A Tale of Two Silvi, Part 1

There are some towns in Italy that I think of as having two souls. Like Silvi, for instance. Down at the shore is the high-spirited, slightly brash extrovert; overlooking it from the hill above its more reserved other half. This is a tale of two Silvi.

Silvi Marina

It is surprising how many Italians I have met from other regions who are familiar with Silvi Marina from their childhood. This is probably because its many attributes read like an advertisement for family holidays: reasonably priced accommodation, a summer programme of concerts and events, a plethora of restaurants and gelaterie, and a safe, sandy beach (one of the ‘seven sisters of Abruzzo’) that goes on forever, endowed with well-furnished lidos and bars.

Silvi Marina goes back to Roman times, when it was a strategic port, so predates mediaeval Silvi Paese. It was apparently called the ‘Pearl of the Adriatic’ by the poet Gabriele D’Annunzio and until his death in the 1930s, before the appearance of everything listed above, it probably was.

Add to this the lungomare (a bit of a misnomer as buildings separate it from the actual beach), with its wide footpath that comfortably accommodates strolling families with children, prams and dogs, and its shops and stalls that never seem to close.

Now, though, I have a preference for Silvi Paese, its quiet, retiring sibling on the hill.

Silvi Paese

First, a note about the word ‘paese’.  It can mean country/nation, like Italy, but also town or village. In the latter sense it often connotes smallness and remoteness – a wee place in the sticks. ‘Torno in paese’ someone might say who has been out in the world and is now going home, probably only for a visit, to the village of their childhood, back to the family fold.

Silvi Paese is also called Silvi Alta, ‘High Silvi’, but just because of its lofty position. It unravels along a ridge that juts out over the plain, and ends in the best of belvederes.

I love Silvi Paese because it is a quiet, unassuming borgo. The views are splendid. On stifling summer nights it is here we come to breathe. For this reason Silvi attracts a healthy number of tourists and visitors, but it is not overrun. It’s a place of sleepy squares and meandering streets where no sounds disturb save the (amazingly loud) cicada in the pines.

At the roundabout on the Nazionale Adriatica, instead of heading towards the Marina, we take the inland road that winds upwards, past the trees and vegetation that give Silvi – like its neighbour Montesilvano – its name.

At the top of the hill we enter the village by Piazza della Porta, where the mediaeval gate was located. The baroque Church of San Salvatore, dating back to around 1100, dominates the Piazza.

In the past, church bells did more than just summon citizens to Mass. San Salvatore has a square bell tower and each of the four bells played a role in the life of the community. The one to the north, I remember reading, called the children to school while the one to the west warned of an arriving storm or a death: 33 tolls for a man, 32 for a woman. It would be easy to lose count and be none the wiser.

We continue our walk down the road that skirts the village. Across from the modest bar that sells ice cream, coffee and drinks, the voices of customers are doing battle with the loudest cicada in the West.

We stop to read the plaque reminding us of the disaster that struck in August 1922 when 11 members of the local band were killed on their way to a gig. The truck that they and 36 fellow musicians were travelling in was crushed by a train at a level crossing. It was an appalling tragedy that made front-page news all over Italy. Silvi, of course, lost its band, which was only formed again after the second World War.

The signpost pointing us towards the Belvedere seems redundant.  Almost the whole of Silvi offers unobstructed views of the coastline, as well as the countryside as far as the Majella. 

From our walk we can see Montesilvano to the south and the ribbon of the Stradone, as locals call it, the road to Pescara.  Running parallel to the road and just below us is a footpath called the Path of Splendour which lives up fully to its name.

Silvi ends in a lovely semi-circular piazza that forms a natural lookout platform, with outward-facing benches placed at gaps in the wall.

A Pink House and a Pine Tree

If, seated on one of these benches, I sneak a look over my shoulder, I see a two-storey pink house where the piazza ends. I do try not to covet other people’s homes but this one is tough to resist.  There is no front garden but why would you need one when the only thing blocking your view of forever is a twisted pine tree? I imagine what it must be like to wake up in the morning to that spectacle, to survey kilometres of coastline and to watch the weather rolling in from the sea.

Then again, I think, turning to face the view, even a house like that would have its drawbacks.  For a start you’d always have people like me milling around in your front yard.

And with that thought I settle back comfortably on my free bench and concentrate on the shining sea below.