Lago Barrea and mountains 1

Lago Barrea

For me, one thing distinguishes Lago Barrea from all the other lakes in Abruzzo:  it’s the only one I’ve actually swum in. I’m not a fan of bathing in lakes. I’m squeamish about muddy bottoms. Not to mention murky water and what might be lurking there.  I blame it on growing up in a country of lochs where monsters are known to thrive. So it took a lot to get me into this lake.  It took a hot, sweaty day on the road and a great longing to wash away a layer of travel dust.  It took the inviting glossy perfection of the lake itself. And it helped that...

San Domenico lake and hermitage from bridge 3

San Domenico Lake

A peaceful green place Tinted by the algae under its shimmering surface and reflecting the foliage around its shores, it’s a study in green. No wonder it’s also known as the emerald lake. Officially, this lake is named after San Domenico, whom we’ve already met. He’s the Benedictine monk whose statue, draped in writhing snakes, is borne aloft in Cocullo every year in the May procession. The lake is named after him because he set up his hermitage here around the year 1000. At that time there would have just been the Sagittario River flowing through the gorge. The artificial lake was formed in the early twentieth century when...

Houses in Pescasseroli 0

Pescasseroli

As temperatures near the coast continue to soar we take to the hills. More precisely, we head for the Parco Nazionale di Abruzzo, Lazio and Molise and we have chosen Pescasseroli as our base. As we drive into town it’s as if we’ve changed countries. The air has a zing to it. The grass is a healthy green, in contrast to the sun-bleached variety we have left behind, and the trees nod in the breeze. Houses have sloping roofs and wooden window boxes from which tumble cascades of scarlet geraniums. Signs point us to the ski slopes.   Pescasseroli is, in fact, best known as a winter resort. But...

Engrance to walk, Camosciara 1

La Camosciara

For Nature Lovers Only There are positive signs that our proposed trek in La Camosciara nature reserve will be, as the guidebook suggests, a ‘passeggiata’.  The word for walk is frequently used in a figurative sense to underline that something is easy, a mere walk in the park. As we drive into the immense carpark we spot numerous families with small children preparing for the endeavour. How hard can it be? The long unwinding road It is, though, quite a hot day and the first part of the walk in La Camosciara is through open, sunburnt countryside.  The white dusty road stretches towards the Marsicani mountain range, a hazy...

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...

Cocullo, Abruzzo 1

Cocullo

A Quiet Place Cocullo is like a ghost town. There is no one about. As we climb the silent winding streets to the tower, we pass windows boarded up and wooden doors – no doubt beautiful in their time – still in place but gnarled by time and neglect. I half expect tumbleweed to come rolling down the streets towards us. There is life at the top, though not human life.  A flock of swifts, black darts against the azure sky, are giving an aerobatics display. It is still early morning. We rest for a while beneath the twelfth century tower, admiring the still sturdy medieval stonework and enjoying...

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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...

coastline of Tremiti islands and boat 0

The Tremiti Islands

Pearls of the Adriatic Bothered and bewildered, but not entirely beaten, we are marooned on the quay of San Nicola, one of the Tremiti islands. It’s a perfect summer’s day with a light salty breeze lifting off the sea. Around us and across the quay, excited tourists are scattering like marbles towards the small craft they’ve reserved for inter-island excursions. With no booking and no boat, we are going nowhere. Going it alone It’s not really our fault. The package deal we’d booked fell through at the eleventh hour, leaving us to fit together all the pieces of our day trip by ourselves.  So far, despite our misgivings, all...