.

The rest of the day was much more sedentary in comparison, but not without adventure! Our route took us through quiet villages nestled in to rocky outcrops, over medieval bridges with babbling streams far below and along roads that were so quiet it seemed other worldly. There was a very sombre moment where we seemed to have entered a post Apocalyptic world. After the tunnel incident, we dropped down to a road that clung to the valley side, obviously once the main thoroughfare it now lay quiet and peaceful thanks to the modern road having built on stilts high above. The quietness soon became slightly eerie, the road condition deteriorated and sections of the surface just dropped off the edge to the valley floor below. Piles of rubble started to appear and the whole area seemed to have the feel of a quarry about it. We rounded a corner and amongst a handful of dilapidated buildings there was a wire fencing adorned with posters of beautiful children’s faces, their innocent eyes looking back at us as we cycled past. It soon became obvious this sad, run down place was once in fact a cute little village that was sadly wiped out in the earthquake of August 2016. Now that sounds like an exaggeration, how can a whole village be wiped out in this day and age? But it was. Whilst researching this sad event since our visit I discovered the whole village of Pescara del Tronto was razed to the ground in 20 seconds. A proud, hilltop village that 100 people called home was gone. As we cycled through we could see the shells of some of the buildings, we saw tiled fire places, staircases leading to nowhere and piles of tangled debris. The village used to flow down the hillside in a maze of pretty rooftops and narrow lanes but now it’s just terraces of bare earth. Using Google streetview which was done before and after you can see the devastation that ripped through the area. The faces we saw were children who lost their lives in this tragedy.

The road beckoned us on though and before long we stopped for a delicious lunch in the bustling town of Ascoli Piceno where we had to push our bikes through the thronging market place which was alive with the sounds and smells of the region. We commented on how nice it was just to ride, to be able to stop where and when we wanted, to not be watching the speed and trying to go as fast as possible everywhere. (The tunnel aside!)

After Ascoli Piceno we left the main road behind and started winding our way up a small valley road, the reason for the lack of traffic soon became apparent when we came across some road works. It looked like they were building a new road in fact. Now when in this situation in the UK, there would be barriers and diversions galore closing the way to pedestrians and cyclists alike. However in Italy no such thing. If there’s a physical way through then you’re welcome to take it. So we dismounted, pushed our bikes through the building site, through piles of what looked like talcum powder but was in fact builders lime (that proved a bit tricky to eradicate), around a digger that was being operated by a chap who didn’t bat an eyelid at two lycra clad tourists in front of him and then on to the blissful, newly laid tarmac that wound it’s way up the valley. Only in Italy! At the top of the climb was a beautiful town called Offida where we stopped for ice cream after a little explore of the windy, cobbled streets.

It was then on to our accomodation for the evening, an agriturismo tucked away off the beaten track, up a sneaky climb that packed quite a punch. With aching legs and lungs fit to burst we turned off the road on to a gravel track (I’m not a fan off the loose stuff so Mr BND left me to have a little meltdown whilst he disappeared in a cloud of dust.) Colle delle Ciglio Agriturismo stood at the end of the meandering gravel track like a welcoming beacon on a hilltop surrounded by rolling fields. We’d survived the first day!

Now I know I shouldn’t really be calling this a bikepacking trip. Before I get inundated with objections from hardcore bikepackers, I must admit that bikepacking is usually fully self-supported and nights are spent in tents or bivvy bags. However, we wanted to end our Italian adventure in style so chose to spend our evenings in a lovely room with running water and a comfy bed. The delicious meal, gorgeous wine and the use of a swimming pool and spa were just the cherry on top!

For the Strava Link click here.

The Stelvio, Gavia and Mortirolo

‘Climb more mountains’ is a line from one of my favourite poems “The Station.” A poem about enjoying the journey of life and not focusing on the destination. This is one piece of advice that I followed this last weekend.

(The poem also says ‘Eat more ice cream’….another rule I take very seriously!)

If you’re reading this as a fellow a cyclist, then you’ll understand the logic behind our trip; however if you don’t cycle then perhaps the only conclusion you could draw is that we are absolutely barmy! A fellow cyclist and friend from here in Naples was kind enough to organise a trip to Bormio in Lombardy. He was as keen (read mental) to conquer one of the all time greatest climbs. A classic that regularly features in the Giro d’Italia. The Everest of the cycling world, the Stelvio Pass. It is the highest paved road in Italy, and the second highest in the whole of the Alps. It has been declared as the “greatest driving road in the world’ by Top Gear and is a mecca for motorbikes and cyclists who all share the same aim: to make it to the top where the altimeter reads 2,757 m or 9,045 ft.

So it was for this reason alone that we found ourselves in the clapped out community minibus on the road North, the back crammed with three bikes, cycling kit and enough energy bars to power a small village! With our friend’s wife Caroline accompanying us in the role of chief supporter and very generously helping with the driving we reached our destination 11 hours after setting off! Having skied in the area for the last 10 years luckily our friends knew it well; albeit it looking less white and more green! For them there’s only one place to stay, Hotel Alpi and Golf. This beautiful, traditional Alpine hotel is located on the edge of Bormio, surrounded by greenery and picturesque views of the mountains. It’s ran by the Cantoni family, Michele and his wife Lara with the help of Michele’s father Alfredo. For our companions it was like seeing family again when we finally arrived, not having visited for two years due to Covid the reunion was lovely to witness. We were also treated to the warmest of welcomes and to anyone staying here I can honestly say it has that feeling of ‘returning home.’ The building is a glorious mix of traditional wood with modern accents to give it that luxurious feel. Walking in to the bar after so long on the road was like receiving a lovely, warm hug! The rooms have absolutely everything you could wish for and the views off the mountains are just the icing on the cake. After a quick change we headed down for a drink and an absolutely delicious meal of hearty, local dishes that were beautifully presented. With what was in store for the next day we restrained from ordering more wine and had an early night!

The following morning saw the departure of the previous days rain clouds and in their place bright blue sky and sunshine. An absolutely perfect day for cycling in the mountains. As we worked our way through the generous and tasty breakfast spread, for me the nerves were kicking in slightly. The challenge that lay ahead was gigantic and the constant reel of thoughts kept whirring through my mind; ‘I’m not fit enough to do this. I don’t want to fail. What if it’s too steep in places. I’m not confident enough to do the descent. etc etc’ But I distracted myself with getting ready and before I knew it we were in the bus, on the way out of town. The quintessential Stelvio climb is actually from the opposite side to where we were staying in Bormio, starting in the town of Prato allo Stelvio. So we were faced with the dilemma of how to get to the start. We could have cycled from our hotel but it would have meant doing nearly the whole amount of climbing, to descend, then go back up. Whilst we’re somewhat mentally unhinged we weren’t quite at that stage. So Caroline very kindly offered to brave the hair-raising roads and drive us up to the Swiss border where we could start on the descent down the Umbrail Pass, in to Switzerland, down the valley, back in to Italy and round to the bottom of the climb. A choice we were pleased with by the end of the day! So after a group photo we bid farewell and the three of us set off on a long, chilly, twisting descent to Santa Maria. As we flew (some of us more than others) down the mountain the rocky, craggy peaks gave way to rolling, green pastures with clear, cascading streams guiding the way. We met the main road at the pretty town of Santa Maria and thought we’d rolled on to a film set. The building’s facades were covered in decorative paintings, framing windows and doors and beautifully finished off with window box after window box of brightly coloured flowers. We then had the joy of a rolling, meandering road down the remainder of the valley, much to the relief of my brake pads! We took a right hand turn and before we knew it we’d covered 21 miles and had barely turned the pedals! That soon changed. We took the final right hand turn on to the SS38 and wished each other good luck as the climb to the Stelvio Pass began. What happened next was both very unexpected and slightly demoralising. We’d just passed the sign marking the start of the climb, informing us of the painful 24 km that lay ahead, when we were overtaken. That in itself can be demoralising but spirits sunk even lower when we realised the guy who had just flown past in the blink of an eye only had one leg! Chapeau to him! Our smiles were soon restored however, as we passed a couple of guys from a dutch cycling group, the name of which they had blazoned across their backs….Willies!

The first few kilometres weren’t too bad, at an average gradient of 5% a rhythm could be found and the views of the pine covered lower slopes were a welcome distraction. After the town of Trafoi however, things got serious! After just ticking off the first hairpin bend I realised there was another 47 to go! “Just keep pedalling.” The constant mantra going round and round my mind. The average gradient then kicked up to 8% with steeper sections pitching up along the way. The pine trees opened up to reward us with views of the snow capped mountains the opposite side of the valley and as we wound further and further up one of the many glaciers of this area sat proudly nestled in amongst it’s rocky peaks. Conversation between us decreased as the pain increased and soon the altitude took effect, with it being harder to catch our breath; again the scenery helped to distract us and I remember a mix of emotions when turning one corner in particular. The hairpins are numbered in reverse order so you know how many you have remaining to the top. Just before number 24, the road rounds a shoulder, the trees diminish to ground hugging bushes and the crowning glory of this climb can be witnessed. The zigzagging road disappears up the mountain to where you can just make out the top of the pass. The end is in sight, but it’s such a long way still, but look at the road, what an impressive feat of engineering! All contrasting thoughts whirring through my brain at the same time. And so the last slog began, my legs had just decided they’d had enough of a warm up and I started to feel quite good. I could drink in the views of the soaring birds, the colourful wild flowers and the chirping marmots darting amongst the tufts of grass. The mountainous peaceful, atmosphere was somewhat dampened by the roaring of motorbikes and super cars as they came flying by. But annoyance turned to acceptance because on a road like this, who could blame them.

The hairpin numbers finally fell to single figures and a very long time after beginning the climb we finally made it to the top! We did it! We were greeted by what can only be described as a party atmosphere! The top of the pass was alive with hustle and bustle. There was a row of souvenir shops selling everything from cycling jerseys to cuddly toy marmots, there were restaurants, cafes and street vendors selling hot dogs and pretzels. Miraculously though it was still sunny, with only a slight wind so after the obligatory photos we enjoyed an alfresco lunch of sausage and chips!

There was just the small matter of getting back down to Bormio. I don’t know who was more nervous, me on my bike or Caroline in the minibus! Luckily we all safely made it back down and at certain points I even found myself with a smile plastered on my face. (Before being quickly replaced with a frown of concentration as I navigated another hairpin and a couple of narrow tunnels!) It was such a wonderful feeling cruising back through Bormio to the hotel, where we were greeted with congratulations by Michele and Alfredo. We’d ridden 50 miles with 6,000 ft of climbing.

Great… job done….wine can flow and achievements could be celebrated over dinner you’d think………no not just yet. That moment would have to be put on hold for 24 hours as the trip’s instigator had other plans! We went for a wander round the picturesque historic centre of Bormio and enjoyed a well deserved gelato. Needless to say the risotto and lamb shank dinner that night was another exquisite meal but we held back on the wine because there was more cycling to be done. I had always been unsure of whether I would ride the following day but having decided life is too short not to give it a go I found myself agreeing to roll out the next morning.

We left Bormio and started climbing straight away. The day’s ride had two main climbs: the Gavia and the Mortirolo, both regulars with cycling pros on the Giro d’Italia. Along with the Stelvio all three were so different but equally as beautiful. The first few miles from Bormio to Santa Caterina weren’t too bad but then the percentage kicked up and the hard work started in earnest. The road was much quieter than that of the day before and much narrower giving a wilder, more authentic feel to the climb. Again we wound up and up the valley, hairpin after hairpin until the vegetation reduced and you could see the road twist round a headland ahead. There was one section in particular where I thought I’d have to get off but I kept the pedals turning and then it finally eased, making a 5% slope feel like down hill! We pushed on to the top where we were greeted by the unexpected sight of Lago Bianco and round the corner the restaurant that marks the top of the pass. We’d conquered the first one. I contemplated turning round and going back down but determined not to quit after coming this far we layered up and ventured down the other side of the pass. The following few miles were not enjoyable! Due to the harsh and wild location the road surface was terrible, the road was so narrow and to top it off there was no crash barrier for large sections; just a long drop down! With my mind playing out all sorts of scenarios I gritted it out and finally made it to the point where it improved; I’d never been so pleased to see a white line in the middle of the road and a barrier! My braver cycling partners were ever so supportive and patient.

There was one large hill left to conquer and that was the Mortirolo, a shorter but steeper climb than the previous two, it was certainly the sting in the tail. I can’t tell you much about this climb as the pain had set in, head was down and it was a matter of grinding it out until it was over; you could probably have crawled up quicker than I was going! Mainly in trees the scenery wasn’t as impressive as the previous climbs but the road was really quiet and felt wild and remote. There were tears from me at one point when the pain in my back and feet was just too much, I got off the bike and everything had just locked up. But after giving myself a talking too and a hug from Mr BND I somehow conquered the following miles of incline to reach the top! The rest of the ride was just a matter of getting back and after the descent we found a pristine, smooth cycle lane that took us along the river in to Bormio. With mountains as the backdrop it felt like we were being welcomed with a standing ovation! 66 miles and 9,400 ft of climbing later we made it back!

I can honestly say that day was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Even as I write this four days later my back still hurts and my muscles are sore but it was worth every pedal stroke, every muscle twinge and every tear drop. It was one of the best weekends ever! I couldn’t have done it without the wonderful support of our friends and my husband to whom I’m so grateful. When we moved to Italy 18 months ago I could barely cycle up the smallest of hills without nearly dying. Looking back it was something that I was angry about, the cancer and resulting treatment had stolen that from me and I couldn’t see me getting back to where I’d been. But this last weekend has taught me there are no bounds, anything is possible and to never give up! (All of the cliches!)

The added highlight of meeting such warm and friendly people such as Michele and Alfredo really made the weekend. Bormio is a gorgeous town, well worth a visit whatever time of the year and if you do go I cannot recommend Hotel Alpi and Golf highly enough. We will certainly be back……. There’s more mountains to climb!

Camping in Cilento

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.

End of an era

I’ve just sat down in front of my computer to start telling you all about our wild camping adventure this last weekend. However, my mind had other ideas and for most of the day it’s been wandering…not amongst the Cilento countryside but along St Marys Street in Stamford, England. More specifically to number 4 which was home to the independent retailer Robinson’s of Stamford. The reason for this mental intrusion is due to the fact that today, after a two year long, drawn out process, my Mum hands over the keys to this gorgeous Georgian property. I won’t bore you with the details but the fact that it’s taken so long to sell the property prompted a celebratory reaction upon hearing the news of exchange of contracts last week with completion to happen today. Congratulatory comments were passed and glasses raised in joy. However, I wasn’t expecting to feel how I feel today. To say it’s a mixture of emotions is an understatement.

For those of you who don’t know us or our little double-fronted shop, let me fill you in on the background. We bought number 4 St Marys Street, Stamford in 1979. Stamford is a beautiful, Georgian town in South Lincolnshire and it was the chosen location for the new branch of T&C Robinson, my family’s saddlery business established in 1905. One particular day forty two years ago, Mum, Grandma and Grandpa were actually on their way to view another property in town when Grandpa saw number 4 and decided that was the one! For years it was a saddlery business but later we diversified in to leathergoods, country clothing and gifts. For a combination of reasons, in July 2019 we closed our doors for the last time.

So you’re probably thinking, so what? It’s only a building, there’s plenty of those around. To some degree you’d be right, on the surface it’s just bricks and mortar that served it’s role as a retail unit and is now to become someone’s home. However, after quite a lot of contemplation today I’ve realised it isn’t just a pile of bricks. It’s the one building I’ve spent most of my life in. We lived there when I was born, I played in the cute little walled garden out the back, even when we had moved out if I was sent home from school poorly it was to the shop I’d go and be put to bed upstairs on a pile of horse rugs! It was on the pavement outside that a gaggle of old ladies could be seen waving and cooing at the upstairs window, where as a toddler in my cot my little chubby face could often be seen peering down on the world below. It’s where I’d go everyday after school, where I’d spend my Saturdays working my first job, where friends of both Mum and I would always call in for a cup of tea. It was in this building that I received a call to say my Nanny had passed away and a few years later the call to say my little dog had a spine crushing tumour. I was there when I found out I’d been accepted to my university of choice and also where I was surprised by my now husband returning from overseas on my birthday. All these memories and milestones will forever be tied to this building.

Of course it’s not all about the moments that affected just me, it’s also the relationships that were built and nurtured under that roof. Like the wonderful manageress Margaret who worked there when I was born and who, over the subsequent 24 years became like a Grandma to me before she was sadly taken from us too early. The other employees I shared so many hours with who became true friends and not just work colleagues. The wonderful suppliers who we saw year in, year out on our regular buying trips and who, were so kind and a real joy to work with. The fellow retailers on our wonderful little street who could always be relied upon if you found yourself in need; two of who in particular have become lifelong friends. The fabulous little lady called June who lives in a little cottage down the alley opposite our shop, who’s constantly beaming smile so often greeted us as we walked up and down day after day. Also the wonderfully loyal customers who we’d happily chat to over the counter, some of who would just come in to say hello. We are so grateful to all those who supported our business over the years.

But most of all it was the time I spent with my Mum; the hours of being sat across the table from her, each of us working in companionable silence (actually there wasn’t too much of that!) Or belting out our favourite songs at the start of the day. The time I’d spend looking for the biscuits at coffee time because she hid them from me so I wouldn’t eat them all! During our crazily busy times we could effortlessly work around each other always knowing what the other needed and never getting in each other’s way. We wouldn’t have to finish sentences or ask for items to be passed, they’d just be silently preempted and handed over. It’s the hours of music filled car journeys to trade shows that will be missed, where once there we’d always be on the same page when it came to what items to order. Then I’d always fall asleep in the car on the way home, regressing 30 years!

If it wasn’t for this collection of bricks we wouldn’t have forged these friendships, experienced the highs and lows and we wouldn’t have these wonderful memories. This morning all I felt was sadness but after reflecting on the years spent there I’ve decided the tangible needs to be let go of. It’s time for the lovely little building, with it’s creaky stairs, leaky roof, narrow front door, to make happy memories for someone else. Whilst it may not be ours anymore the memories always will be and that’s what matters. Goodbye number 4, thank you for all the good times.

Abruzzo National Park

Lions and Tigers and Bears…Oh My!

Ok, perhaps not lions and tigers but Abruzzo National Park is home to bears, wolves and lynxes. So last week, with travel to that particular part of the country allowed we set off on a bear hunt!

Our destination was Lake Barrea on the edge of Abruzzo National Park, just a two hour drive from home. As we left the grime and chaos of the Naples area behind our moods lifted and excitement grew for our next little adventure. Before long we were winding our way up several hairpin bends past the town of Alfedena which marked the end of the flat valley roads and gave way to wild, rugged mountains. The road crested the hill where below lay a wonderful vista of Lake Barrea nestled in to mountains with the towns of Barrea at the east end of the lake and Villetta Barrea the far end. The latter of which was our destination; more specifically a campsite on the edge of town called Le Quite. Having established with the owner that we could park anywhere due to not needing electrical hook up, we drove past the handful of motorhomes and in to a meadow tucked away at the back of the vast site near a beautiful babbling brook. The evening was spent sipping wine, BBQing and watching the deer stroll through the meadow, munching on the long blades of grass before hopping over the fence and silently disappearing off in to the forest.

The last sound that night was the same as the first the following morning, a noise that I could never tire of. It is of course the chirping of little birds. A mix of high pitched chatter and serene melodies combining to beautifully announce the arrival of another day. Once we emerged from the van we could see why their cacophony held such a jubilant tone…it was a beautiful morning. The sun was already out and shining fiercely, belying the early hour of the day with its heat. The meadow itself had seemingly woken with a spring in its step too, with hundreds of pretty little daises and buttercups stood to attention to soak up the sun’s rays. We had company for breakfast in the form of a herd of horses who had come to munch on their lush meadow that we’d so rudely set up camp in! Peggy was very unimpressed with our breakfast guests!

After a sufficiently hearty start to the day we set off on our walk to explore this beautiful area. Due to the large numbers of wildlife, dogs are only allowed on certain footpaths within the National Park, so armed with a proper map and the information we needed we set off up the hill to the village of Civitella Alfedena from where we climbed up and along the hills that tower over the lake below. The footpath wound its way through the wild and vast woodland, past streams tumbling over rocks, through lebernum-lined little glades and woodland copse’s filled with moss covered rocks. The path was constantly dotted with beautiful wild flowers; little pops of colour in amongst the stone and dirt. Along the way the route gave us tantalising little glimpses of the valley below, where the bright green of the lake would just be visible through the trees until the vegetation gave way to a beautiful view of the lake with the town tumbling down the hillside to its shore.

Having already covered about six miles we dropped in to the town for a timely refreshment stop consisting of a cold drink and a boccanotto – a delicous local sweet delicacy of crumbly pastry crammed full with chocolate and ground almonds. By this point Peggy was tiring slightly so the return leg was spent half in the rucksack and half trotting along beside us. We arrived back in the small medieval town for a well earned beer and after, as we walked back to the campsite a huge stag stood proudly up on the hillside above us. He turned his huge antlered head towards us, stood still for a few moments, then slid off silently into the camouflage of the trees. A fitting end to a wonderful twelve mile walk.

Once back at the van we decided to make a spur of the moment change of location for that night and packed up and hit the road. We drove for about forty minutes along beautiful valley roads before climbing up and over to a neighbouring valley. The road took us through the most spectacular forest which was a canopy of the brightest green I’ve ever seen. The journey was spent looking for bears but sadly, to no avail. Our chosen location that night was a remote disused quarry, on the side of a hillside accessed only by a dirt track. This wild camping spot came with the most amazing view of the huge valley below, a scene of rolling hills flanked by mountains on one side and dotted with hillside towns and olive groves. We had this wonderful place to ourselves and were seemingly miles from anyone else. Before we settled down for the evening, we boiled some water for a much needed sink wash, stripped off and were merrily enjoying an alfresco freshen up. When blow me, all of a sudden we realised there was another camper van trundling down the track towards us!! Clothes and towels were quickly grabbed but I think the poor new arrivals had already witnessed more than they’d bargained for! A curt ciao was exchanged but there was a distinct lack of eye contact after that…I can’t say I blame them!

After dinner we watched darkness fall, slowly enveloping the valley, the mountain’s shadows became longer and longer until they were indistinguishable against the night sky. The twinkling of lights increased as the light fell and we watched with fascination as each distant town’s street lights flicked on. The accompanying soundtrack was one of tinkling cow bells far below, chirping crickets in the long grass and then the reassuring hoot of a nearby owl on his nightly patrol. A lovely way to end a lovely little trip.

Kayaking Naples

Freedom at last! Here in Italy we have recently returned to ‘Yellow Zone’ meaning travel around the region and to some other regions is now allowed; as well as restaurants and cafes reopening for outdoor dining…praise the Lord! So we’ve ventured slightly further afield than we have in a long time for some much needed paddling!

One very calm, sunny morning we took to the water in our inflatable kayak with our friend Ben on his Stand Up Paddle board. Peggy donned her newest accessory, a very fetching dog life jacket with a useful handle on the back for quick extraction if she decided to go overboard! We set off on an exploration of the coast line heading towards Naples. To say it was beautiful is an understatement. The water was as calm as a mill pond, crystal clear and an intense turquoise colour due to the cloudless sky. This particular coastline is a paradise of caves, crags, arches, islands and stacks with so much to look at around every corner. We paddled in to deep caves that seemed to disappear forever in to the rock and past rocky promontories that had been pounded by centuries of surf, shaping them in to monster-like creations towering over the still waters, showcasing their geological timeline for all to see. The best version of a geography lesson one could have.

We soon entered a bay between the mainland and a small island called Isola la Gaiola, which contained some abandoned buildings, but with steps, windows and arches carved in to the stone the whole island seemed a fortress looming out of the water. Between this and the mainland we were treated to the most spectacular view of Vesuvius, perfectly framed between a sea wall and a statue of Padre Pio (an Italian Priest and Saint.)

From here the shore became more inhabited as the severe cliffs dropped off and access from the road above became easier. A perfect spot to build your summer residence…a line of thought obviously shared by the Romans as we came across the tumble down ruins of the 1st Century BC Palazzo degli Spiriti. The unassuming, dilapidated appearance of this water front structure only makes it’s history even more fascinating. It is all that remains of the Nymphaeum ( a monument consecrated to the nymphs, in this case water nymphs) that made up part of the villa complex built by Publio Vedio Pollione who served Emperor Augustus. He decided to retire to this part of the coast known as Pausilypon, meaning ‘relief from pain’ or ‘respite from danger.’ Pollione also built a huge theatre, an odeon and spa complex on the sprawling estate. The building’s name derives from local Fishermen stories of hearing ghostly moaning and harp playing coming from the building at night. Something I’m quite pleased I wasn’t aware of as we paddled in to one of the arched sea vaults at the base of the building! After the excitement of entering a two thousand year old Roman ruin we needed some refreshment so stopped on a small rocky island for coffee and biscuits!

The journey continued around the headland where we enjoyed views of large water front houses nestled in to the rock and vegetation. We passed the last headland where in front of us lay the huge Bay of Naples, we could see all along the lungomare to Castel del’Ovo. Once we turned round to head back it soon became apparent that the easy paddling wasn’t just due to the calm waters, there had been a slight tail wind. Which as the sky clouded over and we headed back up the coast became quite a strong headwind! We stopped on the way back in the pretty little harbour of Marechiaro, a colourful collection of buildings tumbling down to the clear waters. We enjoyed a beer on the small quay amongst locals, whilst Peggy had a whale of a time making new friends!

The paddle back definitely took longer and was more of a workout but the sleeping puppy curled up on my knee would testify to the fact it was definitely worth it! We’d been out for four and half hours and paddled six miles by the end, a tiring but truly wonderful day out!