Italy is a social country, if you are out with friends and let too much time pass by without speaking you risk worrying people that something is wrong. But not everyone has the wiring to withstand the hours of eating, drinking, joking and chatting that a holiday like Ferragosto (August 15th) can bring on.
Ferragosto is a religious holiday, but for most people it means picnicking. And it is taken very, very seriously. More shops and public services are open on Christmas day than on Ferragosto. Being on a picnic on Ferragosto is like turkey dinner with your family on Thanksgiving in the US.
At least on Thanksgiving you can take a mass nap in front of a football game (american rules).
So around five when I wanted to be alone, in this beautiful corner of Italy in the mountains near L’Aquila, I decided to take a quick 15 minute drive to find a nice scenic place to be alone.
Impossible.
Every scenic look out safe enough to park a car was occupied, every trail to the Tirino river or the artificial lake nearby was full. Everywhere I drove there were people.
Then I noticed the road to Pescara over a nearby piece of Gran Sasso. There were no road indications beyond the name of the road. “Forca di Penne”.
Playing on the hunch that if a road is named after a place, sooner or later it will take you there, I turned onto it.
The signs indicated the town of Ofena, home to some of the best red wine in Abruzzo come from this little mountain valley. My favorite “Cerasuolo” pink wines, they are robust enough to go with grilled meats. The road rose twisting back and forth through the Ofena’s narrow streets to the other side - still no road indications for Forca di Penne - so I kept going. After a few miles of driving up through pine trees the road forked. To the left, Castel del Monte, to the right, Pescara. Since the place I was after was a pass to Pescara I took a hunch.
Fifteen minutes later I pulled over. The road was about to level off and I was about to leave the Tirino Valley behind me. The view of Capestrano, and the patchwork of farmland below was breathtaking.
As I got into my car I noticed what looked like a ruined tower a few hours ahead of me. As I drove closer it became clearer - it was the ruins of a castle. Forca di Penne was a key passageway in the Transumanza, the ancient seasonal pastoral migration from central Italy to Foggia in Puglia (Apuglia).
I found a place to park my car and hiked up a steep, freshly harvested hay field to the base of the Castle. The view was spectacular. The slopes of Gran Sasso rolled lushly down to the Pescara valley below. To the right the Appenine’s second-largest mountain - the Maiella, dominated. Behind me was Capestrano, Navelli, L’Aquila and dozens of wonderful places wounded by the earthquake. In front of me was the sea and my soon to be new home.
Then I noticed the road to Pescara over a nearby piece of Gran Sasso. There were no road indications beyond the name of the road. “Forca di Penne”.
Playing on the hunch that if a road is named after a place, sooner or later it will take you there, I turned onto it.
The signs indicated the town of Ofena, home to some of the best red wine in Abruzzo come from this little mountain valley. My favorite “Cerasuolo” pink wines, they are robust enough to go with grilled meats. The road rose twisting back and forth through the Ofena’s narrow streets to the other side - still no road indications for Forca di Penne - so I kept going. After a few miles of driving up through pine trees the road forked. To the left, Castel del Monte, to the right, Pescara. Since the place I was after was a pass to Pescara I took a hunch.
Fifteen minutes later I pulled over. The road was about to level off and I was about to leave the Tirino Valley behind me. The view of Capestrano, and the patchwork of farmland below was breathtaking.
As I got into my car I noticed what looked like a ruined tower a few hours ahead of me. As I drove closer it became clearer - it was the ruins of a castle. Forca di Penne was a key passageway in the Transumanza, the ancient seasonal pastoral migration from central Italy to Foggia in Puglia (Apuglia).
I found a place to park my car and hiked up a steep, freshly harvested hay field to the base of the Castle. The view was spectacular. The slopes of Gran Sasso rolled lushly down to the Pescara valley below. To the right the Appenine’s second-largest mountain - the Maiella, dominated. Behind me was Capestrano, Navelli, L’Aquila and dozens of wonderful places wounded by the earthquake. In front of me was the sea and my soon to be new home.
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