Category: The Coast

Pescara river at night 3

Pescara, the city

In Pursuit of Happiness The statue of Ennio Flaiano guards the entrance to the oldest part of the city of Pescara where he was born. Poet, author, playwright, collaborator of Federico Fellini, and the first winner of the prestigious Strega literary award, Flaiano was fond of aphorisms. One of his favourites is written on the plinth of the statue: la felicità consiste nel non desiderare che ciò che si possiede.  Happiness consists in desiring only what you possess. A wise maxim, you might think, but one which Flaiano himself failed to honour, since he wasted little time in abandoning his native city and all he possessed, and decamping to...

Ninfa fountain and Pescara riviera 2

Pescara – the Riviera

Where to begin, if not at the sea. For what would Pescara be without the sea, without its lungomare and luxurious lidos, its pier and pescatori?  What would it be without its marina and mega yachts?  A fitting name The city’s name (but for one letter, the same as the verb meaning to fish) evokes the sea. It was around the year 1000 that Aternum, as the Romans called it, became Piscaria, like the river on whose banks it stood. In 1927 the town was joined with Castellammare Adriatico on the river’s northern shore. Efforts to revert to the Roman name were thwarted by Pescara’s most famous son, Gabriele...

Castello Aragonese, Ortona 0

Ortona

Gateway to the Trabocchi Coast It’s a fickle kind of day and as I roam the grounds of the Castello Aragonese in Ortona the sun skulks behind fat clouds.  Far below, the changing colours of the Adriatic reflect the moodiness of the sky. Castello Aragonese Like Vasto, Ortona is built on a clifftop and the Castle commands magnificent views up and down the coast. Built on a previous structure in the fifteenth century by the Aragonese, the latest in a long succession of invaders, it eventually became a noble residence, only to be destroyed during World War II. Entrance costs nothing and roaming the grounds high above the sea feels...

table set for dinner on a Trabocco 1

Trabocchi Dining

Heaven awaits We have been on an evening tour and we get there as darkness is falling. Which is why we narrowly miss being flattened by a family of cyclists out late on the Ciclovia Adriatica. They alert us with friendly shouts and a trill of bells and we jump back to let them pass. Off they go, their bicycle lamps twinkling like fireflies in the fading light. Safe once more on the other side, we descend towards a tiny pebble beach, at the far end of which are steps leading up to a trabocco-restaurant. It is ablaze with light, like some unearthly spacecraft that has just landed on its...

Rigging of trabocco and sea beyond 1

An Evening on the Trabocchi Coast

Fruit always tastes better when it’s stolen.  I don’t know who said that but I know of no reason to doubt it. Which is why I find myself ducking under the fruit-laden boughs of a fig tree on a warm evening in late summer.  Forbidden Fruit The figs are the ‘white’ variety as opposed to the plump ‘black’ or wine-coloured fruit of late season. Their skins, though, are green. They are also small and hard, a consequence, perhaps, of the recent drought. But when we peel back the skin the creamy fruit inside is pulpy and sweet. And very sticky. Luckily there is a tap nearby where we rinse...

3

Vasto

Vasto, Vistas and Fish Soup Vasto seems an appropriate word for the cauldron of steaming hot brodo di pesce placed on the table before us. It’s huge. Floating in the still bubbling broth are hunks of fish and shellfish. I’m not sure where to start. Brodo di Pesce – a ritual Our waiter explains the procedure. First, dip chunks of bread into the soup. Then eat the fish and shellfish.  Finally, he will bring out some pasta to mix with the remaining broth. And voilà, three meals in one. We have been issued with outsize blue bibs which the waiter ties with care behind our necks. Fearing that my reputation as...

Montepagano 0

Montepagano

A pagan-sounding place and a bed-warming priest Up on the hill overlooking Roseto we spy a dome-like structure and decide to investigate. The signs along the road say Montepagano. The countryside, as we climb, opens out in a verdant expanse towards the Majella and Gran Sasso, each with a lingering mantle of snow. We find a silent village. It is too early for the tourist season, when holidaymakers will drive up from the coast, animating the streets and squares and filling the few cafés and restaurants. For now, the bars are empty. Help yourself, says the friendly owner of one. So we do. We carry our drinks out to...

view of Roseto and sea from above 1

Roseto degli Abruzzi

There is one thing that towns on the Adriatic coast have in common.  They are sliced in two by ‘la via Nazionale’, that is, the Strada Statale 16. It stretches from Oltranto in Puglia to Padova in the north, making it the longest of its kind in Italy, though nowadays only motorway-phobic travellers would travel its whole length. That’s because it’s a stop-and-start kind of road, punctuated by traffic lights, roundabouts, pedestrian crossings and bottlenecks, all making progress teeth-grindingly slow. Outside the towns the road is mostly bordered by ugly factories, warehouses and billboards, and occasionally by pine trees. There used to be more trees but though pretty they’re...

bridge in pinewood 4

A walk in the woods at Pineto

I read somewhere that a cicada’s mating call can reach more decibels than a passing motorbike. I am reminded of this while stretched out on the sandy floor of the pine forest, gazing up at the lofty, leafy canopy of umbrella pines. The cicadas are in full orchestra mode and the decibels have clearly exceeded a convoy of Harley Davidsons. And yet here’s the weird thing: their whirring is lulling me to sleep. Just after the small promontory at Torre del Cerrano the beach curves gently into a new bay and another kilometre or so of public beach.  The sea is the same – endless, azure and flat as...

1

Cerrano Marine Reserve

A beach-lover’s paradise Perhaps it was my upbringing in egalitarian Scotland, or the happy hours I spent roaming Australian beaches as a young adult, but I believe that beaches should be for everyone. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate the convenience of private lidos. Same Beach, Same Sea If you frequent the same beach day in, day out for the whole summer, as many Italians do, you don’t want to have to drag your paraphernalia behind you every morning. It’s natural to want your spot reserved, with your umbrella already opened, your sunbed in place, your beach neighbours familiar and friendly. Many Italians are happy to pay a...