Nîmes: history upon history

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While our First People are known to have an extremely long history of occupation, they trod so lightly that we newcomers cannot easily read that history. 

Not so here In Nîmes, where you walk up any of many streets and bang! right in front of you rises the imposing Arena, the best preserved Roman amphitheatre in the world.

They were setting up for a light and sound show that evening. How incredible for a 2000 year old venue to be still going!  Not that any gladiators would be seen here now, but the range of trained and very particular fighters was unknown to me until I read about them here.

Nîmes, considered the French capital of bullfighting, holds a three-day festival, the Feria, each year, with bull runs through the streets, acrobats, musicians, parades, stalls, horsemanship and of course, bullfights.

The Arena was carefully designed to allow for Roman social classes to access and exit which of the four levels they would occupy without a crush or running into the others.  It would seat 24,000.

Railings have been added but the stone seating remains the same. They were a bit of a stretch for a littlie like me.

I envisioned the hordes of tourists going up these steps tonight, the same steps that everyone since the Romans have used.

Just look at the width of the arch/wall… such huge blocks of stone.

Stones and bricks, and all still holding together.

This hole seemed deliberately done to show us that beneath the stone facing is a rubblestone wall?

Arches, arches everywhere… but I see no information as to who would have had to come up these steps from deep below 

I had expected more history, with Hollywood images of lions and Christians in my head; I will have to research more.

Just look at the narrow bricks in this arched roof. Gravity-defying yet perfectly logical…

The longevity of this craftsmanship, this knowledge and planning, makes a mockery of our gimcrack disposable modern buildings, unlikely to last 200 years, as our colonial ones have done, let alone 2000.

When I visit the attached museum, I am even more agog…

Versailles at Colorno

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A delightful day and dinner at the home of Claudio and Lisa, friends of Paola’s, meant I got to see Colorno.

It is famous for the Palace known as Reggia di Colorno, and although it was closed that day, their son Damiano, who speaks good English, volunteered to show me around the outside. (Photo by Reggia di Colorno)

Like most of the grand places still functioning, this Palace has been repurposed; chairs for an event that evening were being set up in between the elaborately styled formal gardens.

From a defensive castle to a palace for grand families, the fortunes of which rose and fell with the vagaries of Italian alliances, through several major renovations, it became the favourite home of Marie Louise, Napoleon’s wife. With 400 rooms!

In 1870 it was acquired by the province of Parma, and is now home to ALMA, a world-renowned Italian culinary school.

The Italian Baroque building is topped by many statues, and its grand gardens and fountains are backed by a forest, albeit a little untended.

Damiano shows me this lovely long leafy walk; I do not know what sort are the trees so intricately merged.

He also showed me this ancient tree, struck by lightning but still thriving.

Out the front, the grandeur of this ‘home’ is stately, tasteful. The building, which also houses historic library archives, where Lisa works, was damaged by the 2023 floods. She and a colleague worked frantically to save what they could as the water rose, but not enough was possible.

It is clear that the residents of the now-defunct adjoining Orphanage were not seen to be in need of such grandeur.

As always, I am drawn to interesting hardware, like this door knocker seen on the walk back.

I was lucky to have Damiano as a guide to this impressive complex, so I thank him.

Bobbio up close

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Must be about time I showed you another garbage bin; here’s Bobbio’s version, with a cigarette extinguisher and butt receptacle on the side. No chance of accidental bin fires.

I loved these wavy wooden seats, human body friendly; or perhaps hunchbacked like their bridge.

Although the streets are narrow, space is found for tubs of flowering plants. Pedestrians must listen for cars, and occupy doorways if need be.

Tiny three-wheeled utes and vans were perfect for such streets, needing little space to park, sounding like a cross between a motorbike and a wind-up car.

Doorways always drew my attention, as I constantly seek examples of ancient hardware, having once worked in architectural hardware. This unusually intricate arch had an equally intricately shaped timber door.

Above another doorway arch was this building date: over 100 years before England decided to offload its convicts on the Great South Land… and neglected to ask the owners if they minded…

Having written for The Owner Builder magazine for years, building methods fascinate me, like these deep and complex brick arches.

I have seen small square bricks used to make round pillars, but I hadn’t seen curved bricks before.

The soft pale colours of the old bricks in Bobbio add much to its gentle charm.

If you could afford it, the range of wonderful food shops in Bobbio would make a stay worthwhile alone, from small shops selling gourmet and local specialty bread and pastries, cheeses and cured meats, fruit and vegetables, wine… and truffles and truffle products.

The church interiors are as grand as anywhere, but I liked best the small chapel commemorating a local miracle that happened nearby, which is why the Madonna of Help is Bobbio’s patron.

This ceiling detail caught my eye: colomba is Itallan for ‘dove’, the universal symbol of peace, and St Colomban founded Bobbio…

Inside the church itself, we were fortunate to visit when the organ was being played … and played well. The resonances were deep, and so moving that I had trouble not being moved to tears.

On the last morning, the sunrise over Bobbio, with the high-tech antenna in the way, seemed to sum up its present state: beautiful, ancient, but a little spoiled by modernity and tourism and its needs.

Bello Bobbio

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When a town is crowned the most beautiful in Italy. as Bobbio was in 2019, expectations are high.  A friend had also said she loved it, having spent some months here. But I suspect that was prior to the accolade and the tourism boom.

Most images of Bobbio show the famous Devil’s Bridge or Hunchbacked Bridge, the Ponte Vecchio, which dips and rises across the Trebbia River. It is said that the bridge was built overnight by the Devil, after a deal with Bobbio’s founder in 615, the Irish monk San Colomban.

The first bridge was likely built by the Romans in the 1st century BC (!) as Bobbio was an important part of the Salt Way. Several floods have caused rebuilding and I could see buffers on each side of the river bank plus a large platform around the supports of the main flow.

Bobbio is indeed beautifully situated, with the hills close by, and its narrow streets wind up to the protective Castello and down to the river with many fascinating twists.

St Colomban certainly thought it was a great spot, as he founded his monastery here. It shows how interconnected the world was then.

The monastery and the many churches externally have the lovely simple lines of medieval architecture.

From the castle’s upper windows the views of the town and valley show why it is claimed that Da Vinci’s ‘Mona Lisa’ used many details from here in the background of the painting.

Even the castle’s adjacent tower is in there, in the bottom left corner, but for me the attraction of that was its self-supporting roof. I tried not to think about the room below, where criminals were thrown to die, impaled on the waiting knives.

Much of Bobbio has been restored, its pale bricks and stone walls repointed; much more is scaffolded now and in the process of restoration. 

It had the feeling of a Tidy Town, and I wondered if the council paid people to neaten and beautify, as most seemed to have done.  And of course it was teeming with tourists, in the summer holiday season. But as the next post will show, there was much to marvel at in Bobbio…

Piacenza treasure

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Piacenza is very hot when we arrive, and our small apartment  in a heritage palazzo has two very tall windows but not enough air; there is a fan, which, combined with a damp cloth, saves me from total meltdown that night.

Its windows are in three layers: split barn door type external shutters, inner glass french doors and timber doors to cover those. Interesting but…

A most helpful man had almost led us to the tourism office when I’d asked where it was; this café nearby proved a favourite, with charming young waitresses willing to try some English as well as bear my Italian.

The town has a very grand square, the Piazza dei Cavalli, so named for the two large black bronze equestrian statues.

I am more fascinated by the unhappy chubby little ‘putto’ at its base; they’d clearly prefer to have wings and a different job.

We had noticed many colourful umbrellas strung above several streets. The tourist info lady could not tell us why, suggesting ‘for shade’?! Nor could our friendly waitress, who did venture that she didn’t like them.

Seems they have no special relevance to Piacenza.

Must be an umbrella manufacturer or importer on the council?

We also noticed a very large number of migrants or refugees, apparently from Africa.

Strategically placed and valued since ancient times, Piacenza is famous for being the first city, the Primogenita, of United Italy since 1848. 

But the highlight of our Piacenza visit is a world class treasure that should be emblazoned on all its tourist information.

The Gallery of Modern Art houses the 20th century collection of Ricci Oddi, who even had the Gallery built to house it. It is an eye opening experience, with so many wonderful Italian painters and sculptors, hitherto unknown to me, and some from elsewhere, including its prized Klimt ‘Portrait of a Lady’.

if you visit Piacenza, do not miss this. 

Arrivederci Piero

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On our last day I wander back along the creek, absorbing details, fixing memories, of art made by man and nature, here in harmony.

Water trickles down the curving slump in these so-regular rock layers, seemingly made to be used upside-down as an arch.

Trees give way to rocks, grow into shapes to suit them.

Even the fungi are tinged with green.

Tiny flowers share the stones with moss. This small bush is I think what we suffer as a weed, Broom, since there are a lot of them in the open spaces and Gigi says they have yellow flowers and that they use them to make brooms to sweep with.

Dotted through the meadowy path are these electricity cable access points; I am astonished, but pleased there are no cables slung overhead as at Piero.

In Piero, Gigi shows us his almost vertical back garden and shares the delicious fruit of his ‘mora’, a sort of red blackberry.

Many walks start here, following paths trodden by generations over centuries. I have to prefer the old stone marker…

Saying goodbye to the warmly welcoming Nicoletta feels like it should be ‘arivederci’, as to a friend; I’d love to return some day, but doubt I can.  Nicoletta speaks Italian, German and English, so I will send her a copy of The Woman on the Mountain; we have a lot in common…

Life signs

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In the middle of our week at Piero, the very kind Nicoletta takes us with her to Luino to shop for food. En route we stop in Curiglia for her to go to the Post Office; I see yet another shrine to the Madonna, this time above the public water source.

I also see one of the many trattori, the small 4WD narrow mini tractors and trailers, perfect for the narrow tracks; Nicoletta has one… less new and shiny, that can negotiate the track almost up to Piero from the car parking area. She still has to lug provisions up the last steep part into the village.

It is Wednesday, and Luino has hosted a market every Wednesday since 1541! It is huge, with fresh fruit and vegetables, flowers, cheeses and meats, as well as endless stalls selling clothes, handbags and shoes.

Although this lady does not look happy, her giant wheels and slabs of Parmesan cheese do make me smile! As does the very idea of a market that has been consistently held here for almost 500 years.

Next day, we decide to walk up to the village of Lozzo, above Piero. We pass Piero’s little walled cemetery, its flowers safe from the goats.

Above it are the community gardens, entered via another of Ambrogio’s special gates. The criss-cross section at the bottom is of old bush saw blades.

It is a steep walk through steep green forests, but easier in some stretches as not via steps, as to Monteviasco.

But there are many scree sections, where I need my stick and we must step carefully on the loose stones. No doubt it is also why there are several shrines on the way, as heavenly intercession could be handy…

But Lozzo is disappointingly lifeless. It has the usual overly elaborate church, whose bells ring as we arrive, and it has a memorial, seemingly to captured soldiers, but hardly any houses seem inhabited.

The decorative metal heads to hold back shutters are my main takeaway from a quite depressing village.

Mulini magic

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Just a short walk from the bridge to Piero is a turn to the famous Mills of Piero, the Mulini. Built of local stone in the 18th century to use the strong flow of the Giona torrent to turn the timber wheels that would turn the stone wheels to grind the local produce like wheat and chestnuts, it was the reason for small villages like Piero, to house the workers.

People would bring their grain and nuts from both sides of the slopes, when a stone bridge, now gone, connected the sides of the river. You can see here that they diverted the flow of the river to the mill wheels. It is overwhelming to see the sheer amount of stones carried, for buildings, paths and walls, and the skill of the dry stone laying.

So even before the British were invading Australia, the mills of Piero were at work.

Holding weirs were also built of stone.

I found I could not see enough of the intense green of the mossy roofs and walls and the soft light-filled green forest. I went up there three times to bathe in its magic. Sole abandoned stone huts kept appearing further up the hill; what were their stories?

The rushing of the river meant it was never silent, but one time we heard an ongoing tinkling approaching.

Crossing from two sides of the creek, a flow of small goats kept daintily picking their war past us. Most wore goat bells, most had horns, most were brown, some were cream. We counted about 50, and later we would eat the wonderful cheese Alessandro makes from their milk.

One goat stood as if on guard until the whole flock had passed, then stepped off his rock to join them in the enchanted forest beyond.

Like some of our rainforests, this is a mossed and lichened green world. Even the light through the trees is green.

So many mosses of every shape and shade of green…

We walk up beside the stream as far as our friendly guide Gigi decides is safe; while the ancient bridge is further up, the way past this first canyon in the river is too dangerous, ‘pericoloso’, for us, says Gigi, demonstrating how narrow and steep and broken the path gets. Gigi has good English so could translate what his friend Ambrogio said as he identified wild plants; often it was clear, as the Latin names are the same.

My images of this green valley and my imaginings of the lives lived here until less than my lifetime ago will stay with me and enrich my world forever.

I had loved the Heidi story as a child — still do — and now I have seen the goats, and later even a goatherd, I can see her on these meadows below the Alps. Although somehow Julie Andrews keeps intruding…

Fancy 1400 steps?

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Not far from Piero’s bridge is this signpost, showing that Monteviasco is only 1.1 kilometres away. Unfortunately it does not show that every step of those 1.1  kilometres is upwards,1400 stony steps winding their way to this higher village. It also reckons there is a restaurant and accommodation there.

I have to stop often to give my knees a rest. The steps pass through a beautiful chestnut, beech and walnut forest. I choose a good stout stick to support my slightly wonky progress; stones laid vertically are not like concrete steps.

The climb is worth it, as the views of deeply incised mountain valleys are superb.

There used to be a (shudder!) cable car running up to here, but after the accidental death of an employee, it was stopped… and years later, has not restarted. Not even my knees would have induced me to use such a thing.

We can see  a mountain farm, for summer grazing use, other small villages across the valley, and even a glimpse of Lake Maggiore far below.

There is of course a church, amazingly grand inside for a small village. The earlier … and current…influence and role of the Catholic Church in communities is very evident. We pass small shrines to the Madonna or a special saint on every walk.

The restaurant advertised for Monteviasco, Il Circolo Vecchio, is the only surviving one of three, but is open, friendly and serving good coffee and fabulous cakes. However, its very large dining room seems optimistic.

But on our carefully tentative way down– more perilous than fatiguing– we pass dozens of people coming up, many with short-legged dogs, and even one with two little goats.

That restaurant will be full, and the climbers will have earned whatever delicious food is on offer.

I also pass several of these small lizards, the sort I have seen often in the Emilia Romagna region but rarely managed to catch with the camera. It is, I gather, an Italian Wall Lizard, but there are several sorts. I have seen one at least with a bright green back. They are like our skinks, small and speedy.

This creature is not moving, so I can study it at leisure; if only such an ancient stump could talk… as some might say. But all Italy is drenched in history, and its people are the slightest of its passing inhabitants.

Peaceful Piero

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Up a winding and sometimes hair-raisingly narrow road from Luino, the twice-a-week bus takes us to the village of Curiglia. The bus driver beeps before especially blind corners, but in several places it is a matter of inching past the oncoming vehicle, or in the old towns, of one backing up until room is found to pass.

We are met by our hostess for the week, Nicoletta, who saves us a walk of several kilometres by a lift to the car parking place, from where we walk several more kilometres to the ancient tiny village of Piero, seen here from the path above it.

We clatter over the Ponte di Piero bridge across the Giona river, as clear and fast flowing as one would expect of a mountain stream.

The path climbs through impossibly green creekside clearings, where several dairy cows lumber, their cowbells clunking.  Beside a smaller fast  downhill creek, the path becomes steeper and stonier… and slower!

And we are here at Baito Kedo, the heart of Piero and our home for a week.

Part of the Valley of Veddasca’s agritourism network, it offers walkers a place to rest in charming shady surroundings, drink coffee, beer or wine, eat delicious local food, or stay in the Hut, as we will.

Nicoletta is a really good cook, able to whisk up tasty dishes even for vegetarian me, or a fabulous layered torta from their own mulberries, and a heavenly local yoghurt with berries and ginger that could become an addiction. In the village, Alessandro makes such great goats’ cheese that we buy three sorts.

In our Hut, downstairs the kitchen looks on to the restaurant terrace.

Upstairs, the view from our large bedroorn window takes you past the higgledy-piggledy roofs to the mountains. I am entranced by the vertical stones used to support the chimney’s roof. I will soon learn why most things are made from stones.

Like most alpine villages, the stone houses are small, lean on each other and cling to the steep slope.

Chinese jasmine spills over many walls, while hydrangeas and oleanders show how much they love this summer.  Winters are rarely cold enough here anymore for snow, we are told. Climate change? But you would see the snow covered mountains nearby.

The ‘road’ through Piero is for feet, not cars, and stones are used to help the climb and slow water flow. The stones here are amazingly flat, perfect for houses and walls and paths. Some roofs are made from slate stones, quarried elsewhere and often carried by the women in ancient times, Nicoletta tells us.

Of course there is a church, small but well cared for, although the priest can only come twice a year.

Water runs freely… and free … and is cool and clean.

So why and how am I here in this fairly isolated place?

My friends Paola Cassoni and Ian Hoch, Bimblebox carers, lived here about 40 years ago, when it was going through what might be called a ‘hippy’ stage. When I said I wanted to visit less cities and palaces, and more nature, they suggested Piero.

Some of their old friends still live here, like Ambrogio (above in the photo taken by Trish) herbalist and native plant guru, and the generous Gigi, who could speak English, and gave us his time … and from his garden lemon balm and rose petals to make tea. 

Ian Hoch credits Ambrogio with being the reason why he is so passionate about preserving Nature and BImblebox, and about teaching others to do the same.

Ambrogio also makes magical gates from nature’s sculptures, timber found in the forest. Trish was admiring this one, the entry to his own garden.

Lake Maggiore roundabout

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Descending the narrow cobbled streets to the Lake requires time and care, as where we stayed was full of fascinating little shops and galleries… and also because cars still somehow drive along them.

After much calculation of time available before our afternoon bus and scrutinising ferry routes and times, Trish determines that we can take a round trip to see the little towns of Cannobio and Cannero across the Lake up closer. There is some debate at the ticket office but we have tickets for the three legs of the trip so it seems fine. She tells us what time to get the ferry.

We leave Luino behind.

First stop is Maccagno, where I see people sunbathing on the narrow strip of lakeside ‘beach’, or swimming.

I even see a caravan park and someone on a paddle board. It is summer after all.

The town of Cannobio is charming, and quite large. I can now see small ‘settlements’ all around the top of the Lake.  Who needs the Riviera?

There is a horse statue here, grand steps… and lots of waterside cafés.

Everyone disembarks, except us. We have tickets for the round trip, right?

Wrong; the ferry heads back to Luino.

We are assured we can stay on board from there as it now goes to Cannero… and on to Cannobio! This is the ferry we were meant to catch. 

Conflicting information seems to be the Italian way!

The ferry is full; people are coming across for lunch at the many cafés.

We do get to pass close by the two islands with forts, seen from distant Luino.

And then we go to Cannobio again, and back to Luino.

All this leaves us with little time for lunch and the food shopping we must do, as where we will spend the next week is very isolated.

We run out of time before the bus is due. 

After our ferry mixup, we can only cross our fingers that the bus will come and we are at the right stop.

Reaching Luino

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After several long tunnels, our train from Milan emerges on a grey day to suddenly present us with this … Lake Maggiore. Steep forested hills dip their feet in the water, and tiny towns cling to its narrow edges.  Even grey, it is stunning.

We have arrived at Luino, to stay one night before heading into the mountains.

We get little chance to explore far along the promenade, as rain is threatening.

There is a great children’s park with a musical instrument installation, of drums to tap, and pipes of varying notes to strike like gongs.

Another golden Madonna watches over the port’s walled marina for small boats.

Familiar Erigeron plants (Seaside daisies) flourish in any crack in the walls.

But the weather defeats us; rain hunts us from our coffees and follows us up to our lodgings for the night.

This is small but well-planned, high up under the roof. I am taken by the new windows, well-made and clever, where the one operation opens and closes both the upper casement windows and the lower hopper one.

Next day dawns fair, the clouds are lifting and the outdoor cafés are again in use.

I am getting used to coffee and sweet pastry for breakfast, as that is the norm, with many varieties beyond croissants from which to choose.

I do admit to a hankering for avocado on toast with a dash of lemon, but even if we were self-catering, avocados are extremely expensive here. I also learnt that you must weigh your fruit and vegetables first and affix the product number and weight or the checkout person will reject them.

The lake beckons…