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 away the evidence. The ridiculous thought pops into my head that it has been put there for fruit thieves like us.

Picking figs near the Trabocchi Coast
fruit thief

Delicious as they are, I’m not even sure the figs are stolen. The tree is on unfenced land and seems wild.

Perhaps I’m just trying to exonerate myself as we are not far from the Canadian War Cemetery and just a few minutes ago we were strolling, silent and solemn, among the headstones.

Gravestones at Canadian War Cemetery
Moro River (Canadian) War Cemetery

Nicking fruit in the vicinity might seem irreverent to some. But to us, delighting in this golden evening and engrossed in our childish caper, it doesn’t seem that way.

The Cemetery

We are near the Trabocchi Coast and the Moro River cemetery is part of our usual itinerary. Unusually, though, we set off in the late afternoon. Now the air is softer, the heat less bruising. The deepening shadows across the immaculate lawns of the cemetery enhance the poignant stillness of this resting place for the mostly Canadian soldiers who fought and died in and around Ortona in 1944.

The Abbey

After our illicit feast we proceed to the Abbey of San Giovanni in Venere. Our visits seem often to coincide with weddings and today is no exception. We arrive at the tail end of the ceremony. Clattering down the hill in high heels come some women guests, cheerful and eager to arrive at the reception – and hopefully a glass of prosecco – while the bride and groom linger for photos.

Abbey of San Giovanni in Venere overlooking Trabocchi Coast
The Abbey overlooking Trabocchi Coast

Due to the wedding, the cloister and crypt are closed temporarily, so we content ourselves with a tour of the Abbey interior before admiring the sculptures surrounding the Portale della Luna, the west-facing ‘Moon Door’.

Afterwards, we retire to the garden of the bar opposite for an aperitivo. It is so pleasant here that we loiter until late, watching as the setting sun picks out the mottled stonework of the abbey, turning the walls from ochre to ambre to mauve grey.

Abbey of San Giovanni in Venere, near Trabocchi Coast
Abbazia di San Giovanni in Venere at sunset

Trabocchi at last

An evening on the trabocchi coast must surely include a visit to a trabocco. By the time we drive down the hill from the Abbey it is dusk and lights are twinkling along the seashore. The trabocchi sparkle like moored ferries decked out for a party.

We are curious to see inside a converted trabocco so although we’re without a reservation we boldly cross a gangplank strung with fairy lights and enter the restaurant beyond. The young lady who greets us allows us a few minutes to get the feel of the place. The decor is simple yet sophisticated. Eating here, I think, must be the height of cool.

Trabocchi coast by night
Traboccho

For a fuller description of the trabocco interior see here.

And finally, fish and chips

We reserve sophisticated trabocco dining for a future occasion and drive on to San Vito Chietino for our customary fish and chips, which we eat with gusto in a brightly lit, lively café, ending the day with a walk to the pier in the warm and velvety darkness.

heleninabruzzo

As a Scot married to an Abruzzese, I spend my summers, and the occasional winter, in this beautiful region. This is Abruzzo as I experience it. Please join me on my travels!

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1 Response

  1. September 24, 2022

    […] 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. […]

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