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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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Picturesque Popoli

Bears and other perils Just outside Popoli we pass a quaint road sign alerting us to the possibility of bears crossing. Having once had a near miss with a deer on the motorway, and risked a collision with a kangaroo in the Australian outback, I shouldn’t be complacent. But somehow the idea that a bear might amble out of the woods to cross the road strikes me as comical. And yet. We are on the border between the two great national parks of Abruzzo, the Majella and the Gran Sasso, the habitat of about 50 members of the orso marsicano species. Sightings are rare but in certain periods, or...

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Atri, home of black gold

Never imagine that hill towns in Abruzzo are all the same. That once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. Nothing is further from the truth. There are borghi that meander crookedly along the crest of a hill, others that sit boldly astride it like a layered wedding cake. And others still that seem to defy gravity, clinging to the mountainside and looking, from a distance and especially after a snowfall, like a carefully assembled nativity scene. Aside from topographical differences, each place has its own story to tell, its own treasure-trove of artistic and cultural gems. And none more so than Atri in the province of Teramo. Atri...

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Città Sant’Angelo

City of Angels, Mojito, and the Bones of Wild Beasts In Città Sant’Angelo one might hope to see angels. Or even saints. What I wasn’t expecting was an elephant’s tusk. Strange Beasts But here it is in full view in the little Civic Museum.  Though broken in two places, it lies protected in its special glass casket against a backdrop of an artist’s impression of its owner roaming the wilds. The kind young man who is pleased to welcome visitors to the museum tells me it was found in 1977 when the motorway was being built. But how did it get here?  I want to know. According to our...

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Fiadoni

Fiadoni, an Easter tradition My favourite friendly casciaro (cheesemaker) at the Saturday morning market offers me some fiadoni from Rapino. It is still some weeks till Easter but how can I resist?  The fiadoni are light and golden and I serve them slightly warmed as an antipasto the next day at lunch. Fiadoni are, simply put, golden pastry parcels filled with cheese and egg. But it seems that nothing to do with cooking is simple in Abruzzo.  How do you make fiadoni? I ask three women one day.  And I am given three different versions.  Had there been 30 women in the room, I would have 30 recipes. And...

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Sulmona

City of Romance and Confetti Most girls, when they get engaged, receive a ring. I got a bunch of confetti. But then on that fateful day I was in Sulmona, which is to confetti and weddings as Scotland is to whisky and ceilidhs. Confetti and coriandoli Let’s get one thing straight. By confetti, I don’t mean paper hearts and horseshoes or the harvest of the office shredding machine. Here, those tiny paper cut-outs are called coriandoli and are likely to get in your hair during Carnival. Italian style confetti are coated almonds. When I explain this to a friend, she looks aghast and says, nice, but don’t they hurt? ...