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 a plate.  But at the back of the beach the scrubby vegetation is replaced by a cool and fragrant pine forest, or pineto in Italian.

Out of the sun’s glare and the brilliant blue of sun and sea, our eyes adjust to a world of muted browns, greens and fawns.  The air is soft and pine scented.  The sounds are different too, but I’ll leave the description to Gabriele D’Annunzio.

Hush.
At the forest threshold
I hear not the human words you say,
But newer words,
Spoken by drops 
And foliage far away.....
...And the pine has a sound
And the myrtle another sound,
And the juniper yet another,
Different instruments
Under countless fingers.*

Whatever their opinion of Italy’s most controversial poet, few people dispute the beauty of his famous poem La Pioggia nel Pineto, The Rain in the Pine Forest.  It is from this poem that Pineto takes its name.

The name really refers to the whole area, including the Cerrano Reserve, as well as the small, pretty and well-kept town itself up ahead. But say Pineto to most people from around here and they will think also of this woodland which backs on to one of the loveliest beaches on this part of the coast.

Today there is no rain in the forest or beyond. We have retired here for respite from the afternoon heat. We’re not alone. Under the trees, in the lemony light, four card players in swimmers are seated around a camping table, engrossed in their game, and here and there people are reclining on sunbeds and mattresses. A family passes on bikes on their way to the beach, their wheels whirring on the needle-strewn path. The Ciclovia Adriatica runs right alongside the wood.

Towards evening we stir ourselves and walk further through the wood till we come level with the lidos. More people are about and we soon discover the reason. Tucked under the trees, looking as if it has grown there, is a beach bar made from wood and seated around the wooden tables in the fading light are young people and families with children, all enjoying some refreshment after their day in the sun.

We join them, and are soon engulfed in a cacophony of human voices that drown out the sounds of the forest. All except the cicadas, that from the lofty heights of the pine trees, keep up their incessant rhythm.

*my translation

Pineto is north of Silvi. The pine wood can be reached from the road at Pineto or from the beach at Torre del Cerrano. We had refreshments at the Eucaliptus bar.