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Looking back at part of an unreported adventure, out of Italy via the Apennines and the Ligurian Sea before climbing up through Piemonte to Claviere on Italy's border with France in the Western Alps ... A few things have changed over the past decade but almost all of the culture and historic backdrop remains...  Above: who parked that bloody Ford amongst the aristocracy at the Ristorante La Baia d'Oro? We set off from Parma, heading for the Eastern tip of Liguria, taking a pretty spectacular route along the Torrente Enza. The compelling name for the river hinted at the amount of water that charged along its course when snow started melting in the Northern Apennines. It was mostly sand when we were heading West but one could visualise the raging torrent that, for certain parts of the year, would form a formidable tributary of the Po to the North East. The riverside road turned into the mountains, eventually becoming the Via Groppo before popping its head above the foothills at 1000m at the exotically named Parcheggio Via Sparavella (roughly translates to "Shoot It Road Parking Lot"). And guess what? Seemingly half the Italian aristocracy of Milan was parked in it. I need to explain. My Dad's first new car ever was an Alfa Romeo Giuletta ti dated somewhere around 1964. He loved that car (so, of course, did I) and went on to have a series of Giulias, culminating somewhere around 1975 when South African tariffs made it uneconomical to sell imported cars in the country. The result was that Alfa ended up building lesser quality cars locally that ended up becoming rust buckets not long after being housed and driven in Durban. So here are Shelley-ann (Shan) and I confronted by 10 concours ready Alfa Spiders in a Parcheggio in the middle of nowhere in the Apennines. Ranging in age, I suspected from late '50s to early '90s. The restaurant alongside the parcheggio appeared to be being well-patronised and, of course, I was tempted to stick my head in the door with a chirpy, "Eh mate, is that your Alfa outside?" Or perhaps, "Ehi amico, è la tua Alfa quella là fuori?" The combination of our campervan-ready garb and, perhaps Campy itself, mitigated against such forward frippery and we retired with Alfa-love unrequited. Cervarazza  Above (l-r, top-bottom): Peace reigns in the foothills of the Apennines outside Parma; Tranquil views from our campsite at Cervarezza (2); I think it's a ground orchid?; strange sights in "permanent" part of the campsite (2); La Lanterna del Fortino Restaurant Pizza? local map in the Carvarezza car park; snow capped peak in We motored on along the short winding journey to Cervarezza nestled in the mountains and valleys that separate the Po Plain from the Ligurian Coast. Our campsite was eclectic to say the least and hopefully the pictures above will give some feeling of that and for our need to pause in the path of Eric Newby and Gino Barthali. The former headed into this region after escaping in September 1943 from a POW camp in Fontanellato near Parma and travelling in much the same direction as we did. His book, Love and War in the Apennines is a splendid account of his attempts at avoiding recapture in the latter years of WWII. Also meeting his wife, Wanda.[Eric Newby]. 1938 Tour de France (TdF) winner Bartali spent much of his time during the war years "training" in the Apennines. What he was actually doing was smuggling forged documents in his bike tubes between Florence and Assisi (amongst other destinations) in his efforts to save the lives of hundreds of Jews who were stuck in Fascist held Italy. His fame as a TdF and twice Giro d'Italia winner helped with his alibi when he was charging past Italian and Nazi posts in his competition regalia but he was eventually taken to Villa Triste in Florence where he was questioned and his life was threatened. But, in spite of these threats our hero remained shtum, He also went on the win the 1948 TdF, making him the holder of the biggest gap between victories in the event. He was foiled in the 1949 event by Fausto Coppi, coming second. Even after the war he never boasted his merits and used to say: "Some medals are made to hang on the soul, not the jacket" My thanks to my friend,Simon Read, always the giver of great prezzies, who gave me Road to Valour[Gino Barthali], a most engaging book. There remained a substantial amount of Apennine to traverse between Carvarezza and our next destination on the west coast. The SS63 snakes through a valley containing the Secchia, another torrent feeding the Po, and then turns its attention to descending between the 2,000 metre heights of the mountains forming a gateway to the coastal plain. All terribly spectacular but also requiring intense concentration when at the wheel of a 7.3 metre "lorry". Portovenere In fact, the twists and turns never really let up and probably even intensified on the last 6 km to our Campy parking spot on the outskirts of Porto Venere. From whence it was another 1.7 km walk via some (steep) steps to the central hub of the town. Above (l-r, top-bottom): map borrowed from Google Maps; Shan's painting of the colourful buildings on Porto Venere's waterfront. OK, so it wasn't technically part of the Cinque Terre but I might be able to say it came close if I'd actually visited that fabled (and rather inaccessible now by my recent AML[AML] affliction) location. I did make the rather crass question to my sardonic old mate Mario[Mario] on a transcontinental phone call as to how many villages there were in the Cinque Terre ... his droll response was obvious: "erm (Spook), I think the answer could be in the name?" So the Old Port remains a fond memory for me after 10 years. I hope that the pictures below tell the story and provide some excuse for a short-lived addiction to Aperol Spritzes!    Above (l-r, top-bottom): a better class of boat frequents the old port (2); at the tip of Liguria; some posh buildings; and a typical haphazard colourful jumble; edible curtains?; our kind of trattoria; Shan looking content; there always has to be a seagull staring at you unafraid; part of the ramparts of the 15th century Doria Castle; churches and cemeteries crowd the point jutting out into the bottom of the Ligurian Sea; the 12th Century Church of St Peter in all its glory on the edge of the ocean; centuries like this are all over Italy but this was a portion of a particularly splendid one. What if Portovenere doesn't quite make it into what might be a Sei Terre (suppose it doesn't quite have the same ring as Cinque Terre, anyway)! It is at the very tip of Liguria and only 13 km along the cliff path from Riomaggiore. It also has a castle, spectacular tombs and the Church of St Peter that was built over a pre-existing 5th-century Palaeo-Christian church, which had rectangular plan and semicircular apse - the new part in the pictures above is marked externally by white and black stripes[wikiP]. Together with some authentic places to eat and an alfresco waterfront in the sun in which to misbehave with Aperol. We were quite sad to leave Portovenere but looking forward to visiting our great friends, the Tibones, north of Turin in a few days' time. Torriglia In between, we had identified several stops of interest along the way. I'm not 100% sure how we chose Torriglia as out first but it turned out to be quite a pretty, small hillside town. It also had a Campy parking area and, evidently, was known in concentric circles as being the UFO capital of Italy, having had numerous "contacts" in the 1970s. We only spent an evening there and didn't witness any out of body experiences, apart from a stream of sewage that ran its course over a corner the concrete campsite. It turned out that the town owed some of its existence to an aristocratic Genoese[sauce] family named Fieschi ... Above (l-r, top-bottom): a pretty lane leading out of Torriglia; a slightly spooky Fieschi castle ruin on the outskirts; a Fieschi restaurant/tavern at the top of the incline Torriglia is built on; I doubt the Fieschis did their own washing here but Europe is littered with old central washing facilities such as this one. Novi Ligure, Casale Monferrato This was not a particularly auspicious part of our journey. Firstly, going to Novi Ligure was a supposed to be a bit of a homage to Italian cycling and to Fausto Coppi in particular. There was a magnificent Museo del Campionissimi and a Monumento a Fausto Coppi e Constanto Giardengo. The museum was closed and the monument was an anticlimax, to say the least, especially as it was set in one of the dullest street in Italy. Maybe this was just sour grapes on my part being more disposed to Gino Barthali as my Italian cycling hero and my feeling that the latter had been deprived of more Tour de France victories (they both won two) by Italians not being welcome in France in 1939 and by the event having not been run in 1940-46. Barthali won in '48 and was second to Coppi in '49. I suppose the answer would be that Coppi and Giardengo both seem to have been based in Piedmont whereas Barthali was based a mere day's bike ride away[distance] in Tuscany. Above (l-r, top-bottom): monuments to legends in cycling in Novi Ligure (2); the outer wall of the Castello del Monferatto as seen from our spot in Campy; the Po looking a bit brown. I think we'd gone to Casale Monferrato because it seemed an interesting place to cross the Po, the river that had been at the centre of things throughout our adventures in the "pocket cities" of the valley/plain that bears its name. Some places just don't really gel when one's travelling. It's probably down to us. Maybe getting tired, insufficiently briefed? Our stopover on the Po was one of these. probably for a multitude of reasons: we hadn't researched, sufficiently, hadn't allowed enough time, had a mini-disaster or two? We managed to find somewhere convenient to dump Campy while we explored the town but, having not done our research, we didn't find much to explore. As often happens in situations like these, they escalate ... We wandered around and found nothing too enticing so Shan, spotting a hairdresser's decided to have hers cut. I agreed to do some grocery shopping and meet her back at the van. This was in the days before the first thing one did was to reach for one's iPhone. I'd done the shopping and was back "home". She didn't arrive and didn't arrive and I began to panic. As did my dear wife. Maybe she can remember how she eventually worked it out but it transpired that she'd exited the central part of Monferrato in the opposite direction from which we'd entered it. I was so happy to see her I couldn't be angry ... maybe she will give her version in the comments to this blog? And then I reversed our beloved camper into a lamppost. Smashed a taillight. I was gutted. Self-flagellation reached new heights. Shan took control. She does jigsaw puzzles in a fraction of the time normal people do and managed to gather enough pieces and the sticky tape to restore the lens was almost back to its original. All of this in about 15 minutes and I believe only one border-post official and/or police officer, between nether-Piemonte and home in Oxfordshire a few weeks later, noticed. So much so that we sold our mobile home four years later with sticky tape in evidence for anyone who cared to look! Rocca Canavese The remainder of our journey was relatively uneventful apart from a few stops to see if we could procure a new rear light lens, after all we were circumnavigating Turin, the home of Fiat, the maker of our basic "lorry". "Mi dispiace, signori, il vostro telaio sarà anche Fiat, ma la casa in alto è una Burstner, prodotta in Germania. I fari posteriori fanno parte della casa!" was a common refrain. Fair enough. We were deeply happy to arrive at Casa Tibone.  Above (l-r, top-bottom): we've arrived, note the cows heading on up the road; two views of the complex (2); the "party barn", host of Fiona's 50th birthday bash that involved an entire weekend of meticulously organised chaos; at our mystery destination in the mountains somewhere near Rocca; a cat warily regards Fed and Shan inspecting the stone roof typical in that area; perhaps a more rustic barn than the one at Casa Tibone; suddenly some cows with bells clanging appeared outside our lunch restaurant; and then trudged past up the hill. Please do note the meticulous log stacking outside the house and barn. On one of our visits to Rocca Canavese, Signor Tibone impressed us with his skills as a woodsman; harvesting, drying and stacking. Visits also involved going somewhere different and exciting and I have had to ask Fed where it was that we encountered the second herd of cows and their bells 10 years ago. Claviere and out of Italy It was a well-trodden path from Rocca to Claviere on the French border. We were sad to be leaving Italy but imagined there would be many more excursions to follow ... Coming next
A slow journey home following the Loire with a "short" cut along the Vienne and the confluence of the two. [Endnotes]:
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