The Mists of Time

Rain returned yesterday and for the next few days it’s going to be very damp and misty. It’s a good time, perhaps, to look back at photographs one’s taken ten years ago of this same part of the world.

Sometimes it’s easily recognizable where the photographs have been taken, sometimes it’s not. The village must be somewhere near Corfino by the views from it but is that stretch of water Lago Pontecosi?  And what about these amazing mill wheels?

Already mysterious mists of time are descending onto pictures I’ve taken here.


From the snow’s embrace

a crocus thrusts forth its bud:

when will spring arrive?

Trassilico’s Sweet Little Castagnata

Not all Castagnate have to be big affairs. There was a little confusion this weekend about which Castagnate should be where.

Trassilico is one of the most loveable villages in the Gallicano area and I was able to attend a miniscule but very friendly castagnata (chestnut festa) there.

I particularly enjoyed talking to the maker of the model of this metato (chestnut drying hut). He has built many such models including a mill.

There was also a very friendly cat called Ruffo:

I had a chat with one particularly knowledgeable local about the history of Trassilico. It used to be a truly important Estensi centre (i.e. under the rule of the Estensi family from Ferrara) and to this day does not enjoy being under the yoke of Lucca. It even was its own comune until 1947 and the recent merger of Vergemoli comune not with it but with Fabbriche di Vallico made my narrators’ blood boil. History in these parts of Italy isn’t something one just reads about in books. It is felt upon the pulse and there is real resentment against Luccan domination to this day!

I’ve already written about transcendental Trassilico. (See my post at )

There is however, always more to discover. The walks from Trassilico are some of the best in the Apuan Alps and I took one to the church of San Ansano, a little way outside town. Can you see the Monte Forato (the mountain with the huge natural arch) in the distance?

On the way I passed an old version of a fridge – a stone hut called a ‘casalino’ built into the side of a rocky outcrop to keep items like milk and cheese fresh.

Trassilico, in fact has four churches and finally I was able to find out why the finest is some way down the hill, It’s because in the fourteenth century there was a massive earthquake in the area and people decided to rebuilt their village further up on the ridge, leaving the magnificent church in isolation and only reachable by footpath!


The little church of San Rocco in the village’s main square is also worth a look (if it is open as on this rare occasion).

Trassilico can never fail to please and the view of the Estensi fortress from the other side of the settlement set against the startling backcloth of the Apuans is almost Himalayan in its feel.





The White Death Hits Bolognana

I came across this monument a few days ago when I decided I’d go through the town of Bolognana instead of by-passing it as is usually done.

It clearly refers to a great tragedy where several workmen working on a hydro-electric project lost their lives. This kind of death, which is all too common in Italy, is called ‘morte bianca’ – white death.

I need to find out more about what happened back in 1939. Perhaps the tunnel the workmen were excavating to channel the water down to the hydro-electric station collapsed upon them or they were blown up in a misaligned dynamite explosion.

Whatever the reason for the terrible accident the monument, which is divided into two parts – the original one and the much later one dedicated to victims of work-related accidents in general – , moved my emotions considerably. I thought the peace dove particularly beautifully done.


PS I have since been told that my hypothesis was correct. A tunnel which should have brought water from Gallicano to Turrite Cava Lake collapsed killing ten young workmen on the ENEL project. It was the night of 24th November 1938. All victims came from the local area. The original monument was erected in 1942. Although restored in 2015, I still think it needs a bit of gardening around it to bring it back to its full glory and dignity again.

PS When you get your next ENEL bill a good idea to avoid cursing it is to think of the past sacrifice of so many young men in bringing you an electricity supply.




Mighty Senators of the Forest

On my way back from Vagli’s Tibetan bridge (see previous post) I came across one of Italy’s own noblest green-robed senators of mighty woods (to adapt a phrase from Keats’ ‘Hyperion’). This senator was a tiny seedling when the New World was just discovered, and has given hope and nourishment to generations of families in the areas of Roggio, Puglianella and Roccalberti. It still belongs to the descendants of those families. For me it is one of the loveliest living beings upon this earth and something to truly kneel before in awe and adoration. No wonder our ancestors worshipped trees (and some of us still do!) There are many religions and cultures which give praise to these verdant giants thankfully, for without them we would not only be deprived of their fruit and wood but, most importantly, of their life-giving oxygen.

The Bread of Life in our part of the world is not just the Divinity but the Castagno, the chestnut tree, which has supported so much of the population with the flour made from its fruit.  This magnificent tree, a little outside Roggio, is half a thousand years old and is truly an immense power emanating a mystic strength which I felt throughout my whole self as I touched it.

There are many other such colossal beings in your area and perhaps, if you live here, you may have your own favourite Castagno. Just feeling it and putting your arms round it will fill your whole existence with new life and energy because the tree is one of the highest manifestations of life itself.

Here are some of pictures of that ‘Castagno monumentale’ di Roggio taken the other day.It’s 86 feet high and its circumference is 33 feet.

Which reminds me – have you already been to your Castagnata if you live in this part of the world? Yesterday I was at the delightful one at Cascio. If you weren’t there you’ll have to read all about it tomorrow….

A Tibetan Bridge in the Garfagnana

If you live in the Lucchesia you don’t have to go all the way to Tibet to cross a Tibetan bridge. Since the summer this year you only have to go as far as Lake Vagli which is reached on the road leading left from Poggio, north of Castelnuovo di Garfagnana.

I love the thrill of highly strung pedestrian suspension bridges and, of course, we have our own in Val di Lima which I’ve described at so I was keen to try out the new one at Vagli.

In Tibet suspension bridges are usually made of strong chord and are used to provide a short cut across the many deep valleys of that country divided by such rivers as the Mekong and the Brahmaputra which originate in the Himalayan snows before descending into the plains of India and Indo-China.


(A bridge in Tibet)

There are already two bridges in the Vagli valley plus the dam that was built shortly after the last war to provide hydro-electric power and drinking water for Pisa and Livorno by blocking the river and forming a large lake which effectively encircles Vagli di Sotto. Vagli’s mayor thought it would be a good idea to add a third bridge to carry across a mountain trail and provide an added frisson for ramblers in the area.

(Vagli Dam dating from 1947)

It was an idea which brought over two million visitors to the area in summer. Such was the demand to see and cross the bridge that crossing it had to be restricted to visitors just for the week-end. So it was a bit of a disappointment when I reached the bridge on a Thursday and found the gate to the lakeside path leading to the ‘ponte Tibetano’ closed.

Fortunately, I had two allies in my side. First, the lake of Vagli was practically dry. Because of the lack of summer rainfall most of the inhabitants of Pisa and Livorno had drunk its contents! In theory it would have been possible for me to get down towards the lake bottom and thus circumvent the fence. Then I met two kindly officials who said that since I’d come all this way to cross the bridge I could, with their approval, carry out my plan.

The scene before me was totally spectacular – one of the most astonishing days I’ve passed for a long time. The almost emptied lake was breath-taking with its grey, lunar-like, landscape and I could make out some of the old buildings and roads and bridges which would have led to the now submerged village of Fabbriche di Careggine. The lake had last been emptied for maintenance in 1994 – a sight I’d experienced (see my post at on that supernal experience). There were promises that the lake would be emptied this year but because of the water shortage the importance of having some sort of reservoir was essential.

Reaching the bridge I approached a monument park and was particularly moved to see that the wonderful dog Diesel, killed by islamists terrorists last year, was commemorated by a marble statue to him with the words ‘honour and respect’ inscribed on it. To read more about Diesel and other heroic dogs (and cats) see my post at

The bridge, itself is a political statement for it honours the naval squadron of which the two Italian Marò (marine fusiliers) so wrongly accused of the murder of two Keralan fishermen in 2012 and who are still undergoing the almost unbearable stress of a legal case (I know I’ve been through one in my own minor way).

Crossing the bridge was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Quite alone, hundreds of feet above an almost dried-up lake I crossed to the other side witnessing the most wonderful views of the Apuan Mountains around me.

I returned to Vagli without missing the ancient mystique of the Romanesque church of Saint Augustine.

Vagli di sotto is itself a charming, quiet place with a beautiful marble and stone striped parish church and silent alleyways whose main inhabitants seemed to be a variety of cats.

Vagli di Sotto’s Tibetan bridge is less dippy than the one in Val di Lima and its foot-walk is made up of wooden slabs rather than reticulated steel plates so it’s quite possible to take a dog across it provided, of course, that the owner doesn’t suffer from vertigo!

If you go there aim for a week-end and don’t expect to see the lake as dry as I found it. Within twenty days I was told it’ll be full again.

(A Beleagured Mermaid – where has my lake gone?)

Which reminds me – we have no water to our house today unless we go down to the stream!

Thinking Twice About Your ENEL Bill….

Pian Della Rocca, previously dismissed by me as being of little interest in a post at in favour of the much more picturesque old settlement of La Rocca which lies above, is worth a second look. The monumental hydro-electric generating station referred to in that post is a major contribution to Italian fascist architecture as well as being part of one of the country’s most ambitious hydro-electric schemes.

Amazingly built in 1942 when Italy was in the thick of the Second World War and when the Gothic line was being constructed nearby, Pian della Rocca’s generating station lies opposite the village’s only bar (good coffee, friendly service and sports and newspapers to read). I suspect Pian Della Rocca was built to house those working on the project.

The Francis turbines (invented in 1848 by English engineer James Francis and using centrifugal force to generate their energy) use the waters of the Turrite Cava torrent, which is a tributary of the Serchio River, to generate electric power. There is an example of one of these turbines in the grounds of the station:


If you go towards Fabbriche to Vallico you’ll see the dam holding back the waters of the Turrite Cava which form a lake. Both these and the waters descending down in a huge tube towards Gallicano are used at Pian della Rocca’s generating station.


It’s not often realised that the majority of the villages in our area only received electricity in the last fifty odd years. The channelling of torrents and natural underground waters into a complex system of tunnels and reservoirs, begun before the last war but only completed in the 1960’s, form part of a great scheme of harnessing water power in an environmentally friendly way. Indeed, the whole scheme was awarded the Eco-Management and Audit Scheme (EMAS) certification in 2007.


The Pian della Rocca generating station was thoroughly overhauled and restored by ENEL in 2011 at a cost of 23,000,000 euros.

Although not open to the public (I’ve made a request to visit it, however) the main building is the work of one of Italy’s greatest art nouveau architects, Ugo Giovannozzi. Not only that, but the beautifully proportioned structure, if not quite in the class of those ‘temples of power’ mentioned in architectural historian and erstwhile school-mate Gavin Stamp’s book of the same name, is certainly one of Italy’s most beautiful ‘pievi di potenza’ (parish churches of power).

Giovannozzi (Florence 1876 – Rome 1957) has been completely revalued in recent times. Of his most significant works are several of the spas at Montecatini, in particular the well-known Tettuccio establishment.

Rocca’s station’s main hall is characterised on its exterior by three statues by Angiolo Vannetti, a sculptor from Livorno. (I’m sure the central reclining lady must represent the Serchio river). Angelo Vannetti (Livorno 1881 – Florence 1962) was one of the greatest art nouveau artists in Italy. Later his work developed into a variety of art deco and his statues are to be compared favourably with the work of Aristide Maillol. He studied at Florence’s Accademia delle Belle Arti and was particularly influenced by trends in French and Belgian art.



In the 1920’s Vannetti worked extensively in the Far East, especially in Vietnam. Recently a beautiful statue of his in Tripoli called the source of life – a nude lady representing water with a gazelle symbolising the union of the two provinces of Libya, Cyrenaica and Tripolitania – was seriously damaged by (inevitably…) jihadists in 2014.



Vannetti worked closely in conjunction with art-nouveau architect Giovanni Michelazzi. Anyone who has visited the horticultural gardens near Florence’s Piazza delle Cure can’t have missed this lovely Vannetti sculpture of a pair of deer:


Michelazzi himself was for long neglected so that several of his buildings were wantonly destroyed in those vandal years of the sixties and seventies. However, he embellished Florence with some of its finest liberty style buildings. Who hasn’t admired this glorious house, casa Vichi, when passing near the church of Ognissanti on the northern lung’ Arno in that city, for example?


So make it a point of not by-passing even Rocca on your way from Garfagnana to Lucca on the Lodovico road. There are some of the most startling treasures to be found in the most unassuming location and that is for me one of the greatest pleasures of life.



And don’t complain too much about your ENEL electricity bill! Some of it must surely have been gone on not just on keeping your house lit up but also in maintaining ENEL’s beautiful engineering architecture in our area, another wonderful neo-classic example of which can be found just outside Ponte a Moriano:


A Parenthesis of Violoncellists

The violoncelli recital at Bagni di Lucca’s Teatro Accademico last Thursday was a great way to start September off for Sebastian Comberti and Raphael Wallfisch’s partnership is wittily magnetic. Now for the first time they were able to display their supreme talents in Bagni di Lucca Villa and not in an attractive, but slightly remote village in the adjoining valley.

The violoncello is, of course, another Italian invention from that country which has produced some of the world’s outstanding stringed instruments. Developed from the violone (the English equivalent would be the bass viol) its rapid entry into the world of instrumental music was helped (as explained by Sebastian) by the Bolognese invention of wire strung cat-gut strings which enabled the instrument to be enhanced with thicker strings and sustain a louder, more consistent and mellower sound. Today, apart from the baroque cello, the majority of cello strings are made with a steel core.

The two cellists played with a supporting spike at the end of their cello (not usual on baroque celli) but Wallfisch’s was considerably longer so that his arm and hand position was somewhat different from Comberti’s. I think this may emphasise the fact that the cello is really a part of the family of those ‘da braccio’ (arm-held) string instruments which include the violin and the viola.

Technicalities apart, it’s the sound that counts and in the intimate acoustics of the Teatro it was ravishing. The evening was introduced by deputy mayor, cultural ‘assessore’ (and our family doctor) Vito Valentino and consisted of a variety of pieces with the main emphasis on that great rococò Lucchese Luigi Boccherini. The choice of this composer was particularly appropriate since Wallfisch plays a Gagliano instrument dating from 1760 and, therefore, of the same era in which Boccherini, himself a distinguished cellist, lived.

During the evening the violoncelli propagated themselves to three and even reached four with the addition of two further members and students of the summer course for budding world cellists held by Comberti and Wallfisch at Tereglio.

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I particularly enjoyed the foursome playing a diabolical study by Piatti which, predictably led to this piece being replayed as an encore.

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To hear the incredibly high quality and realise the international provenance of the students attending the summer courses at Tereglio don’t miss out today’s (Sunday) concert in Tereglio’s parish church at 17.30 (5.30 pm for followers of Captain Mainwaring…). You will certainly not be disappointed and for encouragement there’s a very nice selection of locally backed cakes at the traditional ‘rinfresco’…


(Boccherini playing on outside Lucca’s Conservatorio, named after him, but using bronze strings.)


Our Swimming Pool

There are some people around who are not aficionados of private swimming pools. They feel that, like television and DVDs did for cinemas, they are an infliction on former large-scale social gatherings. Perhaps on-line buying and drone delivery may eventually do the same for supermarkets and future hypermarkets may become as quaint reminiscences of the socio-commercial scene as, sadly, British Home Stores are now. I sincerely hope not, however, for shopping can be a highly sociable activity. For example, I constantly meet friends and acquaintances at our local one at Penny Market Borgo a Mozzano and exchange notes.

However, there is nothing quite like being invited to a friend’s private swimming pool especially after a long walk on a sweltering summer’s day and when the company is good. When the pool looks out over extraordinary mountain views and even has a hydrotherapy facility  it’s as close to heaven as one can get on this planet. The pool I am secretly referring to also has the added advantage that it is fed by a natural spring so let no one complain that it’s taking away life-giving liquid from anyone else!

I do also love public baths just as much as the ancient Romans loved theirs and enjoy visiting our local spread of swimming pools which includes not only the ones at Bagni di Lucca and Borgo a Mozzano but also the refurbished and reorganised one at Gallicano.

The facilities there are good, the pools (one adults, one children) are open seven days a week from 9 is to 8 pm until around the middle of September or beyond, weather permitting. The staff is helpful (PS don’t forget to bring your obligatory bathing cap, otherwise they are on sale there at five euros), the all-day admission price is free for under-fives, five euros for under twelves and six euros for the rest of us. Decently priced refreshments, including soft drinks, beer, focaccie and ice cream, are available.

What more could one want: a deckchair or sunbed, clean water, a beautiful setting, friendly users to meet up with and chat?

Gallicano’s swimming pool facebook page is at

Unofrtunately, the open-air swimming pool season in our area barely lasts for three months – just as long as the wonderful lidos that were built during the art-deco era in London.

Thinking about those great water-temples, several of which still survive at Brockwell and other corners of London, I wrote this about the miraculously rescued Lido at Charlton London SE.




In summer’s light the lido elongates

fresh turquoise-dappled water to high sun.

Liquidity of wavelets captivates

and melts a splash of swimmers into one.


Ideals of expired years, young nature’s skin

unsheathed, pretended a new age of health

while war-clouds hung and hid mad fiend within

and river maidens lost their golden wealth.


Lank flowered dresses are undraped and breasts

and seaside conversations dream away

for secret gardens, lonely sands and quests

in search of that which stays pale flesh’s decay.


Entowelled by suburban rose-flanked wall

star-glinted water clasps me in its thrall.




Madama Butterfly and Tōrō Nagashi

I was reminded during my peregrinations in South-East Asia that ‘Madama Butterfly’ situations are still common there. (Indeed, ‘Miss Saigon’ is a more recent take on an all-too-familiar event). Mock marriages between western sex-fiends and local girls are continuing and, if not with quite the drama of Madama Butterfly’s self-immolation, certainly accompanied by family banishment and a probable life of sex-slavery on the streets of insatiable Asian metropolises.

Despite a sensible warning from a friend that we might catch some dreaded disease from the insects marauding over Lake Massaciuccoli we always try to make it to the Puccini festival at Torre Del Lago every year. Our life would seem quite incomplete without being there.

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David Belasco’s play, which Puccini first saw in London in 1900, inspired him to write his most Puccinian (if that can be declared a non- tautology) opera.  There was an immature time when I almost abhorred Puccini and actually thought ‘Madama Butterfly’ worthless. Certainly, my introduction to it – during a teenage visit to Antwerp’s opera house where, conducted by a family friend, it was sung in guttural Flemish – did nothing to endear this tragic masterpiece to me. Yet Maestro Martelli declared that he would give his right arm to be able to write just one page of this remarkable score where French impressionism and Wagnerian intensity meet and are transformed by Italian cantabile into something which owes nothing to anyone except the heavenly genius of our greatest Luccan (and perhaps the world’s) operatic composer.

The 1904 premiere Milan premiere was a fiasco and Puccini thought, at first, it was his own fault. He’d scored great success with his three previous operas, been put on a pedestal by the Italian public and now was promptly demolished by what he described as ‘cannibals’. Animal noises, guffaws, roars of ridicule, howls of disdain from the audience drowned most of the incomparable music. True, the second act was perhaps over-long (it was later divided into two separated now by the famous wordless chorus), true the public was not used to such psychological penetration (this opera is justly the one where Puccini analyses his characters to their innermost being). True, too, there may have been a need for further rehearsals. The real reason, however, was the all-too-familiar one of claques and jealousy. The first night fiasco was a typically Italian mafioso fix-up.

Fortunately Puccini got his own back with the opera’s revised version which took place just three months later that year at Brescia’s Grand Theatre and became the resounding success it deserves to be: it has ever been in the hearts of all those who have a genuine feeling for opera and life itself and was, indeed, the maestro’s favourite opera, although he could never forget the indignity he suffered on the first night’s performance.

The stage setting for this year’s Madama Butterfly was, to say the least, minimal. Taking its cue from the Japanese garden it incorporated two trilithon type stones which (regrettably) from certain angles, looked like giant teeth. A strange gateway motive dominated the second and third acts (here, played without a break and very effectively so).

Perhaps the austere setting emphasised the fact that the performance was dedicated to the victims of the horrors of war: the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki (where the opera is set) and the Nazi atrocity of Santa Anna di Stazzema’s massacre, all of which took place around the middle of this month of August.

The Japanese ambassador was present at the performance (which reminded me that the wife of the then Japanese ambassador to Italy together with a famous Japanese actress Sada Yaco, assisted Puccini with all the minutiae of Japanese costume and custom). During the interval we witnessed the ceremony of the launching of candle-lit lanterns onto the dark waters of Lago Massaciuccoli. No, we didn’t catch malaria but we caught some intimations that these lanterns might be the ghosts of those departed souls who come back to haunt us – as indeed the lanterns did when they kept on returning to the reedy shores of Puccini’s favourite sheet of water.

I realised that I was witnessing Tōrō nagashi (灯籠流し?), a Japanese ceremony where paper lanterns (chōchin) float down a piece of water and which is traditionally performed in the credence that it will assist in guiding the souls of the departed to the spirit world. It is poignantly commemorated not just for the Bon ancestor spirit festival but also in memory of such tragic events as the commemoration of those lost in the bombing of Hiroshima and those who died on Japan Airlines flight 123.

Something about the production. The scenery was by the great Japanese sculptor Kan Yasuda. Direction was by Vivien Hewitt and the production also formed part of the 150th anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic ties between Italy and Japan.

Cio-Cio-San (Madama Butterfly) was sung with great passion by Donata D’annunzio Lombardi, and that ultimately remorseful bastard Pinkerton convincingly by Hector Lopez Mendoza. Costumes were by Regina Schrecker.

The excellent conductor was Eddi De Nadai.

I loved the evening and was particularly struck by the way music I thought I knew backwards was so freshly interpreted. That perennial aria, ‘Un bel Di’, for example, was not belted out prima-donna style but was so enchantingly and sensitively sung that I felt I understood it for the first time.

‘Madama Butterfly’ is not for the emotionally fraught. The love duet at the end of act one is Puccini at his intensest. I just wonder what was going on in the composer’s mind in his little villa on the lake just a stone’s throw away from where we sat. (I think, too, he must have still been suffering from the terrible car.-accident he’d had the previous year where he was almost left crushed under his De Dion Bouton 5 HP travelling from Lucca to his place at Torre del Lago). I don’t think anyone has quite caught so well the powerfully paradoxical emotions of love – possession and freedom, hellish separation and paradisiacal union.

As for eighteen-year old Madama Butterfly’s Hara Kiri at the end when she speaks her last words to her son ‘gioca, gioca, (go and play) and says to herself “Who cannot live with honour must die with honour”  – it is surely one of the most harrowing moments in all opera.

Truly there are few composers who can deliver an emotional mind-punch as effectively as Puccini. As we found our way back out of the theatre to the car I felt that a normally vociferous public was unusually quiet as it the death of Cio-cio-san had become an event that meant even more: the death of so many through human suffering and indifference. Remorse is no pardon for evil deeds once they have permanently injured a person’s innermost feelings of dignity and honour.

Those floating lanterns on the midnight lake with strange menacing heat flashes over the dragon-teethed Apuan mountains brought again to my mind it was this very afternoon that I heard news that my favourite uncle, who’d devoted his life to poetry, French literature and translation had passed away, just like those candle-lit lanterns, to a spirit world where his works and words will never die.

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PS Giacomo Puccini, despite his awful car accident never lost his love for fine cars.  Veteran cars appassionati regularly meet up at Torre del Lago with the same type of vehicles that Puccini used. These included the following:

1899 De Dion Bouton
1908 Fiat Ansaldi Brevetti – Tipo due
1909 Ford T
1910 Cadillac Thirty T torpedo
1910 Aquila Italiana
1911 Lancia Thema
1913 Fiat Zero Torpedo
1916 Fiat tipo Due
1923 Itala 56 A Torpedo
1923 Rolls Royce 20 HP
1924 Lancia Lambda 4 serie

Puccini was particularly fond of his last car, the Lambda:


What’s a Criscioletta?

‘La Sagra delle Crisciolette’ at Cascio which I attended a couple of evenings ago is a delight. We always seemed to miss it but this time with friends we finally made it!

Cascio is a charmer of a village with a great ambience and is famous for its unique criscioletta, a sort of pancake made with yellow (maize) and white flour, topped with a couple of slices of bacon and then cooked between two ferri (toasting irons) which have been greased with lard over a fire. The bacon melts its fat over the flour and thus binds the pancake firmly together.

I’ve described the town of Cascio and its history in some detail at . You’re welcome to read there how Cascio got its impressive town walls, turrets and gateway.

From being the food of the poor the criscioletta has been turned into a much-prized dish of the Garfagnana. The sagra has been going since 1969 and is now more flourishing than ever having been moved from the sports ground to the historic centre of the town, adding considerably to its atmosphere.

It’s best to arrive at Cascio by 7 pm so that one can admire the old town and enjoy the extensive views of the Serchio valley with the Apennines on one side and the Apuan range on the other. It’s also a good time because you can find a parking place with (relative) ease.

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One is then directed to the cash desk where one can order food and drink. We decided on a platter which included a criscioletta, ham, salami, cheese plus some beer.

Having found our table we then queued up with our food vouchers and collected the scrumptious vittles.

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Above us, on top of a terrace, the crisciolettari (crisciolette makers) were all in a line, busy making the pancakes topped with bacon slices which were then delivered to the general populace via a chute.

It was great fun, in addition to see the children play on the bouncy slide, and to generally people-watch.

The views from the ‘terrazza dell’Ada’, on the base of one of the four towers which mark the quadrilateral marked by Cascio’s 16th century walls were extensive and a warm sunset glow permeated the Garfagnana valley.

We took a digestive walk around the town after barely managing to devour the contents of our brimming platter. It was so filling!

There was a beautiful photographic exhibition inside the main gateway by La Spezia-born  Iris Gonelli, an engineer working at a nearby biopharmaceutical factory, who clearly loves travel and has a striking eye for taking spectacular photographs.

Most pretty were the flowery decorations set up by the local children at various points of the town.

At the top of the town was another row of crisciolettari busy at their crisciolettian task.

A folk-rock group was getting ready to play a selection of traditional melodies from the Lucca hills.

It must have been hot on that hot evening on the grills!

There’s also a disco further down in the remains of the Castellan’s mansion,

Some sagre provide less than spectacular food, other sagre are overcrowded with insufficient eating space. Cascio’s sagra is just right.  Excellent seating, spectacular views, lovely town, friendly people and most of all that irresistible criscioletta, truly worth travelling half the globe (or at least the Lucchesia) to savour it, whether with bacon, cheese or even with home-made Nutella!

The sagra continues from the 5th to 7th August and is open from 10 am until around midnight.

Don’t forget that Cascio also hosts a brilliant chestnut festival in autumn.