Crowning Artists at the Corona

Two very different artists continue their exhibition at Bagni di Lucca Ponte a Seraglio’s Corona Hotel until August 13. See it while you can…it’s the last day today!

Morena Guarnaschelli, well-known for her evocative water colours of African life, has branched from her realist approach to something more symbolic. Traces of art-deco, Victorian silhouette and mandala patterns find their place in her stylistic change of pace. The linear style, the seductive curves and those esoteric hints draw one into inner reflection and supernal elegance.

My own little ciclamino mat now seems to have taken added significance…

Deenagh Miller, particularly noted for her drawings which for me suggest those studies which Italian renaissance masters would draw in preparation for their canvases, expands her impressionist-like phase with some large scale landscapes of Bagni’s stunning scenery.

Hints of Bonnard and a touch of Renoirian social world enter into such canvases as this one reminding one of typical scenes at that conversationalist hub of Bar Italia,

Could there be any more different recreation of our socio-natural world by these painters? Yet the two magisterially fluent artists come together in a celebration of life and freedom in this age so distraught by ecological and epidemiologic issues and which finds healing difficult.  

Soul liberation through mandala meditation, landscape contemplation, reconnection with the human world through social intercourse, remodelling of inner consciousness, and transfiguration of conventionalities all so expertly rendered in the finest draughtsmanship and in an ecstatic blaze of colour are primal themes which unite these two creative forces which Bagnioli are privileged to host and which buoyantly help mend our own fractured universe in these strange semi-alien times.    

Two Memories Lost and Found

What is the most shocking thing that can happen to one? Well, perhaps not the most shocking and not even the second most shocking but certainly one near the top of the panoply of atrocious things that can happen to one. What is it then?

Loosing most if not all one’s photos taken in the last ten years! Of course, now loosing photos doesn’t mean misplacing that photo album yet again. No for in our digitalised age it means that the hard disk on which the photos are stored suddenly refuses to work! Sure, the computer recognizes the fact that there is an external hard disk attached to the computer but it declines to open and read its contents. Why are the photos anyway stored on an external disk? Simply because one has run out of storage space on one’s laptop’s C drive. Why then did not one make a back-up of the external hard disk?

I searched all my media. There was a one-Terabyte hard disk which managed to save something but only last year’s. The bulk of the photos taken during the two thousand and tens had vanished. I did manage to find a couple of extra years of photos but they were only in re-sized form suitable for sending as email attachments.

Horror of horrors! My helpful computer man in Fornoli did his best to try to read the disk with his own equipment. So many corrupt technical errors were signalled though! Impossible to do anything. Give the damn thing a couple of days rest to perhaps reform its character and make it behave better? No good. The hard disk will have to be sent to specialists in a major Italian city to take it apart and see what can be saved. How much will it cost? Anything up to a few hundred perhaps? But then irreplaceable visual memories of days and years past, lost in the murky mists of time are without value, without price!

In these months apart, my wife and I have been keeping in touch with WhatsApp and Skype. Sometimes we keep Skype running for hours even hearing our snores during the night. I wake up in the morning to catch Sandra saying to me ‘what’s happening today?’ I reach out for her only to realise than she has been condensed into a tablet picture somewhat like that Genie trapped in a bottle.  At least, however, I have that. In previous more credulous ages this would have been taken as a miracle. I thought of the story of Saint Clare who one morning was too ill to attend Mass celebrated by her soul-mate Saint Francis. In her disappointment she suddenly saw Francis appear, projected on a wall in her convent cell in full technicolour with stereo sound too! No wonder Saint Clare has since been appointed as patron saint of television and, indeed, all manner of telecommunication including, of course, the internet.

Yesterday morning I too had a vision. Not of Saint Francis but it could have been sent by him or indeed any great saint or sage. One of our morning rituals on Skype is to read a chapter from a book. We’ve gone through ‘Little Women’ and ‘Siddhartha’ among others these months. There’s no particular guide as to why we choose one book rather than another; they somehow fall into our hands from my library. We are now reaching the end of a tome which was the only book Steve Jobs kept on his IPad: ‘Autobiography of a Yogi’ by Paramahansa Yogananda. It is both a charming and an impressive volume describing the great Yogi’s yearning to find a guru and seek spiritual knowledge from an early age when, as a teenager, he and his school chum caught a train to get to the Himalayas where prodigious sadhus spent their time in holy nudity in the icy receptacle of a mountain cave.  Unfortunately he didn’t get there that time since the local school informed the station master of their plans and he sent them back home.

Yogananda eventually found his guru in the form of the superlative Yuktesvarji and the autobiography remains a celebration of this life-changing meeting. On his last visit to India Paramahansa mourns the death of his spiritual master and cries with despair. All of a sudden Yuktesvar appears to him in a blaze of golden light, astrally travelled from the cosmic realms of the universe. The chapter on Yogananda’s master’s resurrection is awesome and Yuktesvar goes on quite a bit to explain the nature of the astral body and how once achieved it can surmount the sad duality of this world, overcoming good versus evil, day versus night, earthly love and earthly hate to enter into a supreme world of celestial bliss.

 I too had a vision. It seemed to me that Paramahansa Yoganandaji appeared to me in a blaze of golden light with his ochre robe and his flowing locks pointing me to my library. ‘You will find the answer to your search there. Look towards the island where Ram went to save Sita from the evil Ravana.’

I got out of bed and headed towards my library. Where could I find the island of Sri Lanka there? Travel was clearly out of the question. I was locked down in the same way that poor Sita was all those millennia ago. Suddenly it dawned upon me: the Ramayana! I took from the shelves the first of my three volumes of the Shanti Sadan translation of this marvellous epic and, lo and behold, behind the books there they were! I had truly forgotten that I had made backup of all photographs up to 2017 on five hard disks! Unbelievable but true. How could I have forgotten? How could I have lost my memory regarding this fact?

On this occasion I found my memory twice over. Suddenly remembering where I had stored my backups. Suddenly finding those photographs though lost for ever! Two memories found in one…. beyond duality into the cosmic ether of astral consciousness  and eternal joy!

Of Local Witches and Demons

The Mammalucco association under the aegis of Marco Nicoli has presented many events which have enlivened life in Fornoli to a very considerable extent. It is sad, therefore, that thanks to this pandemic so many of these events have had to be cancelled, in particular February’s colourful carnival.

It was thus marvellous that theatre returned to Fornoli the other night in the form of a dramatic monologue, ‘streghe’ (witches) given by Michela Innocenti accompanied by her daughter on Celtic harp and both members of the ‘Circo e la Luna’ company.

Michela’s monologue was centred on women who cure ailments through the use of natural herbs and by ‘signing’ (i.e. a sort of laying on of hands). Unfortunately, many of them have been (and some still continue to be) accused of witchcraft and some have even found their lives terminated at the stake because of this. Michela’s performance, which took place (ironically, in view of its supposedly anti-religious subject matter) in front of Fornoli’s parish church in the area known as ‘sagrato’ (or holy place), was very effective and her daughter’s harp accompaniment most atmospheric.

I worked with Michela Innocenti four years ago in an amateur production of Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ at Bagni di Lucca’s Teatro Academico where I played the part of Scrooge. It was a truly great experience I must admit but a little difficult to learn my lines in Italian!

Michela’s monologue was based on her own interpretation of local historical facts. Underlining her script, nevertheless, are several well-documented episodes of witchcraft in our province. In particular I noted the following instance:

In the summer of 1571 there was a trial in Lucca which caused a great sensation and much fear. The defendants, Pulisena di Giovan Maria da San Macario and Margherita di Tardino Pardini da San Rocco, had both been jailed on charges of being witches and associating with the devil. It all began when a certain Pollonia ran to the town council and told them that the two alleged witches, after having cast a spell on her by order of Bartolomea her sister, had deceived Pollonia that they could free her from their tormenting, first by pretending to remove the curse, second by treating, with mysterious ointments, certain aches that had remained with her.

Imprisoned and summoned before the civil authorities, the defendants had initially denied any charges while admitting to having, in the past, but only rarely, made medicine to cure the sick and treat children suffering from tertiary fever. These confessions led the judges to further investigate and to call several witnesses. Most of these admitted resorting to the help of the two accused who were well-known in the city for their skill in curing all sorts of illnesses and also making love potions to arouse passion in indifferent hearts. The first ones who had experienced these particular gifts were Pulisena’s old lovers, who, enchanted by her spells, admitted they had been subjugated to her caresses.

Since the defendants denied all accusations, the town council decided to ‘show them the instruments’ and subject them to torture. Pulisena began to make a few confessions which certainly could not worsen her situation. She spoke of remedies made with herbs and certain prayers to be recited at the bedside of the sick. Margherita, on the other hand, who had been hung up with her arms tied above her head and was being hard-pressed by the Inquisition’s questions, began to confess and what she said inexorably sealed her and her friend’s fate: Margherita admitted she was a witch and that she had seduced children to obtain from their tender flesh the fat needed to make an ointment which she spread over her body and enable her to fly to the witches’ meeting-place. Margherita was thirty when she first joined the witches. It was not her own choice but she was persuaded to do so by her dying grandmother who was also a witch. Tortured first with the rack, then with fire and finally subjected to the “vegghia” Pulisena ended up by giving blood-curdling screams of agony under duress.

The ‘vegghia’ or ‘veglia’ is also called the ‘Cradle of Judas’ and is another torture instrument of the Holy Inquisition. Here one was suspended above a sharp-tipped object. By means of a system of ropes the victim was shifted around so that the object’s tip penetrated their genitals or anus. In reality the real torture consisted in the permanent wakefulness of the condemned who was not allowed to relax or sleep given the underlying penetration. The battered person, surrounded from the abdomen by a metal ring and connected to the ceiling and walls by the ropes, was dropped, more or less violently, on that pointed wedge held by a tripod. An example of this instrument may be seen in most museums dedicated to torture like the one at Lucca.

Margherita admitted that every time she heard the witches’ call she would ride on a magic goat and fly to the Prato Fiorito (the mountain behind our village) where she had sex with devils and dance until dawn. All agreed she was a witch: she had bewitched her husband, killed children, stolen the Church’s Blessed Hosts and even denied her own baptism. Margherita’s devil, the one she had sex with on the nights of the witches’ Sabbaths, was called Calcabrino. He was a huge and passionate demon, very handsome even though his feet were like cloven goat’s hooves.

There was enough evidence for exemplary punishment. Declared witches the two poor women, exhausted by constant torture, were condemned to die at the stake in Lucca’s main square. Luckily, Pulisena and Margherita are the only two Lucchesi witches to be condemned to the flames of the stake but they did contribute to the myth of Lucca as a supernatural city full of mysteries.

At least we should be grateful that only two witches were burnt in Lucca! This compares favourably with the thousands burned in the great witch trials of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in other European cities. Of the estimated 100,000 witches burnt in Europe the majority were in Germany and Switzerland. In Italy the worst place for witch-burning is the town of Triora, Liguria where between 1587 and 1589 at least ten unfortunate women were consigned to the flames.

Incidentally, the reason for condemning the poor wretches at Triora was that they were found guilty of spreading an epidemic through magical charms and witchcraft spells. I cannot help thinking that there has to be some similarity between what happened then and what is happening now throughout the world. The conspiracy-theorists in the pandemic believe that the current Covid-19 pandemic is being spread by a sinister internationalist cabal and point to evil malefactors. Part of this arcane plot is the use of vaccines which have not yet stood the test of time. So far no-one has today been burnt at the stake or even punished for spreading this contemporary plague. However, there are several instances of people accused of spreading the infection by coughing, spitting, not wearing masks etc. and, no doubt, in some of the more primitive parts of the Earth there may be accusations of witchcraft.

It was, therefore, truly interesting and very relevant to attend Michela’s performance. I just hope that dark shades from the past won’t re-emerge in our so-called ‘modern’ age and that primaeval instincts won’t come out from the murky depths of the subconscious to create a new far-reaching witch-hunt today. If this seems far-fetched or wild imaginings to some I would like to remind my readers of two recent instances in the Lucchesia. First, one of our local policemen, now transferred to another town, was specially sent to Chicago for training in uncovering satanic cults. He informed me than there are several such cults operating in our area although so far no arrests have been made for any serious crimes. Second, a churchman from our comune, a person very much appreciated by locals for his initiative in getting the parish together for music and sports events especially among younger people, was glad to be transferred to another parish as he found the proliferation of satanic cults in our area rather disturbing.

If anybody still doubts what I have written then I’ll just point out to them Borgo a Mozzano’s Devil’s Bridge and that town’s Halloween festival. And this is coming from someone who too has been a participant in witchcraft rituals including walking on fire as you may read at https://longoio2.wordpress.com/2016/06/19/a-walk-on-the-wild-side/

PS perhaps a less scary event will happen at the end of this month with Fornoli’s evening market and vintage car show, again organised by ‘Il Mammalucco’:

Poetical Flowers

The Prato Fiorito, that mountain presenting its grim fortress-like appearance in the Lima valley

shows a completely different and gentler look on its northern face.

It’s the difference between a scarp and a dip slope: gone are the steep rock buttresses known as ‘le ravi’ and, instead, a wonderful Elysian field spreads out containing the most varied collection of flora found anywhere in Italy.

Why is the mountain not wooded like so much of the Apennines?  Clearly there was a time when trees covered its slopes. They were felled centuries ago for fuel and construction and the cleared land given over to sheep and goat grazing thus preventing the regeneration of new forests. Instead, the calcareous soil has given birth to hundreds of flower species including some of the rarest orchids.

In May the Prato Fiorito’s slopes are covered with myriads of ‘Narcissus Poeticus’ or the ‘poet’s daffodil’.

It’s a most apt name for not only does it bring to mind the Greek legend of Narcissus and Wordsworth’s lakeside golden host but also Percy Bysshe Shelley’s own visit to the mountain while staying at Bagni di Lucca, which inspired his poem ‘Epipsychidion’ (trans: ‘concerning or about a little soul’) especially those lines beginning.

 Of flowers, which, like lips murmuring in their sleep
Of the sweet kisses which had lulled them there,

(For more of the Shelley connection see my post at

https://longoio.wordpress.com/2013/06/07/the-elysian-fields-of-prato-fiorito/)

I had meant to go the Prato in mid-May to see the wonderful display of Narcisi but was told that everything was late flowering this year, particularly on the Prato. May was so full of rain that I delayed my visit until yesterday and then it was a little late for the full display which only lasts around a week. It was a slight disappointment, perhaps, but still a gorgeous morning to spend in this paradisiacal place.

As with all lovely things there is a dark side to Narcissus Poeticus – as Shelley’s contemporary Keats writes ‘Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine’. All daffodil species are poisonous but this one is more poisonous than any other and eating it will give rashes, vomiting and severe headaches. However, just sniffing its perfume remains seductive and in the Netherlands and southern France Narcissus Poeticus is cultivated for its essential oil used in the making of perfumes where it combines the fragrances of jasmine and hyacinth. Two perfumes brands, ‘Fatale’ and ‘Samsara’, are based on this oil.

Recently, Narcissus Poeticus has returned to many gardens as part of the search for heritage horticulture. Its simple form, contrasted with the standard rather showier common daffodil, has produced a hybrid known as ‘Narcissus Actaea’ which has won a Royal Horticultural society award and can be now found in several garden centres such as this one:

https://www.rhsplants.co.uk/plants/_/narcissus-actaea/classid.2000008267/

Of course, even in Italy there are several mountains brimming over with fancy waves of this beautiful flower in May and June. Monte Linzone in the Bergamo Pre-Alps is famous for its crop of Narcissi and is a favourite excursion spot for those staying in Milan (as I used to do). Monte Croce which is near us, in the Garfagnana, is even called ‘Monte delle Giunchiglie’ (jonquils) and has what many regard as even more spectacular displays of this delicate flower.

You can read my post on Monte Croce at:

Elysium on Earth

And more of the Prato Fiorito at:

A Perfect Shelleyan Day

Narcissus Poeticus has even helped save a heroine and her pet from the depth of Outer Space where ‘no-one can hear you scream’. It was the spacecraft ‘Narcissus’ which enabled Ellen Ripley (acted by Sigourney Weaver) to escape with her cat Jones in that cult film ‘Alien’

and I managed to get off the Prato Fiorito in time yesterday morning before rumbling thunder proclaimed another afternoon of dramatic cosmic storms.

A Saucepan and A Sandwich

Ours is a throw-away age. The time for built-in obsolescence seems ever quickening , whether it be objects or people. Certainly if one thing this pandemic has taught us it is to treasure human relationships, or at least the memory of them, for so many of us have already disappeared.

It is easier to discard objects than people and for some time I was wondering what to do with a humble small saucepan which had one of its handles sheared off. This saucepan had been quite useful for making my spaghetti ragù sauce and it seemed a pity to take it to the ‘collezione indifferenziata’ of our local ‘isola ecologica’ (refuse centre).

The rushing streams, the presence of metal ores in the mountains and the continued tradition of smithies in several parts (although sadly much depleted nowadays) means that I could find without too much difficulty a ‘fabbro’ (smith) that was able to re-join the orphaned handle to its saucepan. Indeed, several villages in our parts have the prefix ‘Fabbriche’ meaning that they are centres of smithies.

I remembered Stefano Palmieri who has his workshop at Via Campiglia 21, behind the Bagni di Lucca Villa post office.

I turned up yesterday morning and entered Stefano’s workshop where I was greeted by a lovely ginger cat. (In Italian these cats are called ‘arancione’, orange..).

I asked Mr Palmieri if he could do the job and when I should return. He said he could do it on the spot and, pulling out his equipment, let fly a mini-fireworks display of sparks. Soon the handle was refitted and the little saucepan was brought back to its original state. I asked him how much it cost. ‘Don’t mention it’, he answered. (I should add that I had a few jobs done by him before at a very reasonable rate).

I somehow recalled a traditional Welsh folk song called ‘Sosban Fach’ (little saucepan). Here it is sung by Will Huw:

Fortunately the fabbro’s cat didn’t scratch me like in the song!

There is a web site for Palmieri at https://www.coobiz.it/azienda/bagni-di-lucca-officina-fabbro/co7683417

His phone number is 0583 86124 – it’s important to phone up to make an appointment especially in these pandemic times.

Did the sosban fach come in useful? Sure it did! It boiled an egg

which, combined, with my kitchen garden lettuce

tomatoes, mozzarella cheese

and all wrapped up in that delicious Neapolitan unleavened bread called ‘Saltimbocca’ which is the nearest thing one can get locally to the Italian equivalent of Arabian pitta bread

produced an excellent sandwich lunch

washed down, naturally, with a glass of my favourite Polish beer (yes, sometimes even the excellent Italian wines have to give way!).

A New Town Twinning for Bagni di Lucca

Great news! Bagni di Lucca is twinning with Llandrindod Wells in mid-Wales. Nothing could be more apt in these difficult times and the two towns have so many things in common that it’s a wonder they haven’t been twinned earlier. For a start, they are both spa centres with a glorious past in the nineteenth century and somewhat mixed fortunes since. They have a similar population size: Llandrindod Wells with 5,309 inhabitants and Bagni di Lucca with 6,127. They are both situated at nearly the same height above sea level: Bagni di Lucca at 741 feet and Llandrindod Wells at 709 feet and both are placed in lovely hill country with extensive walks and swimming in pools and rivers. Even their annual rainfall is similar; Bagni di Lucca’s 53 inches comparing well with Llandrindod Wells’ 44 inches. Both towns accommodate many summer visitors and their economy is largely based on tourism. They also have extensive pastoralist activities with many sheep populating the surrounding hills.

(Some characteristic views of Llandrindod Wells)


This will be a fine opportunity for cultural and social exchanges. For example, Welsh lessons are to be started at Bagni di Lucca’s library in the old English church and Italian classes are already proving most popular in Llandrindod Wells. There will be an exchange of mayors as soon as the pandemic is over and the road leading to Fornoli from Ponte a Serraglio is to be renamed ‘Via Llandrindod Wells’. (A special language course is underway to teach the correct way for Italians to pronounce that elusive Welsh double el sound.)

(Pictures of Bagni di Lucca)

Welsh farmers will join their Italian counterparts in the great harvest festival at Fornoli this autumn and many other collaborations between the two communities are planned. Provided the projected Plaid Cymru independence referendum takes place and proves successful the founding of a new Welsh republic and its rejoining the European Community will be celebrated in grand style in both Bagni di Lucca and Llandrindod Wells with a spectacular fireworks display at Ponte delle Catene.


A new superstore is to open in Villa selling such typical Welsh products as cawl, bara brith, (fruit cake) leeks, cwrw (Welsh beer) and crempogs (pancakes). A similar shop will be set up in Llandrindod Wells selling such characteristic Bagni di Lucca products as local cheese from Albereta, Colombina cake, vino and necci (pancakes).


It’s going to be a great year for both Bagni di Lucca and Llandrindod Wells and there is even a contract for a charter air company to fly direct from Bagni di Lucca’s airport at Capannori to Llandrindod Wells terminal at Welshpool.


With these exciting times ahead of us I take this opportunity of wishing all my readers a very happy start to April and the Easter festivities. Evviva and….Croeso!

A Plague Church Resuscitated?

Yesterday was  Italy’s first national  commemoration day in memory of its covid dead and Bagni Di Lucca was no exception in remembering this sad occasion with its own twenty nine  positive cases, four of which are in intensive care and its fifty quarantined families.

One year to the day when the shocking train of army trucks bearing the bodies of Bergamo Covid victims was shown on TV I passed the melancholy ruined shell of the former plague church of San Rocco located at the junction between the main Controneria road and the turn-off to the village of Vetteglia. San Rocco had been open for services until the 1970s when the Lucca bishopric declared the church redundant.  It was soon looted of its fitments and the weather did the rest.

I noticed this sign stuck on the facade:

Translated this notice, placed there by persons unknown last month, means.

“In this building which is no longer a church, why not make it into a meeting place for young people to be together and exchanges ideas and plans. From this more initiatives arise. If there are people who would like this to happen. let’s do it and invite local associations to join in. Covid will end. Life continues.”

Interestingly I’d thought about a similar use for this despoiled building when last year I wrote:

“I at least would feel inclined that to give thanks to the Almighty for eventually delivering us from the pandemic we could have the former church of San Rocco outside nearby Vetteglia and now in a ruinous condition memoralizing  this event and restored as a refreshment and information point for modern-day pilgrims to the extraordinarily beautiful area of the Controneria.”

I do hope something on this line can be done when things get back to as normal as I’m sure they will be before too long.

PS. In case you didn’t know San Rocco was invoked against the plague and, judging by the number of churches dedicated to him, was particularly venerated. Born in a noble family the saint gave his wealth to the poor and became a mendicant pilgrim. During his travels the town of Acquapendente became badly affected by the Black Death; Saint Roch stopped there and healed its victims by making the sign of the cross over them. He cured the sick of several other plague-ridden towns without catching the disease himself. However, when the saint reached Piacenza in northern Italy he fell victim and a fetid ulcer developed in his leg. So rank was its smell that people kept well away from him. Luckily a dog befriended Roch and brought him some food daily and even licked his ulcer clean. Hence St. Roch has also become the patron saint of dogs. So let’s have a refreshment point here for dog walkers and their pets too!

Scummy Scams

As a former teacher of information processing, I have often warned my students of the dangers of computer scams and have been lucky enough to have largely avoided these often dangerous nuisances. 

Recently, however, I became a victim of a scam. It happened this way. I trusted that an email I received from an acquaintance was sent by her to me. The email requested me to purchase a google play gift card to the value of $100 for her nephew as she was unable to purchase it herself because of a hospital appointment. I was to scratch the back of the card off and send the PIN to her. I did not go out to purchase the gift card but bought one online and duly sent her the card’s number.

The person I received the email from was someone I had complete trust in. Since N. was also very kind and generous to me I had little hesitation in responding to her request.

However, a couple of hours later, speaking to my wife and telling her of the email I suddenly realised that there was something very odd about it. It just didn’t seem to follow and was quite out of character with the person I knew. I began to doubt N. sent me the email. It was, indeed, a scam and I had fallen for it.

Shortly after I received this email from N. I did not doubt that this email was genuine!

‘Three days ago I inadvertently opened a phishing email which set off an avalanche of phoney emails to dozens of people in my address book.

These emails invited the recipient to help me out financially and caused them and me a great deal of trouble and distress.

I am very sorry that this has occurred and urge you all to be ever on your guard against opening or responding to any email which looks at all doubtful like this one.

I urge you also to check the likely authenticity and the RETURN ADDRESS. Had I checked the return address I would have avoided the scam.

The scam email appeared to be from my email provider and looked legitimate: It read :

From: Mail Support Subject: Retrieve Now
Your mailbox account failed to synch and returned 6 incoming emails. Synchronization was unsuccessful because your mailbox could not be validated.’

My wife learning of this scam wrote to me:

`Francis this is terrible. N. went to the shop to get the computer de hacked and I. said it happened also to him last year. Imagine! You are not the only one they tried to see if you were gullible. I suppose many others were hit. Anyway, they thank you for your kindness. However, it was and is a hack. Hopefully, you did not send your Bank details to their email address.’

Fortunately, Amazon realised the discrepancy and refused the transaction. So I was saved even if I did feel a bit of a fool. (You may remember the saying ‘a fool and his money are soon parted.’)

I wonder if you too have been the victim of a computer scam. In this world where it is hard to believe anything in the morass of false news and tempting hoaxes, we must always be alert and, if, in doubt, question the validity of any email received involving money by double-checking the sender.

Anyway, one thing which is not a scam and is certainly the opposite of falseness is the lovely weather we’ve been having here in the Lucchesia which has stirred nature into action in readiness for the spring equinox.

 

 

Cheesed Off?

With over 2,500 cheese varieties in Italy, 300 of which are classified as DOP (‘protected designation of origin’ – i.e. they must come from the area bearing the product name, like Gorgonzola) by the European Union food and farming agency, Italian supermarkets, and especially its specialist shops, truly spoil the buyer for choice. Add to this list cheeses from other European countries like French Brie or Dutch Edam then the selection is seemingly unending.

However, in this supremely cheesy country, British cheeses are notoriously absent. What would I give to taste some mature Cheddar or Wensleydale in my shopping sorties! I can’t understand this lack of UK cheeses on the Italian store shelves. Fourteen varieties of English cheeses have received their DOP certificate from the EU and there were others on course to be awarded this way. Agreed, most Cheddar does not come from the caves of the ononimous Somerset gorge but at least one variety has received the certification as ‘West Country Farmhouse Cheddar’. Are we then, exiled brits, expected to spend the rest of our lives bereft of the taste of Red Leicester or Blue Stilton?

Sadly the situation will get worse now with Brexit. The UK has cut itself off from the EU classification of specialist foodstuffs and its proposed alternative scheme has still not kicked off on DEFRA’s web site.

Fortunately, all is not lost. A neighbour in our village suggested that an Italian alternative to Cheddar could be found. It’s called Fontal and is a combination of two kinds of cheese, FONtina and emmenTAL. Fontal was first manufactured in 1955 as an answer to the competition wrought upon Italian cheese manufacture by imports. It is made from alpine cows’ milk and is seasoned for between 30 and 60 days. Versions of it are now also made in other EU countries like Germany and Denmark.

I tried some Fontal the other day, both as a separate item and toasted on a slice of brown bread. I have to agree my neighbours were quite correct. Fontal has the moderately tangy taste of medium-mature cheddar with its chubby chewy texture and its yellow-straw colour. In short, Fontal is an excellent substitute and if supplies of Cheddar were completely halted to the Italian peninsula I think, as an inveterate cheese lover, I could manage to survive.

Some people say that having a toasted cheese sandwich in the evening can give one an exciting dream. I have to admit I did have a dream after my little feast. It was about arriving at Pisa airport, having obtained a ticket with the greatest of difficulties, and finding that I had left my passport behind with boarding starting in ten minutes!  Fortunately, before arriving at the check-in point in my dream I woke up at the shock of it all! You remain warned..

Incidentally, why do the Italians call cheese ‘formaggio’? It’s because cheese for the Roman legions was made in special forms for easy distribution. Italians also use the word ‘cascio’ for cheese and ‘caseificio’ is a place where cheese is made. In Welsh cheese is known as ‘caws’. So there we have it: all derivations from the common Latin word for this delectable food item, ‘caseus.’ And don’t forget to say ‘cascio’ next time you have a photograph taken of you. I’m sure the results will be quite aaashton-ishing…

PS Friends have now informed us that Cheddar is available at Conad’s Gallicano store at 19.90 euros per kilo.

An Alpini Chapel

At the top of Bagni di, Lucca`s volcanic hill providing the thermal waters feeding its baths is the charming hamlet of Colle.

From Colle, a narrow path leads through a grove of holm oaks.

One passes by an old stone cabin which, as two local vineyard keepers informed me, was where the German poet Heine, during his stay at Bagni, used to meet up with his ballerina girlfriend.

One then arrives at a circular building called “Rotonda del Colle”.

On this building is a plaque stating that it marks the site of the former castle of Corsena which was slighted (purposely demolished to put it out of action) by the Florentine army.

After the “Rotonda del Colle” one reaches the Chiesina degli Alpini built-in 1951.

The Alpini mountain infantry regiment with their characteristic black raven cap feather was founded in 1875 to protect the newly unified Italy`s northern alpine borders against the Austro-Hungarian empire.

In the First World War the Alpini distinguished themselves by fighting in an intransigent Alpine terrain of ice and snow. Indeed, to this day, especially with the results of global warming, frozen bodies of soldiers from that war are regularly being uncovered.

The Second World conflict brought even greater hardships (if that is possible) during the disastrous campaign against Russia. Sent to fight in the Caucasian mountains the Alpini found themselves instead in the Don river basin with inappropriate and inadequate equipment. Two Alpini regiments were completely wiped out and of a third only a tenth managed to return.

I had previously visited the little Alpini chapel to attend a service and remember meeting an Alpino who had taken part in that Russian campaign.

Once an Alpino always an Alpino. When soldiers leave active service they do not retire but remain `on leave` to form part of the ceremonial tenth Alpino regiment.

Today the Alpini continue their legendary presence by forming an important part of peacekeeping forces in such disturbed places as Afghanistan and the Middle East.

On the chapel, I noted a plaque with the Alpini prayer written by colonel Gennaro Soro and sent in a letter to his mother in 1935.

Here my translation of this prayer which is recited when Alpini gets together to socialize and commemorate their glorious history.

`On bare rocks, on perennial glaciers, on every crag of the Alps where providence has placed us as a faithful defence of our country, we, purified by dangerously fulfilled duty, raise our souls to You, O Lord, who protects our mothers, our wives, our distant children and brothers, and help us to be worthy of the glories of our ancestors.

Almighty God, who governs all elements, save us, armed as we are with faith and love. Save us from the relentless frost, from the whirlwinds of storms and the force of avalanches. Let our footrest safely on vertiginous crests, on precipitous mountain walls, on insidious crevasses. Make our weapons strong against anyone who threatens our homeland, our Flag, our millenary Christian civilization.

And You, Mother of God, whiter than snow, You who have known and experienced every suffering and every sacrifice of all fallen Alpini, you who know and gather every yearning and every hope of all the Alpini alive and in arms, bless and smile on our battalions and our groups. Amen.`

It was a lovely day for my walk; the peaceful atmosphere, the scattering of woodland flowers, the singing of the birds created a perfect haven for remembering those Alpini soldiers who have done so much to help preserve the peace of the troubled world we live in.