FRIULIAN VINEYARDS, HARVEST TIME
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| vineyard landscape near Cormons |
Giant green braids were running along the curvy surface of the ground, vineyard braids to be precise, stretching all over the hills between the Alps and the Adriatic sea, covering both the North East of Italy and South of Slovenia. That is the area where the world famous Prosecco village is located, on the plateau above Trieste.
The time had come for farmers to harvest the rippened bunches of grapes and for us to leave the Alps behind. We had bidden our goodbyes to Tribil di Sopra under a radiant sky, no wonder after the big storm of the previous evening that all traces of pollution had been brought down to the ground.
Our first target was Castelmonte, a fortified sanctuary built at the top of a hill that has seen human activities for many centuries because of its unique vantage position overlooking the plain of Isonzo. Men have used it as a place of worship, but also as a place of safety for pilgrims making a halt on their journey. Nowadays the pilgrims are still coming but in lesser numbers than the tourists (a modern kind of pilgrims keen to worship himself or rather his image by taking selfies with a nice background?) who come by bus loads in the summer. The monks have rationalized the relationship with those modern pilgrims by alloting timeslots to visit the church whose front has a mosaic of a dark-skinned looking Holy Mary holding her Child in the arms.
Getting to Castelmonte was a sort initiatory path through the forest, like a tunnel of green veering up and down, left and right, without revealing its destination until the very last minute when one comes out from a stone staircase onto a square in front of the entrance of the Sanctuary. Then Castelmonte appears like a fortified hamlet.
We had our picnic lunch in the shade of trees planted by the church side where wooden tables had been set-up for visitors to rest. We could see the plain open down in front of us with the town of Cividale del Friuli where we had planned to stop for the night.
From Castelmonte, we followed a tarmac road that took us down to the plain of Isonzo through some woods. There the atmosphere changed completely from the one of the hills. We were surrounded by vineyards and olive groves. We could feel that we were closer to the Adriatic sea and that we were in Italy. Houses, with white-painted facades and nearly flat terracotta roofs, often had palm trees planted in there vicinity, of the kind that has been brought in from North Africa and that we had seen in Béarn at the beginning of our journey in France.
The Devil's bridge, that crosses the turquoise water of the Natisone river, ushered us in the old town of Cividale di Friuli. Similarly to the Devil's bridge of Cahors, it had been very difficult to built, hence perhaps the name that was given to it. Old stones were everywhere in Cividale. It is a city in which the history of the past two thousand years is palpable. Julius Caesar made of the town the administrative center of the Friuli province.
In the 6th century AD, it was conquered by the Lombards, a tribe coming from Northern Europe, who remained there for two centuries and brought a particular art form with them that can still be seen in the Monastery which hosts the Tempietto Longobardo, a chapel with one well-preserved wall decorated with statues made of stucco and dating from 750 AD. The Lombards were defeated by the Franks shortly after in 774 AD. Later, Cividale was conquered by Venice whose influence can still be seen today on many buildings such as the Cathedral with its impressive white stone front with very little ornaments. The statement of power was made by the sheer size of buildings.
We stayed in a palace from the Venetian period. Our room had a crystal chandelier above our golden rimmed bed frame. Ancient wooden furniture was adding an ancient twist to the old wooden floor. A complete wall had been give a blue patina assorted to the blue and gold of the bed cover.
We went for dinner to a wine bar called De Feo. The main room was carpeted with wines bottles, displayed on wooden shelves, on all walls from floor to ceiling. The bar was also made of wood and so was the floor. A fascinating collection of prosciutto crudo and dry sausages were displayed next to the entrance as an invitation to try them out. Besides the cold cuts, there was an excellent array of food to accompany the wines on offer, as it should be. I chose a seabass filet with polenta, simple but very tasty, the way Italians know how to cook fresh quality ingredients.
Filled with the morning energy of Cividale, we resumed our walk the next day through the vineyards which included local grapes like the one called Schiopetto. We arrived mid afternoon to a Slovene hamlet called Breg to stay in an agrotourism farm which was celebrated for its good food prepared by two ladies from the family while their men took care of the fields. The house wines were the ones produced at the farm. Beside wine, the farm focused on olives and lavender. On weekends, the Agroturismo operate a small restaurant with a seasonal menu focused on particular flavours: March and April - wild herbs and shoots, May and June - cherry, July and August - lavender, September and October - pumpkin, November and December - chestnut. We had dinner on the veranda with a panoramic view on the valley separating Italy from Slovenia.
The next day, we stayed on the Slovenian side of the border. Not being in the Alps anymore did not mean that the terrain was flat. It was actually a succession of hills which provide a wider array of climates suitable to various grapes. First, our path took us to a chapel on a hilltop before going down on the opposite slope towards the gorge of the Kožbanjšček river, which had dug some natural arches, a natural bridge, in the rock as a result of erosion caused by the rotation in a cavity of water containing sand grains which grind the rock. This kind of narrow channel dug in the rock is called krčnik.
We subsequently moved to another valley with vineyards again. People were cutting the ripe bunches of white grapes and putting them into baskets that were then emptied into a larger stainless steel trailer tied to a tractor. On smaller sites, normal trailers would be used with a sheet of plastic as a protection. We could hear the chatter from afar, for it was a jolly moment to harvest, muscle aches apart.
Villages of the area, perched on hilltops appeared to float on a sea of vineyards. It was a warm day and we were quite grateful to be able to buy some cold drinks and replenish our water supply in a small roadside cafe in Dobrovo before continuing towards Šmartno under a burning sun. Menacing clouds on the horizon above the Alps seemed to come our way while growing fantastically in the sky. They left ever larger patches of land in the shadow. Right before reaching Šmartno we visited a nearby hill with a tower providing a 360 degree view on the hills. Šmartno was there against the light, standing firm at the top of a round hill with its fortification wall and the St Martin's Church dominating it. Around 1960 Tone Kralj painted murals on the walls of that church. Towards the South, we could see the Italian town of Cormons spread in the plain. A colony of wasps had chosen to congregate on the last platform of the tower which effectively discouraged our curiosity to admire the 360 degrees view.
We passed through the stone gate of Šmartno and here we were in this tiny medieval village which was shining like a newly minted coin, first because the ground had been polished by the steps of visitors and secondly because the village has recently been renovated after the 1976 earthquake which left many houses destroyed. Besides the village had been deserted for a while in the middle of the 20th century. Šmartno is often visited in the Spring when the many cherry trees are blossoming. We stayed at an inn, the Goštilna Marica, which was reputed for its food. A T-bone felt very welcome after our long walking day.
After a substantial breakfast including some excellent locally made prosciutto crudo, we took off as Italy was, once again, waiting for us. The sky was lightly veiled when we started walking, more clouds were expected for the afternoon. This gave the landscape of vineyards a sad twist as colours were all tainted with a stint of grey. After a couple of hours, we saw by the roadside a couple of blue signboards with the European flag printed and in the center of the twelve yellow stars was written "Italija" on the first one and "Italia" on the second one, twenty meters down the road, marking the Slovenian/Italian border. We entered a forest under a light rain and ascended to Mount Quarin, the hill overlooking Cormons. We ate our picnic lunch under chestnut trees next to a couple of teenagers who were playing cards and drinking soft drinks while listening to music from a mini speaker. Despite the sad weather they were visibly enjoying being together away from the scrutiny of their families.
Our first target was Castelmonte, a fortified sanctuary built at the top of a hill that has seen human activities for many centuries because of its unique vantage position overlooking the plain of Isonzo. Men have used it as a place of worship, but also as a place of safety for pilgrims making a halt on their journey. Nowadays the pilgrims are still coming but in lesser numbers than the tourists (a modern kind of pilgrims keen to worship himself or rather his image by taking selfies with a nice background?) who come by bus loads in the summer. The monks have rationalized the relationship with those modern pilgrims by alloting timeslots to visit the church whose front has a mosaic of a dark-skinned looking Holy Mary holding her Child in the arms.
Getting to Castelmonte was a sort initiatory path through the forest, like a tunnel of green veering up and down, left and right, without revealing its destination until the very last minute when one comes out from a stone staircase onto a square in front of the entrance of the Sanctuary. Then Castelmonte appears like a fortified hamlet.
We had our picnic lunch in the shade of trees planted by the church side where wooden tables had been set-up for visitors to rest. We could see the plain open down in front of us with the town of Cividale del Friuli where we had planned to stop for the night.
From Castelmonte, we followed a tarmac road that took us down to the plain of Isonzo through some woods. There the atmosphere changed completely from the one of the hills. We were surrounded by vineyards and olive groves. We could feel that we were closer to the Adriatic sea and that we were in Italy. Houses, with white-painted facades and nearly flat terracotta roofs, often had palm trees planted in there vicinity, of the kind that has been brought in from North Africa and that we had seen in Béarn at the beginning of our journey in France.
The Devil's bridge, that crosses the turquoise water of the Natisone river, ushered us in the old town of Cividale di Friuli. Similarly to the Devil's bridge of Cahors, it had been very difficult to built, hence perhaps the name that was given to it. Old stones were everywhere in Cividale. It is a city in which the history of the past two thousand years is palpable. Julius Caesar made of the town the administrative center of the Friuli province.
In the 6th century AD, it was conquered by the Lombards, a tribe coming from Northern Europe, who remained there for two centuries and brought a particular art form with them that can still be seen in the Monastery which hosts the Tempietto Longobardo, a chapel with one well-preserved wall decorated with statues made of stucco and dating from 750 AD. The Lombards were defeated by the Franks shortly after in 774 AD. Later, Cividale was conquered by Venice whose influence can still be seen today on many buildings such as the Cathedral with its impressive white stone front with very little ornaments. The statement of power was made by the sheer size of buildings.
We stayed in a palace from the Venetian period. Our room had a crystal chandelier above our golden rimmed bed frame. Ancient wooden furniture was adding an ancient twist to the old wooden floor. A complete wall had been give a blue patina assorted to the blue and gold of the bed cover.
We went for dinner to a wine bar called De Feo. The main room was carpeted with wines bottles, displayed on wooden shelves, on all walls from floor to ceiling. The bar was also made of wood and so was the floor. A fascinating collection of prosciutto crudo and dry sausages were displayed next to the entrance as an invitation to try them out. Besides the cold cuts, there was an excellent array of food to accompany the wines on offer, as it should be. I chose a seabass filet with polenta, simple but very tasty, the way Italians know how to cook fresh quality ingredients.
Filled with the morning energy of Cividale, we resumed our walk the next day through the vineyards which included local grapes like the one called Schiopetto. We arrived mid afternoon to a Slovene hamlet called Breg to stay in an agrotourism farm which was celebrated for its good food prepared by two ladies from the family while their men took care of the fields. The house wines were the ones produced at the farm. Beside wine, the farm focused on olives and lavender. On weekends, the Agroturismo operate a small restaurant with a seasonal menu focused on particular flavours: March and April - wild herbs and shoots, May and June - cherry, July and August - lavender, September and October - pumpkin, November and December - chestnut. We had dinner on the veranda with a panoramic view on the valley separating Italy from Slovenia.
The next day, we stayed on the Slovenian side of the border. Not being in the Alps anymore did not mean that the terrain was flat. It was actually a succession of hills which provide a wider array of climates suitable to various grapes. First, our path took us to a chapel on a hilltop before going down on the opposite slope towards the gorge of the Kožbanjšček river, which had dug some natural arches, a natural bridge, in the rock as a result of erosion caused by the rotation in a cavity of water containing sand grains which grind the rock. This kind of narrow channel dug in the rock is called krčnik.
We subsequently moved to another valley with vineyards again. People were cutting the ripe bunches of white grapes and putting them into baskets that were then emptied into a larger stainless steel trailer tied to a tractor. On smaller sites, normal trailers would be used with a sheet of plastic as a protection. We could hear the chatter from afar, for it was a jolly moment to harvest, muscle aches apart.
Villages of the area, perched on hilltops appeared to float on a sea of vineyards. It was a warm day and we were quite grateful to be able to buy some cold drinks and replenish our water supply in a small roadside cafe in Dobrovo before continuing towards Šmartno under a burning sun. Menacing clouds on the horizon above the Alps seemed to come our way while growing fantastically in the sky. They left ever larger patches of land in the shadow. Right before reaching Šmartno we visited a nearby hill with a tower providing a 360 degree view on the hills. Šmartno was there against the light, standing firm at the top of a round hill with its fortification wall and the St Martin's Church dominating it. Around 1960 Tone Kralj painted murals on the walls of that church. Towards the South, we could see the Italian town of Cormons spread in the plain. A colony of wasps had chosen to congregate on the last platform of the tower which effectively discouraged our curiosity to admire the 360 degrees view.
We passed through the stone gate of Šmartno and here we were in this tiny medieval village which was shining like a newly minted coin, first because the ground had been polished by the steps of visitors and secondly because the village has recently been renovated after the 1976 earthquake which left many houses destroyed. Besides the village had been deserted for a while in the middle of the 20th century. Šmartno is often visited in the Spring when the many cherry trees are blossoming. We stayed at an inn, the Goštilna Marica, which was reputed for its food. A T-bone felt very welcome after our long walking day.
After a substantial breakfast including some excellent locally made prosciutto crudo, we took off as Italy was, once again, waiting for us. The sky was lightly veiled when we started walking, more clouds were expected for the afternoon. This gave the landscape of vineyards a sad twist as colours were all tainted with a stint of grey. After a couple of hours, we saw by the roadside a couple of blue signboards with the European flag printed and in the center of the twelve yellow stars was written "Italija" on the first one and "Italia" on the second one, twenty meters down the road, marking the Slovenian/Italian border. We entered a forest under a light rain and ascended to Mount Quarin, the hill overlooking Cormons. We ate our picnic lunch under chestnut trees next to a couple of teenagers who were playing cards and drinking soft drinks while listening to music from a mini speaker. Despite the sad weather they were visibly enjoying being together away from the scrutiny of their families.
We had a quick look at the ruins of a fortress, most of which was anyway off-limits, and used a narrow forest path, which didn't look frequently used and could be very thorny if one wasn't careful enough to avoid unfriendly bushes. We branched into a steep cobblestone street that led us to the lovely town center of Cormons with its multiple-storeyed pastel facades. There was definitely an Italian flair about the town which had been for several centuries, until the end of World War I, part of the Habsburg empire with the exception of a few years under Venetian rules.
We decided to sit on the main square at the terrace of an Enoteca (a place serving wines and snacks) with large umbrellas, which seemed appropriate as we were unsure whether the rain would start falling and our accommodation could only be accessed a couple of hours later. The wine list covered more than fifty wines from the area, white, rosé, red, sparkling or not, dry or sweet. Even with a lot of goodwill it would have been challenging to try them all.
It was Friday afternoon and the Enoteca was well attended, there was something festive in the air judging by the tents set up at different corners of the town. It was the weekend of the Festa del Uova (the grape festival) which takes place every year at the time of the harvest. On Sunday, there would be a parade in costumes. Until then people could enjoy street food and in the evening concerts in various corners of the town. Many people from the neighbouring villages came in the night for the party which went on for quite a while. The next morning was very quiet as we went out to look out for breakfast. Orange-clad men were out cleaning the streets while a few early morning risers were already on their way to their usual café for a chat with an espresso, a macchiato and maybe one of the usual suspects: cigarette, newspaper and jam-stuffed pastries. The sky was radiant and the sun already warm when we left Cormons through a long street that morphed into a road leading to the next village. Vineyards, more vineyards. We branched off into a wood to follow the "vigne alte" trail, meaning the "old vines" which soon appeared, with their tortuous shape and bore fewer grape bunches than the younger ones. We stopped for lunch on the sports ground of a village, called San Lorenzo, where some picnic tables stood in the shade of a thick foliage. It was still humid from the previous day's rain and the mosquitoes relished in our blood to the point that I decided to finish my sandwich under the sun. Better grilling, I thought, than itching in more places.
We resumed our journey along a rather boring tarmac road but we, somehow, found the strength to proceed because we had to reach Gradisca d'Isonzo, our goal for the day.
Gradisca's old town is surrounded by a hexagonal city wall inside which a fortress is erected at the southern tip towards the Isonzo river. The first fortification was done at the end of the 15th century under Venetian rules at a time where the Ottomans had already made inroads in the Balkans and were hoping to go further West. Leonardo da Vinci is believed to have been consulted for the riverside part of the fortification. Somehow this didn't stop the town to be lost to the Habsburg in 1511 AD and until World War I to remain under the perimeter of the Habsburgs empire, except for the duration of the Napoleonic wars and, prior to that, when Gradisca obtained independence between 1647 and 1717. The latter period was at a time during which the Habsburgs, who were in need of money, gave the leadership of Gradisca to the Eggenberg family. In 1717, in the absence of a heir, Gradisca went back to the direct rule of the Habsburgs.
Eggenberg was the name of our Bed and Breakfast (B&B), managed by a man called Furio, who was the third generation descendent to run that business. The house was in the street that prolongated the old town's main street. Entering it felt like entering a house from the previous century with its many paintings on the walls, some religious objects and a creaking staircase leading to our room that had a dark waxed wooden floor made of wide and veiny planks.
Furio was quite excited to hear about our trip across Europe and was very talkative about history and travels. The B&B was for him a second life after his previous one as a worker. He enjoyed talking to new people especially with the hands because anyway he was speaking Italian and we English. In the living room, he had a collection of vintage objects from the 1950s probably from the time of his grandmother who opened the B&B in 1953. To welcome us, he climbed on a ladder to go and cut a few grape bunches from the neighbour's vineyard which was accessible from above the wall and that no one else seemed interested in harvesting.
We went to the old town in the evening for a quick tour, passing in front of the theatre, il teatro, in front of which a Venetian stone lion, perched on a column, reminded us of the distant historical presence of the Republic of Venice. Luigi Spazzapan, an artist born in Gradisca in 1889 had its work exhibited at the contemporary gallery on the main street. It was interesting to see the evolution of his style through the years starting with very realistic portraits and still life and evolving into some more abstract representations of the same topics with a few round and confident strokes capturing the essence of the subject. He also ventured into abstraction following the trend of his time.
We had a nice dinner at the terrace of a restaurant next door, called la Ghironda, a family restaurant where the son ran feverishly to coordinate the service and the kitchen.
We left Gradisca through the bridge that crosses the Isonzo which had become a lazy river. We walked up to Mount San Michele which, on that day, was being celebrated for two reasons. First, it was where an EU-funded cycling race arrived and second it was a day of commemoration of a battle fought between Italian and Hungarian troops during the World War I. The Italians dug several galleries and tunnels to monitor the enemy's movements down in the valley and, if needed, fire at them with a battery of canons that could reach positions all around the hill. We continued our walk down the opposite slope and reached the village of San Martino del Corso.
We decided to sit on the main square at the terrace of an Enoteca (a place serving wines and snacks) with large umbrellas, which seemed appropriate as we were unsure whether the rain would start falling and our accommodation could only be accessed a couple of hours later. The wine list covered more than fifty wines from the area, white, rosé, red, sparkling or not, dry or sweet. Even with a lot of goodwill it would have been challenging to try them all.
It was Friday afternoon and the Enoteca was well attended, there was something festive in the air judging by the tents set up at different corners of the town. It was the weekend of the Festa del Uova (the grape festival) which takes place every year at the time of the harvest. On Sunday, there would be a parade in costumes. Until then people could enjoy street food and in the evening concerts in various corners of the town. Many people from the neighbouring villages came in the night for the party which went on for quite a while. The next morning was very quiet as we went out to look out for breakfast. Orange-clad men were out cleaning the streets while a few early morning risers were already on their way to their usual café for a chat with an espresso, a macchiato and maybe one of the usual suspects: cigarette, newspaper and jam-stuffed pastries. The sky was radiant and the sun already warm when we left Cormons through a long street that morphed into a road leading to the next village. Vineyards, more vineyards. We branched off into a wood to follow the "vigne alte" trail, meaning the "old vines" which soon appeared, with their tortuous shape and bore fewer grape bunches than the younger ones. We stopped for lunch on the sports ground of a village, called San Lorenzo, where some picnic tables stood in the shade of a thick foliage. It was still humid from the previous day's rain and the mosquitoes relished in our blood to the point that I decided to finish my sandwich under the sun. Better grilling, I thought, than itching in more places.
We resumed our journey along a rather boring tarmac road but we, somehow, found the strength to proceed because we had to reach Gradisca d'Isonzo, our goal for the day.
Gradisca's old town is surrounded by a hexagonal city wall inside which a fortress is erected at the southern tip towards the Isonzo river. The first fortification was done at the end of the 15th century under Venetian rules at a time where the Ottomans had already made inroads in the Balkans and were hoping to go further West. Leonardo da Vinci is believed to have been consulted for the riverside part of the fortification. Somehow this didn't stop the town to be lost to the Habsburg in 1511 AD and until World War I to remain under the perimeter of the Habsburgs empire, except for the duration of the Napoleonic wars and, prior to that, when Gradisca obtained independence between 1647 and 1717. The latter period was at a time during which the Habsburgs, who were in need of money, gave the leadership of Gradisca to the Eggenberg family. In 1717, in the absence of a heir, Gradisca went back to the direct rule of the Habsburgs.
Eggenberg was the name of our Bed and Breakfast (B&B), managed by a man called Furio, who was the third generation descendent to run that business. The house was in the street that prolongated the old town's main street. Entering it felt like entering a house from the previous century with its many paintings on the walls, some religious objects and a creaking staircase leading to our room that had a dark waxed wooden floor made of wide and veiny planks.
Furio was quite excited to hear about our trip across Europe and was very talkative about history and travels. The B&B was for him a second life after his previous one as a worker. He enjoyed talking to new people especially with the hands because anyway he was speaking Italian and we English. In the living room, he had a collection of vintage objects from the 1950s probably from the time of his grandmother who opened the B&B in 1953. To welcome us, he climbed on a ladder to go and cut a few grape bunches from the neighbour's vineyard which was accessible from above the wall and that no one else seemed interested in harvesting.
We went to the old town in the evening for a quick tour, passing in front of the theatre, il teatro, in front of which a Venetian stone lion, perched on a column, reminded us of the distant historical presence of the Republic of Venice. Luigi Spazzapan, an artist born in Gradisca in 1889 had its work exhibited at the contemporary gallery on the main street. It was interesting to see the evolution of his style through the years starting with very realistic portraits and still life and evolving into some more abstract representations of the same topics with a few round and confident strokes capturing the essence of the subject. He also ventured into abstraction following the trend of his time.
We had a nice dinner at the terrace of a restaurant next door, called la Ghironda, a family restaurant where the son ran feverishly to coordinate the service and the kitchen.
We left Gradisca through the bridge that crosses the Isonzo which had become a lazy river. We walked up to Mount San Michele which, on that day, was being celebrated for two reasons. First, it was where an EU-funded cycling race arrived and second it was a day of commemoration of a battle fought between Italian and Hungarian troops during the World War I. The Italians dug several galleries and tunnels to monitor the enemy's movements down in the valley and, if needed, fire at them with a battery of canons that could reach positions all around the hill. We continued our walk down the opposite slope and reached the village of San Martino del Corso.
Feathers were being aired on green woolen hats. Men in World War I Hungarian war costumes were out on the street, about to perform a commemorative parade in homage to their ancestors who fought in World War I on the Hungarian side a century ago. The village did even have a small museum presenting objects of the soldiers' daily life back then. They were not travelling light like backpackers do today. In the kitchen of the museum, a tiny room, espresso coffee was being prepared in a Bialetti pot, Italy had won that war amid Hungarian nostalgia. We moved on before the start of the parade and entered a forested area. In the middle of nowhere we came across a wooden bench painted pink, perhaps put there to inspire new episodes of "la vie en rose". We arrived at a cliff along which we descended to a swampy area planted with pines and oaks.
This was the place where we reached the distance of 2500km walked since our departure from Hendaye. It didn't feel any special, just one more day walking, but of course when thinking about it afterwards it was a milestone. A couple of times along the way and not simultaneously, each of us had had doubts about our own capacity to walk on. It had helped us to have a goal in mind to forget about physical pain. Yes, sometimes feet were aching and influenced the moral.
What was special, more than the distance of 2500km, was the fact that we were about to reach the Adriatic sea. That was the proper psychological milestone that encouraged us that day to carry on. We ate our lunch seating in the middle of a dry mud path in the shade of small trees. It was hot and we still had more than ten kilometers ahead of us going up and down from hamlets to hamlets. We were in Italy but very often names were in Slovenian and so were the signboards too. Dogs barked at us from behind their fences, cats moved freely about their business, sometimes deciding, mysteriously to choose us for leg rubbing session. I remember particularly two dogs, one of them very young. The elder one, a spaniel, threw himself against the wire fence and barked furiously to impress us while the younger one came to have a look, barked once and then ran off to pick-up its ball feeling in a play mood. It might have thought that we may have wanted to play too. A little further "down the road", we moved again in a wood and here it was in front of us, the sun reflection on the sea had caught our eyes, the Adriatic sea was near, right in front of us, with the harbour of Montefalcone. We just had to go downhill towards the seashore and then eastward for a few kilometers to reach Duino, a village that the German poet Reiner Maria Rilke has made famous with his poetry. He was inspired by the beauty of the coast. We too were elated by the scent of pine trees, the blue of the sky and the sea. A swim in the Adriatic sea finally seemed within reach!
What was special, more than the distance of 2500km, was the fact that we were about to reach the Adriatic sea. That was the proper psychological milestone that encouraged us that day to carry on. We ate our lunch seating in the middle of a dry mud path in the shade of small trees. It was hot and we still had more than ten kilometers ahead of us going up and down from hamlets to hamlets. We were in Italy but very often names were in Slovenian and so were the signboards too. Dogs barked at us from behind their fences, cats moved freely about their business, sometimes deciding, mysteriously to choose us for leg rubbing session. I remember particularly two dogs, one of them very young. The elder one, a spaniel, threw himself against the wire fence and barked furiously to impress us while the younger one came to have a look, barked once and then ran off to pick-up its ball feeling in a play mood. It might have thought that we may have wanted to play too. A little further "down the road", we moved again in a wood and here it was in front of us, the sun reflection on the sea had caught our eyes, the Adriatic sea was near, right in front of us, with the harbour of Montefalcone. We just had to go downhill towards the seashore and then eastward for a few kilometers to reach Duino, a village that the German poet Reiner Maria Rilke has made famous with his poetry. He was inspired by the beauty of the coast. We too were elated by the scent of pine trees, the blue of the sky and the sea. A swim in the Adriatic sea finally seemed within reach!
images:
1/ Vineyards landscape near Cormons
2/ the devil's bridge of Cividale del Friuli
3/ better grilling than itching more
4/ Gradisca d'Isonzo
5/ Villa Rilke, Duino
1/ Vineyards landscape near Cormons
2/ the devil's bridge of Cividale del Friuli
3/ better grilling than itching more
4/ Gradisca d'Isonzo
5/ Villa Rilke, Duino
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| the devil's bridge of Cividale del Friuli |
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| better grilling than itching more |
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| Gradisca d'Isonzo |
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| Villa Rilke, Duino |
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