Hello World,
And how have you all been this week? As for myself, never a dull moment. Probably I have a little too much on my plate at the moment, but better busy than bored. Now, if you actually managed to get through what I threw at your last week, here is nother biggy. I must be truthful, I have had this saved on my computer for ages, it was actually the first thing I wrote after I had decided to get into writing and that was at the end of last summer. It is light hearted and records a very happy memory, I can't possibly be profound all of the time a) because I would become the greatest bore on earth b) I don't always have things to be profound about and c) being profound can actually be very exhausting.
So, away you go and have some fun. I did.
Apples Galore
I plan my holidays meticulously. They may not be executed as such but all the necessary details are there. Obviously one must allow, for the non completion of all the “things to do” factors such as; inclement weather, closing days, wrong or obsolete information and naturally, sheer laziness, from other members of my family, of course.
This trip was no exception. I had given my family a choice: or in Germany on the North Sea, otherwise in our Italian Alps in Val Venosta on bikes.
The bikes won.
Not so difficult to understand when you have two teenage boys around you, is it? Not that I minded. I had picked up both destinations from a series of travel magazines that I have collected over the years. Only that Germany had been on my agenda for years and Val Venosta only popped up in August 2007’s edition of Bell’ Italia. And caught my eye. The period was perfect too, just when I had my week off, just before the harvest. Harvest? Yes indeed. Val Venosta is the heart of Italy’s cultivation of apples, which, being August were just ready to be picked off the trees, therefore the article seduced me with the idea of pedalling 80 kilometres down a valley amid hundreds of apple laden trees. So, with no more ado I booked ourselves a week in an agriturismo on internet.
What’s an agriturismo? Well, here in Italy they are very popular. They are a mixture of hotel, self-catering, biological or agricultural farm/establishment and are usually family run. Therefore the imprint is definitely in being closer to nature in one way or another than ones usual hotel with all its formalities. Having said that, I chose self-catering for the extra freedom it gives us as a family. We can have relaxed family meals around a table without the rush due to the limited time that we have at home and we have a sitting room in which to lounge around in total relaxation (stretching out on a sofa in underpants and watching DVDs on the telly). Do I mind the having to cook? Not really, these small apartments are a bit like playing at dolls’ houses and I do come prepared with most of the actual culinary preparation done beforehand. I am most organised. I have to be if I am to enjoy myself too.
Seeing as the area is renowned for its apples, I opted for a fruit growing agriturismo in the village of Lasa, around half way up the valley. Perfect for organising our 2 day descent of the Val Venosta. Because, honestly, this bike ride is perfectly structured. You buy an Event Card, from automatic ticket machines found in every station up the valley which is inclusive of the renting of a bike and use of the train as many times as you like for a day. It costs 14 euros for an adult and 7 euros for children up to 16 years of age. A bargain, right? And the agriturismo was slap bang right next to Lasa station. I was actually a touch worried about that , for nothing as it turned out in the end.
So, as I said before, this holiday was chosen by the boys for the cycling aspect but what is so particular about this cycle path? Apart from the apple orchards, the path follows what was once a Roman road coming down from Switzerland to connect with the Via Postumia and thence on to Rome. It was made under the Emperor Claudius’ rule and therefore called the Via Claudia Augusta, so already I was imagining myself following in the footsteps of the legions as they marched up and down the Alps towards this or that battle, their studded sandals thumping the stone surface, left right, left right, left right. Being obsessed with ancient history, the idea fascinated me. The path also follows the course of the Adige river, the longest in Italy after the Po, and last but not least was the fact that the Val Venosta is the driest valley in the Alpine range. It receives on average about as much rainfall as in Sicily and I can’t remember how many hours of sunshine. That’s why the fruit grows so plentifully and is so sweet, the sun adds to the sugar content. I can assure you, rain is a constant in the mountains and to have a guarantee that you won’t get any is like hanging a carrot in front of a donkey. Irresistible! Then, there is the whole point of this adventure. This path, according to the article, is downhill all the way, you hardly need to peddle, if anything you may have to brake now and then. An alpine Holland, by the sound of it. That was the clinching factor for me. I will climb a mountain if I have to, and probably enjoy it, but do NOT expect me to cycle uphill. Uphill cycling is beyond my physical and mental capacities. I am literally not up to the exertion. I do not even desire to exert myself. I see no pleasure in exerting myself on this particular mode of transport. I’d wheel my bicycle uphill. Therefore this would be my second trip on a bike, the first having been, needless to say, in the Netherlands themselves. Credit me with some sense please, I did say that I chose my holidays with care. Downhill cycle riding has the thumbs up for me.
Hurrah ! Saturday 23rd of August dawned and we were off in our Fiat Multipla. Terribly ugly car, I call her our rubbish tip on wheels, but we are fond of her. You can pack as much as you want and still have room to spare and the windows are just perfect for savouring the scenery. It is almost like being in a Gullivarian coach. The evening before was: PANIC STATIONS EVERYONE! Bossing, yelling, rushing, last minute packing and cleaning. I have this manic need to leave the house spick and span before going on holidays. I know, I know, I seem boring and extreme, but believe me, by Italian standards I am lax.
However, once we left we all relaxed although I was rather silent as the men folk seemed only to talk relentlessly of motor Grandprixs. I was concentrating on getting to destination. The traffic on the road was very heavy. Most traffic was southbound, thankfully, as the last of the summer tourism was heading back home. We crossed the Apennine mountains and descended into the Po Valley, the largest plain in Italy and our agricultural bread basket. We passed fields and fields of maize and wheat, some harvested and some not. It is so flat and interminable, especially to those of us who come from the La Spezia province with its green hills, beaches and deep blue sea. We passed Parma and Reggio Emilia on the A1 motorway and turned north onto the A22 just before Modena in the Brenner Pass direction. We went up through Verona, Rovereto and Trento and we continued up the wide, U- shaped valley towards Bolzano. I don’t think much of this valley. It doesn’t have character and seems just a continuation of the hot, sweaty Po plain although we saw all the vineyards on either side of the motorway. At a certain point, the traffic began to build up almost to a standstill and we decided to get off the motorway and onto the “Statale” or b-road road running parallel. A bad idea as traffic was heavy there too and being on the bottom of a valley there was no alternative road to fall back on. We did eventually crawl onto the Bolzano ring road until our exit towards the spa town of Merano, set right at the entrance of the Val Venosta and where we were set to have lunch.
We had left La Spezia with fine weather but as we arrived in Bolzano clouds had appeared and by the time we were minutes from Merano we were in the middle of a torrential downpour.
So much for no rain.
Ever the optimist I concentrated on talking about the old town and the short walkabout we had planned.
Enrico just snorted.
And I had the last laugh.
As we entered Merano the skies cleared and that was that. For the whole week as it matters. Believe me, attitude is stronger than the weather.
Merano too, just about comes under the Val Venosta micro climate. This is one of the places that the Empress Sissy of the Austrian-Hungarian empire frequented. One can visit the Castle Trauttmansdorff botanical garden and walk along the Passiria riverside walk. The Passiria river rushes through Merano until its confluence with the Adige. The town has a compact meander of medieval porticos under which commercial activities flourish. We would see more of porticos during our weeks stay.
After lunch, served with the Forst local brand of beer which we later found everywhere, we left straight away for our half hour ride to Lasa. At this point, all we wanted was to arrive to where would be our home for the coming week.
We started to climb up the valley, only a very slight gradient, and it was then that the staggering amount of apple orchards hit us. Hundreds, thousands of apple trees stretching across the valley. All that I ever saw apart from apples were cabbage fields. There were lovely houses with balconies glowing with bright, scarlet geraniums. This place gave me the idea of industriousness, prosperity and love of the land as it was kept so trim and tidy. This can be hard to find in Italy. There is so much beauty in this country but so little is done to preserve and enhance it, almost as though it is taken for granted. This is so frustrating for someone who grew up in an Anglo-Saxon country where rules and regulations are meant to be respected for the collective well being of the people rather than be got around for personal gain together with this ingrained, almost genetic urge to get the better of the system.
After lots of oohing and ahhing (from myself, not the boys) we finally drove into the village of Lasa or Laas in German and into the Fohlenhof agriturismo where we met Rudi and Maria, our hosts. My sons were most taken aback by the fact that the inhabitants of the valley speak German as a first language and Italian as a rusty second. My son Nico, in fact, was downright offended by the fact. “We’re in Italy, mio Dio” he’d mutter on and off during the whole week.
In many frontier regions, the population speak the languages on both sides of the border, but never as much as in the Alto Adige region. It used to belong to the Austrian-Hungarian empire (Remember the Empress Sissy?) and was annexed to Italy after WW1. However, the people never fully integrated and Italians almost feel that they are abroad for the same reason that Austrians and Germans abound because they almost feel at home. The region’s architecture reflects its origins as does it’s administration. I rushed off to the supermarket to buy basic bread and milk at 6.45 p.m. to find it already shut. Closing time 6 p.m. What ?
Closing time is at 7.30 p.m. by my knowledge……. but this isn’t really Italy is it? The transalpine tradition dominates and as overall I appreciate the precision, punctuality and order of such tradition I tried to regain my equanimity by going off to beg a jug of milk from Maria.
The Fohlenhof is a wonderfully easy going, comfortably run establishment. It reflects it’s owners own friendly disposition. We hit it off straight away with Rudy. He is a perfect example of how people are busy doing things to get on in life. He teaches Agriculture, runs an agriturismo where he grows both the standard apple and the sweetest, tastiest apricots I have ever eaten, has a distillery, was vice mayor of Lasa and took an active part in getting the Val Venosta or Vinshgau railway line from Merano to the Resia Pass running again. He is an inexhaustible font of information.
The railway was built by the Austrian-Hungarians and was opened in 1906 and ran until its closure in 1985 by the Italian National Railway deeming it an obsolete, unprofitable branch. Rudi and his colleagues promptly began to see about bringing it back into use, so successfully that on the 05/05/2005 it was inaugurated again after 20 years. Apart from the effort made for this project I suppose a little luck came along under the aegis of the UE funds designated for this precise purpose. The old fashioned stations have been given a face lift and this modern, bright, two wagon train runs like a Swiss clock up and down the valley, allowing the local population to move around at will, as us tourists with our bikes. The idea is to broaden the railway network (privately run) across all Alto Adige. I say “good luck” to the idea, rail travel is to be encouraged for all the usual reasons, less pollution and road congestion etc.
Anyway, having got off to a good start with Rudi, Maria and their lovely German shepherd dog, Alija, we got settled into our gorgeous little apartment with its small balcony looking onto the garden and across onto the marble depots. It had its stube or oven style radiator for real winter warmth as you walked into the bedroom, and a snug kitchen, perfectly kitted out, immediately on your left. The boys loved the telly as it rotated on a plate and was therefore visible from the bed, from the sofa and from the kitchen. Wow! The bathroom was up three steps on the far right of the bedroom and it was furnished in such a welcoming style that we all felt at home straight away. There was another double room right in front of ours so there was no problem at all going to and fro. Before supper we all wanted to explore as the Fohlenhof seems a little like a labyrinth at first with landings and corridors at different levels, a pool room and a reading room full of books (German I’m afraid). Enjoying our home from home is also part of holiday experience, especially for me who gets away from all the boring household chores, as here everything is so easy. How wonderful to fall asleep at night feeling far, far away from responsibility which is days and days away…ssnnzzzz!
Lights out had been at 10 p.m. so I was up and about at 8 a.m. getting breakfast ready anticipating our first day out. I have so much energy on holiday, so many things that I want to do that I must keep on remembering that I did promise Enrico that we would take it easy, not transform each day into a tour de force….oh dear, would I manage? Well, I wouldn’t worry about it today, it was our first day, with that totally relaxed feeling of having time stretching endlessly out in front of you.
Right then, I got us all into the car and off we were for our first excursion of the week. I had found another agriturismo on the internet, set at about 600m a.s.l. offering a spectacular view while savouring meals based on home grown and raised produce. We could get up the mountainside using a cable car and from there it would be an hour and half’s walk. We arrived at the Laces cable car station and caught one up with only minutes to spare. Up we went with the typical initial lurch squashed against the usual group of German speaking tourists. From the top we had an amazing view up and down the valley with the orchards covering the valley floor like a patchwork quilt. The neatness of it all was so satisfactory to behold. The walk to the agriturismo was easy and pleasant. On our left we had the valley dropping away below us, while the path wandered before us through a forest of firs and sunlit open pastures. Nothing steep and strenuous, just a lazy: look at this, look at that walk, the boys all the while keeping an eye out for adders. Fortunately for me we saw a squirrel instead. Finally, when hunger was setting, in we arrived for our lunch, served on this wonderful terrace overlooking the valley floor. In full sunshine, under an awning, drinking blackcurrant juice, a magic moment can be created.
Then I got my lamb (pot roast) and the boys and Enrico got their three fried eggs( I call that exaggerated, talk about serious cholesterol ) and sausages.
We tucked in.
Silence reigned supreme.
On very full stomachs we had to face the descent back to the car. Enrico and Diego absolutely wanted to be back in the flat in time for a grandprix race on the telly while Nico and I had no intention whatsoever of consuming all of those calories. So the two Formula 1 fans raced off downhill, never missing a step down the stony path and effectively managed to conclude and hour and a half’s descent in only forty minutes.
It took us a full hour and a half.
Back down in Laces, after a refreshing Coke, we got the train back up to Lasa and set about relaxing……. which means we all had a siesta!
The rest of the day and evening was spent pottering around, reading my book, preparing supper and getting psyched up for the big event on the morrow.
So there we were, rise and shine on Monday morning, ready to catch our 8.40 train from Lasa to Malles, the alpine terminus of the railway line. This was what the boys had been waiting for, to finally be in action on their bikes. We had our leisurely breakfast and only had to stroll 100 metres to the station. Right on time, the dinky, little train arrived, we got on and settled down for the journey, all 17 minutes of it. Once at Malles we rented our bikes (having previously bought the Event cards on the train) from the bike depot but then we waited for the bus, included in the Event Card service, to take us up to Resia where we would physically claim them as the cycle path begins precisely at that locality. As we had left Lasa, I had noticed how the composition of the valley gradually changed from orchard fields into alpine pasture. The Resia pass is at 1500 m but we got off at Resia village, two kms before it and promptly dived into the bike depot which is at the bus stop itself (I told you that it is a great system). All we had to do was grab 4 bikes. The boys got mountain bikes while I waited for a wide, padded saddle, lady’s city bike, thank you! A young man was serving an Italian woman ( I specify Italian even if we were in Italy because it felt as though we were not) who was complaining in an obnoxious fashion that the saddle had not been fixed tightly enough. Seeing as she was doing a good imitation of the twist on it and indeed trying the poor man’s Teutonic patience I began tapping my foot myself in irritation. In the end she went and got her own bicycle while I serafically took charge of the offending vehicle, did a little twist myself and found it unexceptional. It took good care of me for the whole day, so there, you silly woman.
So, with our bikes and no helmets ….oh yes, on the whole bike ride, we were the only unequipped riders on the path. I felt terribly irresponsible, especially when the boys were being totally and manically un-road safety wise. I would sporadically exclaim about how we were the only un-helmeted people around and the boys would groan back at me and tell me how boring I was. I mean, how can anyone hurt themselves on a bike? Our neighbour only went into coma and almost died after being knocked off his one.
Where was I ? Oh, yes, with our saddles beneath our bottoms, and our totally useless rain gear stuffed into the back clip we were off on the Claudia Augusta cycle path around Lake Resia. From the first second, cycling was not the correct term for the men folk’s form of peddling, it was more in the terms of whizzing. I was always sedately in the rear, contemplating the scenery which one squinting eye on my family, awaiting catastrophe….. no helmets, such fools, hospitalization, why on earth didn’t I think of hiring helmets, I’m an idiot. While exhorting the boys to stop overtaking each other and the large Italian group of which the obnoxious lady belonged to, at breakneck speed we wound our way around the lake, past the church tower of Curon which rises out of the water. The village was submerged in the 1960’s in order to create the lake and the tower is a feature of the area.
Where Lake Resia finishes Lake San Valentino begins and we were frantically trying to keep ahead of the “Italians”. What happened next was the highlight of the boys descent. We basically hurtled down a steep incline following the side of the lake for about 2 or 3 kms. Enrico was shouting at the boys to slow down. They were not listening so he accelerated in order to overtake them, I was forming the rearguard enjoying the wind on my face while keeping the water bottle from flying out of the basket, praying that we wouldn’t meet oncoming traffic as the path is very narrow but runs both ways. Would you believe that we saw most people going uphill? We also had the serious cyclists coming up at pumping speed behind us and we would hear the low rush of their wheels as they came up all very professionally geared up, dark glasses and all. Quite intimidating really.
Without realising it we had descended the alpine pastures through which the bus had taken us up. Ever since I had entered Val Venosta and seen the orchards I had been commenting on how I would just love to harvest the apples. I had visions of myself up the ladders picking the apples one by one (they are truly handpicked, cross my heart) companionably with other like harvesters, enjoying the fresh air, the nature, the rural satisfaction of physical labour. Well, on the bus we saw quite a few people, lost in the middle of those same wide, empty, sunny pastures cutting the long grass (for fodder I gather) with a scythe in sweaty, backbreaking solitude. I didn’t like the look of that at all. I quite reversed my daydreaming of bucolic bliss and thought that my actual job was really very pleasant after all.
Anyway, we finally arrived in Burgusio with its castle and the milky white monastery of Marienberg up above it. It is the highest, working Benedictine monastery in Europe. You can find the most amazing Carolinian frescoes in the crypt but only by appointment. At this point everyone was hungry and so we continued following the perfectly well signed cycle path to Glorenza (or Glurns), one of the 50 most beautiful villages in Italy, but, in actual fact, it’s the smallest “town” in Italy. It is set in a strategic position, and was an economic focal point during the Middle Ages. Salt was the major product that transited through it, coming down from Austria’s salt mines . From Glorenza the salt left for Italy, down the Claudia Augusta and for Switzerland through the Taufer Ofen Pass.
It also has a very curious story attached to it. We all know the famous “Pied Piper of Hamlin” fable. Well, here too we find mice as protagonists. Due to the mice eating or destroying the wheat bags in the storage rooms in 1520 the citizens of Prato allo Stelvio began a lawsuit against them. They were duly represented by a lawyer from Glorenza and the trial lasted a whole year. At the end the judge passed sentence that the mice had every right to exist by being one of God’s creations and were therefore not to be harmed but, seeing the damage that they provoked to the citizens’ economy they were to be accompanied out of the town. The mice had won!
Glorenza is situated at the end of the high part of the valley and at the beginning the valley floor, with the Adige rushing and gurgling past it under the guise of a cheerful and musical torrent. It overflowed in the late 1800’s, the water level is marked on the town walls. It is a gorgeous little town, totally encircled by walls interspersed with little round towers with conical roofs. Outside the walls the locals have created kitchen and flower gardens now in full bloom. I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from it all but having seen the Grunen Baum hotel restaurant in the main square we were ready for a long lunch to regain our energy for the afternoon before us. We parked our bikes in the rack just next to the restaurant entrance we got ourselves an outside table where we could eat and watch the busy town scene in front of us. Heaven.
One does eat better in “Italy” but all things considered we ate well (grumpy service though, although fast) and noticed how the tourism in this area is not in mass. Lots of people, fair enough, but not enough to cause a crush, either to each other or to the locals. The majority were cyclists like us “doing” the cycle path and the others were motorcyclists. Mountain roads with all their zig- zagging are a biker’s dream, the more extreme the better, so you can imagine how many there were all in their black leather.
When we got to the end of our meal we saw the “Italian” group cycle in. Thank goodness that it was our turn to leave, still ahead of them. We got back on the bikes and had a wonder through the town’s streets, all lovingly litter free and flower full. We swerved in and out of the old, crooked portico’s in Via dei Portici. All are brilliantly whitewashed and make a striking contrast with the vivid oranges and pinks of the flowers. Portico’s are often to be found in Alto Adige as they allow for strolling and getting around town in spite of the bad weather which is often to be had with a mountain climate.
Anyhow, we finally headed east, the cycle path now following the ice-born, ice-grey, bubbly Adige along it’s course. This is when things began to get harder. Afternoon activities are always heavy going and it was hot and our bums were getting sore. There was no more downhill incline. The path ran flat, initially under the trees but on the last leg of the day under the August sunshine. The kms lengthened and the moaning began. When are we going to arrive? How much longer ? I thought you said the path was downhill all the way? Morale grew lower. The plain widened at Prato allo Stelvio and at that moment the apple orchards came into their own. They path wound its way among them, orderly row after orderly row, the apples glowing like green and red baubles among the leafy branches creating an almost Christmas tree affect. My mouth watered at the sight of them. But, would you believe it, when I had popped into the supermarket early that morning for supplies I had immediately gone to the fruit section in order to get us some wholesome, local apples and I stopped aghast at the sight of the tag declaring the provenance from Chile. NO!! I found out that the apples begin their harvest season from around September 10th and that therefore until then….tough luck! Those tantalising fruits were only there for the beauty of the eye, not the palate. We always fiercely desire what we can’t get, and “bah gum” I wanted that apple!! By this time we all knew that Lasa was drawing nearer and I had to drop my bombshell that we wouldn’t be consigning our bikes at the station. It doesn’t have a depot. We had to go to the next town down, Silandro, therefore, with a regretful glance towards the Fohlenhof we passed our village and began (fortunately) another exhilarating, cool and leafy descent, to the boys’ joy. So with a “Gernonimoooooo” we bombed it down, at this point, only really wanting to get the day over with. Having said this, we had to do some penance first. Once in Silandro (or Schlanders), in order to get to the station it is almost all uphill and after hours on the saddle that is the last thing you want unless you are masochistically inclined. We almost threw the bikes at the collector and then mercifully sat down to wait 50 minutes for our train back to Lasa. I just relaxed with a coke looking around me at the renovated turn of the century style station just rejoicing in my being still. The train slid into the station, bang on time and in five minutes we were back in Lasa and our apartment. A shower and supper on the table with lots to talk about made up a good evening and we even got around the snooker table in one of the public rooms, popping the balls into the pockets only that at a certain point the only place worth being in was bed.
We had categorically decided that there would be no biking the next day. This was a holiday, remember? The boy’s leg muscles ached as did my unmentionable paraphernalia and so we decided to take advantage of the Fohlenhof’s family holiday, free voucher to visit the freshwater aquarium “Acquaprad” in Prato allo Stelvio. Nico was the really keen one to go while I just went along in family spirit, not really much interested and was therefore astonishingly surprised to find that I was thoroughly enjoying myself. It belongs to a series of museums, each regarding a diverse aspect of mountain life and culture which can be found in different locations around the Val Venosta (Alps?). This unique aquarium, although not very large, gives us an in depth understanding of life in alpine lakes, torrents and rivers. The guide was extremely detailed in her explanations, and very friendly, making the effort to translate the tour into Italian for us as, guess what, all the other visitors were naturally German speaking!
Nico was transfixed by the water snakes(totally harmless but ugh), but the focal point of the aquarium is the big floor to ceiling tank with catfish, a huge 1 ½ metre pike and an Italic-Siberian sturgeon. I know that they are the ones who produce caviar but I associate them with prehistoric fish and I never imagined that these monsters swam in our rivers. Jaws put an end to my off shore swimming and now I realise that even placid, inland waters have their beasts………such as trouts. Did you know that some can become absolutely enormous with razor sharp teeth? Fair enough, they won’t eat you but they can give you a nasty nip, as our guide had experienced. All in all we spent an interesting, slow paced morning which was just what we needed. We decided to go back to Glorenza for lunch and we all had a long nap in the afternoon. I took my book out in the afternoon, down by the ping pong table, while the boys were messing about on the house bikes (they could not resist getting back on them) and soon got talking to Rudi.
He told me of the Fohlenhof’s origins, back in the days of the Empire. The emblem of the agriturismo is of a rearing horse dating back to the days when it stabled the horses necessary to the construction of the road up to the Stelvio Pass, to which we were going the next day. It was here that a new crossbreed was founded between an oriental stallion and a native mare from whom Folie was born. For 19 years Folie was used as a mounting stallion being therefore the ancestor of this new breed of mountain horse which rapidly spread and is now found all over the Alps. The breed’s name is Avelignese in Italian and Halfling in German which inevitably brings to mind the Hobbit and is actually adapt as it is a pony size horse reaching to 137 cms at the shoulder and is usually a bay colour.
He explained how the Lasa marble is quarried, way up the mountain above us in a cavern quarry, less environmentally detrimental compared to open site quarries and how the blocks are sent across the valley suspended by a cable onto a small narrow gauge railway down to the marble depot right in front of the Fohlenhof, on the other side of the railway line. This white marble is older and harder than the famous Carrara marble that is quarried in the Apuan mountains, not far from where we live. A local sculptor has a workshop in the Fohlenhof where he produces his forms of modern sculpture and participates in the most important event in Lasa which is held at the beginning of August called Marble and Apricots, naturally dedicated to it’s two most renowned products.
The Stelvio Pass is THE biker’s Mecca with it’s 49 hairpin bends to the top and has seen many a Giro D’Italia cycle race. To get up to it one has to go up to Prato allo Stelvio, pass the aquarium and then the road starts to climb. The mountains are grim, dirt grey and very intimidating with many scree slopes, witness to the disastrous receding of glaciers. They are part of the Ortler group whose highest peak is the Ortler at 3.899 m. Each bend is signposted in a countdown to the top and I can tell you that we saw many motorbikes zooming effortlessly upwards and many, many cyclists who put a lot more effort into their ascent. At a certain point the gradient rose almost perpendicularly and the zigzagging of the road could be seen all the way to the top and I can say that it certainly merits it’s acclamation as one of the most incredible mountain roads in Europe. Once at the top we went to have a snack at the Tibet refuge, looking down onto this amazing road. As I said, it isn’t a welcoming place but one must just admire both the audacity of the road and what it must have cost those who built it plus the stark austerity of the rock all around. There is summer, morning skiing on the Stelvio Glacier so there were many coming off the cable car in all their ski gear. Although I ski I did not fancy the idea myself, at this time of year and with such an austere and menacing backdrop.
The fun part of the day came when we went back down again. We had brought the Fohlenhof’s bikes along in order for the boys’ ride down, one at a time, behind their dad. I was not too keen. Being a mother can have its drawbacks, as I thought that too much speed would be picked up on such a steep gradient or else that the brakes would overheat from excessive braking and end up not braking at all and there was a lovely panel by the roadside indicating how many bikers had lost their lives down this road. Great. Therefore, the rule was that I would go down first with Enrico and one of the boys behind me. Off we went, with grumpy boys who thought that I was taking all the fun out of the ride and so therefore went so slowly as to allow me to get much further ahead so that they could accelerate in order to catch up with me. Enrico was shouting all the way down I think, so I do believe that he did do the dad bit. As they gave out victory signs to up bound cars they hugely enjoyed receiving the admiring thumbs up for having conquered the Stelvio. Impostors!
Back at the agriturismo we had a nap, I told you that we were relaxing, and then all on my lonesome, I went to find myself a waalweg. What’s that, you say? One may find many variations on this theme in drought plagued areas all over the world, from Peru to Afghanistan. A waalweg is a manmade canal that channels water from its source down mountain sides and pastures where it eventually empties into a torrent. Here, this practice dates back to medieval times and Charters were even drawn up regarding their use and maintenance and those who looked after them were regarded as important figures in society. I went on a walk to follow one up that runs above the town of Burgusio, which has, by the way, one of the best preserved castles in Alto Adige, Castel Coira. The paths are marked but notwithstanding I wasn’t quite sure that I was going in the right direction and as I was quite alone I couldn’t help of thinking of films like the Blair Witch Project and it was therefore with a sigh of relief that, after having quite exhausted myself in a long and steep climb I came onto the waalweg, rushing away in its shallow, narrow bed following the mountainside’s contour. I was disappointed that it did not last very long as at a certain point I lost track of it. I should probably have had a better map, as I came to the end of my walk having put in a lot of effort for the very little waalweg that I saw.
Having perfectly recovered from the first three quarters of our valley descent, early next morning we asked Rudi if we could use the house bikes for the last run of the Claudia Augusta cycle path. We were not running it till its end in Merano but were going to catch the train back up from Naturno. This is the part of the valley where the apples really reign supreme. It was, as it had been for the whole week, gloriously sunny and we left the Fohlenhof in high spirits revelling in the freshness of the day. We flew down to Silandro again and then progressed kilometre by kilometre through the orchards. We had noticed that all through the Val Venosta, potent water sprinklers were irrigating, alternately, different areas, be they orchards or pastures both night and day. Water does not seem to be a luxury in a valley with a notorious lack of rainfall, and I am not sure how much the waalwegs contribute nowadays. What I do know is that we got a good dampening riding though these immense sprinklers as the droplets cascaded all around us. Being already overheated from our exercise we could only squeal with delight and hope that there would be some more up ahead of us. There were a few farmers about with tractors and contraptions on wheels that looked like something decorators use going about their business. Some were cutting the grass along the rows with special mowers that are made for getting around the small tree trunks, probably cropping the grass in order the facilitate the forthcoming apple picking.
Quite a few different types of apples are grown, although the most famous are the Golden Delicious. It is a double coloured apple, green with a red blush and although the cultivation here is extensive, it is by no means on an industrial level. The farmers wish to produce, and are renowned, for this healthy, natural and above all tasty product. Supermarket chains are actually not as keen on purchasing these high quality products as they are more delicate than industrially grown ones and need particular care in handling as they can bruise easily.
The quality of the Val Venosta apples is due to the altitude, which acts as a refrigerator by night and prevents the breeding of parasites, and to a remarkable anti- freezing system. The trees are irrigated even during the cold periods and therefore the water freezes on them but actually keeps them warm on the inside, like a form of insulation. Isn’t that clever? This way the delicate buds are protected from the cold rather than destroyed by it.
By now we were almost at Naturno, we could see Castel Juval up on our left, above the village of Ciardes. This renovated castle belongs to a famous mountaineer called Reinhold Meissner who has transformed it into the Museum of the Mountains, with relics of his days climbing the Himalayas and other mountaineering memorabilia. It is open only in the spring and the autumn although it is impressive to look at even from the valley floor. There is even a waalweg walk up to it.
We were pedalling furiously away as we had a train to catch back to Lasa and we did not want to miss it. As we rode into Naturno and headed for the station we noticed that the Adige had become a fully fledged river, wide and fast flowing. We caught our train and sat down satisfied and content. We had completed (well….almost) the Claudia Augusta cycle ride and it had been entirely worth it. The combination of scenery, exercise and efficient organisation had worked together to provide an excellent recipe for a holiday. It had lived up perfectly to my expectations and I had a happy family around to prove it. Definitely an experience to pass on, don’t you think?
Anyway, our last afternoon was spent sleeping and relaxing and beginning to prepare for the next day’s departure. We ordered a crate of fantastic apricots, some grappa and chocolate to bring home and share with the grandparents and I signed my appreciation to the Gartner family in the house book. The boys had their last rides on the bikes, racing up and down alongside the railway track while Enrico and I savoured the last tranquil moments of a well deserved holiday. As always, at the end of a holiday, home isn’t such a bad idea and one looks forward to getting back and getting on with the usual routine with recharged batteries. At least, that is what is should be like. And so with light hearts, our head full of memories and our tongues eager to tell everyone what a wonderful time we had had, we set off back down through the Val Venosta, the valley of Bolzano, through the Po plain, across the Apennines and back to our little corner, in the province of La Spezia, called home.
This trip was no exception. I had given my family a choice: or in Germany on the North Sea, otherwise in our Italian Alps in Val Venosta on bikes.
The bikes won.
Not so difficult to understand when you have two teenage boys around you, is it? Not that I minded. I had picked up both destinations from a series of travel magazines that I have collected over the years. Only that Germany had been on my agenda for years and Val Venosta only popped up in August 2007’s edition of Bell’ Italia. And caught my eye. The period was perfect too, just when I had my week off, just before the harvest. Harvest? Yes indeed. Val Venosta is the heart of Italy’s cultivation of apples, which, being August were just ready to be picked off the trees, therefore the article seduced me with the idea of pedalling 80 kilometres down a valley amid hundreds of apple laden trees. So, with no more ado I booked ourselves a week in an agriturismo on internet.
What’s an agriturismo? Well, here in Italy they are very popular. They are a mixture of hotel, self-catering, biological or agricultural farm/establishment and are usually family run. Therefore the imprint is definitely in being closer to nature in one way or another than ones usual hotel with all its formalities. Having said that, I chose self-catering for the extra freedom it gives us as a family. We can have relaxed family meals around a table without the rush due to the limited time that we have at home and we have a sitting room in which to lounge around in total relaxation (stretching out on a sofa in underpants and watching DVDs on the telly). Do I mind the having to cook? Not really, these small apartments are a bit like playing at dolls’ houses and I do come prepared with most of the actual culinary preparation done beforehand. I am most organised. I have to be if I am to enjoy myself too.
Seeing as the area is renowned for its apples, I opted for a fruit growing agriturismo in the village of Lasa, around half way up the valley. Perfect for organising our 2 day descent of the Val Venosta. Because, honestly, this bike ride is perfectly structured. You buy an Event Card, from automatic ticket machines found in every station up the valley which is inclusive of the renting of a bike and use of the train as many times as you like for a day. It costs 14 euros for an adult and 7 euros for children up to 16 years of age. A bargain, right? And the agriturismo was slap bang right next to Lasa station. I was actually a touch worried about that , for nothing as it turned out in the end.
So, as I said before, this holiday was chosen by the boys for the cycling aspect but what is so particular about this cycle path? Apart from the apple orchards, the path follows what was once a Roman road coming down from Switzerland to connect with the Via Postumia and thence on to Rome. It was made under the Emperor Claudius’ rule and therefore called the Via Claudia Augusta, so already I was imagining myself following in the footsteps of the legions as they marched up and down the Alps towards this or that battle, their studded sandals thumping the stone surface, left right, left right, left right. Being obsessed with ancient history, the idea fascinated me. The path also follows the course of the Adige river, the longest in Italy after the Po, and last but not least was the fact that the Val Venosta is the driest valley in the Alpine range. It receives on average about as much rainfall as in Sicily and I can’t remember how many hours of sunshine. That’s why the fruit grows so plentifully and is so sweet, the sun adds to the sugar content. I can assure you, rain is a constant in the mountains and to have a guarantee that you won’t get any is like hanging a carrot in front of a donkey. Irresistible! Then, there is the whole point of this adventure. This path, according to the article, is downhill all the way, you hardly need to peddle, if anything you may have to brake now and then. An alpine Holland, by the sound of it. That was the clinching factor for me. I will climb a mountain if I have to, and probably enjoy it, but do NOT expect me to cycle uphill. Uphill cycling is beyond my physical and mental capacities. I am literally not up to the exertion. I do not even desire to exert myself. I see no pleasure in exerting myself on this particular mode of transport. I’d wheel my bicycle uphill. Therefore this would be my second trip on a bike, the first having been, needless to say, in the Netherlands themselves. Credit me with some sense please, I did say that I chose my holidays with care. Downhill cycle riding has the thumbs up for me.
Hurrah ! Saturday 23rd of August dawned and we were off in our Fiat Multipla. Terribly ugly car, I call her our rubbish tip on wheels, but we are fond of her. You can pack as much as you want and still have room to spare and the windows are just perfect for savouring the scenery. It is almost like being in a Gullivarian coach. The evening before was: PANIC STATIONS EVERYONE! Bossing, yelling, rushing, last minute packing and cleaning. I have this manic need to leave the house spick and span before going on holidays. I know, I know, I seem boring and extreme, but believe me, by Italian standards I am lax.
However, once we left we all relaxed although I was rather silent as the men folk seemed only to talk relentlessly of motor Grandprixs. I was concentrating on getting to destination. The traffic on the road was very heavy. Most traffic was southbound, thankfully, as the last of the summer tourism was heading back home. We crossed the Apennine mountains and descended into the Po Valley, the largest plain in Italy and our agricultural bread basket. We passed fields and fields of maize and wheat, some harvested and some not. It is so flat and interminable, especially to those of us who come from the La Spezia province with its green hills, beaches and deep blue sea. We passed Parma and Reggio Emilia on the A1 motorway and turned north onto the A22 just before Modena in the Brenner Pass direction. We went up through Verona, Rovereto and Trento and we continued up the wide, U- shaped valley towards Bolzano. I don’t think much of this valley. It doesn’t have character and seems just a continuation of the hot, sweaty Po plain although we saw all the vineyards on either side of the motorway. At a certain point, the traffic began to build up almost to a standstill and we decided to get off the motorway and onto the “Statale” or b-road road running parallel. A bad idea as traffic was heavy there too and being on the bottom of a valley there was no alternative road to fall back on. We did eventually crawl onto the Bolzano ring road until our exit towards the spa town of Merano, set right at the entrance of the Val Venosta and where we were set to have lunch.
We had left La Spezia with fine weather but as we arrived in Bolzano clouds had appeared and by the time we were minutes from Merano we were in the middle of a torrential downpour.
So much for no rain.
Ever the optimist I concentrated on talking about the old town and the short walkabout we had planned.
Enrico just snorted.
And I had the last laugh.
As we entered Merano the skies cleared and that was that. For the whole week as it matters. Believe me, attitude is stronger than the weather.
Merano too, just about comes under the Val Venosta micro climate. This is one of the places that the Empress Sissy of the Austrian-Hungarian empire frequented. One can visit the Castle Trauttmansdorff botanical garden and walk along the Passiria riverside walk. The Passiria river rushes through Merano until its confluence with the Adige. The town has a compact meander of medieval porticos under which commercial activities flourish. We would see more of porticos during our weeks stay.
After lunch, served with the Forst local brand of beer which we later found everywhere, we left straight away for our half hour ride to Lasa. At this point, all we wanted was to arrive to where would be our home for the coming week.
We started to climb up the valley, only a very slight gradient, and it was then that the staggering amount of apple orchards hit us. Hundreds, thousands of apple trees stretching across the valley. All that I ever saw apart from apples were cabbage fields. There were lovely houses with balconies glowing with bright, scarlet geraniums. This place gave me the idea of industriousness, prosperity and love of the land as it was kept so trim and tidy. This can be hard to find in Italy. There is so much beauty in this country but so little is done to preserve and enhance it, almost as though it is taken for granted. This is so frustrating for someone who grew up in an Anglo-Saxon country where rules and regulations are meant to be respected for the collective well being of the people rather than be got around for personal gain together with this ingrained, almost genetic urge to get the better of the system.
After lots of oohing and ahhing (from myself, not the boys) we finally drove into the village of Lasa or Laas in German and into the Fohlenhof agriturismo where we met Rudi and Maria, our hosts. My sons were most taken aback by the fact that the inhabitants of the valley speak German as a first language and Italian as a rusty second. My son Nico, in fact, was downright offended by the fact. “We’re in Italy, mio Dio” he’d mutter on and off during the whole week.
In many frontier regions, the population speak the languages on both sides of the border, but never as much as in the Alto Adige region. It used to belong to the Austrian-Hungarian empire (Remember the Empress Sissy?) and was annexed to Italy after WW1. However, the people never fully integrated and Italians almost feel that they are abroad for the same reason that Austrians and Germans abound because they almost feel at home. The region’s architecture reflects its origins as does it’s administration. I rushed off to the supermarket to buy basic bread and milk at 6.45 p.m. to find it already shut. Closing time 6 p.m. What ?
Closing time is at 7.30 p.m. by my knowledge……. but this isn’t really Italy is it? The transalpine tradition dominates and as overall I appreciate the precision, punctuality and order of such tradition I tried to regain my equanimity by going off to beg a jug of milk from Maria.
The Fohlenhof is a wonderfully easy going, comfortably run establishment. It reflects it’s owners own friendly disposition. We hit it off straight away with Rudy. He is a perfect example of how people are busy doing things to get on in life. He teaches Agriculture, runs an agriturismo where he grows both the standard apple and the sweetest, tastiest apricots I have ever eaten, has a distillery, was vice mayor of Lasa and took an active part in getting the Val Venosta or Vinshgau railway line from Merano to the Resia Pass running again. He is an inexhaustible font of information.
The railway was built by the Austrian-Hungarians and was opened in 1906 and ran until its closure in 1985 by the Italian National Railway deeming it an obsolete, unprofitable branch. Rudi and his colleagues promptly began to see about bringing it back into use, so successfully that on the 05/05/2005 it was inaugurated again after 20 years. Apart from the effort made for this project I suppose a little luck came along under the aegis of the UE funds designated for this precise purpose. The old fashioned stations have been given a face lift and this modern, bright, two wagon train runs like a Swiss clock up and down the valley, allowing the local population to move around at will, as us tourists with our bikes. The idea is to broaden the railway network (privately run) across all Alto Adige. I say “good luck” to the idea, rail travel is to be encouraged for all the usual reasons, less pollution and road congestion etc.
Anyway, having got off to a good start with Rudi, Maria and their lovely German shepherd dog, Alija, we got settled into our gorgeous little apartment with its small balcony looking onto the garden and across onto the marble depots. It had its stube or oven style radiator for real winter warmth as you walked into the bedroom, and a snug kitchen, perfectly kitted out, immediately on your left. The boys loved the telly as it rotated on a plate and was therefore visible from the bed, from the sofa and from the kitchen. Wow! The bathroom was up three steps on the far right of the bedroom and it was furnished in such a welcoming style that we all felt at home straight away. There was another double room right in front of ours so there was no problem at all going to and fro. Before supper we all wanted to explore as the Fohlenhof seems a little like a labyrinth at first with landings and corridors at different levels, a pool room and a reading room full of books (German I’m afraid). Enjoying our home from home is also part of holiday experience, especially for me who gets away from all the boring household chores, as here everything is so easy. How wonderful to fall asleep at night feeling far, far away from responsibility which is days and days away…ssnnzzzz!
Lights out had been at 10 p.m. so I was up and about at 8 a.m. getting breakfast ready anticipating our first day out. I have so much energy on holiday, so many things that I want to do that I must keep on remembering that I did promise Enrico that we would take it easy, not transform each day into a tour de force….oh dear, would I manage? Well, I wouldn’t worry about it today, it was our first day, with that totally relaxed feeling of having time stretching endlessly out in front of you.
Right then, I got us all into the car and off we were for our first excursion of the week. I had found another agriturismo on the internet, set at about 600m a.s.l. offering a spectacular view while savouring meals based on home grown and raised produce. We could get up the mountainside using a cable car and from there it would be an hour and half’s walk. We arrived at the Laces cable car station and caught one up with only minutes to spare. Up we went with the typical initial lurch squashed against the usual group of German speaking tourists. From the top we had an amazing view up and down the valley with the orchards covering the valley floor like a patchwork quilt. The neatness of it all was so satisfactory to behold. The walk to the agriturismo was easy and pleasant. On our left we had the valley dropping away below us, while the path wandered before us through a forest of firs and sunlit open pastures. Nothing steep and strenuous, just a lazy: look at this, look at that walk, the boys all the while keeping an eye out for adders. Fortunately for me we saw a squirrel instead. Finally, when hunger was setting, in we arrived for our lunch, served on this wonderful terrace overlooking the valley floor. In full sunshine, under an awning, drinking blackcurrant juice, a magic moment can be created.
Then I got my lamb (pot roast) and the boys and Enrico got their three fried eggs( I call that exaggerated, talk about serious cholesterol ) and sausages.
We tucked in.
Silence reigned supreme.
On very full stomachs we had to face the descent back to the car. Enrico and Diego absolutely wanted to be back in the flat in time for a grandprix race on the telly while Nico and I had no intention whatsoever of consuming all of those calories. So the two Formula 1 fans raced off downhill, never missing a step down the stony path and effectively managed to conclude and hour and a half’s descent in only forty minutes.
It took us a full hour and a half.
Back down in Laces, after a refreshing Coke, we got the train back up to Lasa and set about relaxing……. which means we all had a siesta!
The rest of the day and evening was spent pottering around, reading my book, preparing supper and getting psyched up for the big event on the morrow.
So there we were, rise and shine on Monday morning, ready to catch our 8.40 train from Lasa to Malles, the alpine terminus of the railway line. This was what the boys had been waiting for, to finally be in action on their bikes. We had our leisurely breakfast and only had to stroll 100 metres to the station. Right on time, the dinky, little train arrived, we got on and settled down for the journey, all 17 minutes of it. Once at Malles we rented our bikes (having previously bought the Event cards on the train) from the bike depot but then we waited for the bus, included in the Event Card service, to take us up to Resia where we would physically claim them as the cycle path begins precisely at that locality. As we had left Lasa, I had noticed how the composition of the valley gradually changed from orchard fields into alpine pasture. The Resia pass is at 1500 m but we got off at Resia village, two kms before it and promptly dived into the bike depot which is at the bus stop itself (I told you that it is a great system). All we had to do was grab 4 bikes. The boys got mountain bikes while I waited for a wide, padded saddle, lady’s city bike, thank you! A young man was serving an Italian woman ( I specify Italian even if we were in Italy because it felt as though we were not) who was complaining in an obnoxious fashion that the saddle had not been fixed tightly enough. Seeing as she was doing a good imitation of the twist on it and indeed trying the poor man’s Teutonic patience I began tapping my foot myself in irritation. In the end she went and got her own bicycle while I serafically took charge of the offending vehicle, did a little twist myself and found it unexceptional. It took good care of me for the whole day, so there, you silly woman.
So, with our bikes and no helmets ….oh yes, on the whole bike ride, we were the only unequipped riders on the path. I felt terribly irresponsible, especially when the boys were being totally and manically un-road safety wise. I would sporadically exclaim about how we were the only un-helmeted people around and the boys would groan back at me and tell me how boring I was. I mean, how can anyone hurt themselves on a bike? Our neighbour only went into coma and almost died after being knocked off his one.
Where was I ? Oh, yes, with our saddles beneath our bottoms, and our totally useless rain gear stuffed into the back clip we were off on the Claudia Augusta cycle path around Lake Resia. From the first second, cycling was not the correct term for the men folk’s form of peddling, it was more in the terms of whizzing. I was always sedately in the rear, contemplating the scenery which one squinting eye on my family, awaiting catastrophe….. no helmets, such fools, hospitalization, why on earth didn’t I think of hiring helmets, I’m an idiot. While exhorting the boys to stop overtaking each other and the large Italian group of which the obnoxious lady belonged to, at breakneck speed we wound our way around the lake, past the church tower of Curon which rises out of the water. The village was submerged in the 1960’s in order to create the lake and the tower is a feature of the area.
Where Lake Resia finishes Lake San Valentino begins and we were frantically trying to keep ahead of the “Italians”. What happened next was the highlight of the boys descent. We basically hurtled down a steep incline following the side of the lake for about 2 or 3 kms. Enrico was shouting at the boys to slow down. They were not listening so he accelerated in order to overtake them, I was forming the rearguard enjoying the wind on my face while keeping the water bottle from flying out of the basket, praying that we wouldn’t meet oncoming traffic as the path is very narrow but runs both ways. Would you believe that we saw most people going uphill? We also had the serious cyclists coming up at pumping speed behind us and we would hear the low rush of their wheels as they came up all very professionally geared up, dark glasses and all. Quite intimidating really.
Without realising it we had descended the alpine pastures through which the bus had taken us up. Ever since I had entered Val Venosta and seen the orchards I had been commenting on how I would just love to harvest the apples. I had visions of myself up the ladders picking the apples one by one (they are truly handpicked, cross my heart) companionably with other like harvesters, enjoying the fresh air, the nature, the rural satisfaction of physical labour. Well, on the bus we saw quite a few people, lost in the middle of those same wide, empty, sunny pastures cutting the long grass (for fodder I gather) with a scythe in sweaty, backbreaking solitude. I didn’t like the look of that at all. I quite reversed my daydreaming of bucolic bliss and thought that my actual job was really very pleasant after all.
Anyway, we finally arrived in Burgusio with its castle and the milky white monastery of Marienberg up above it. It is the highest, working Benedictine monastery in Europe. You can find the most amazing Carolinian frescoes in the crypt but only by appointment. At this point everyone was hungry and so we continued following the perfectly well signed cycle path to Glorenza (or Glurns), one of the 50 most beautiful villages in Italy, but, in actual fact, it’s the smallest “town” in Italy. It is set in a strategic position, and was an economic focal point during the Middle Ages. Salt was the major product that transited through it, coming down from Austria’s salt mines . From Glorenza the salt left for Italy, down the Claudia Augusta and for Switzerland through the Taufer Ofen Pass.
It also has a very curious story attached to it. We all know the famous “Pied Piper of Hamlin” fable. Well, here too we find mice as protagonists. Due to the mice eating or destroying the wheat bags in the storage rooms in 1520 the citizens of Prato allo Stelvio began a lawsuit against them. They were duly represented by a lawyer from Glorenza and the trial lasted a whole year. At the end the judge passed sentence that the mice had every right to exist by being one of God’s creations and were therefore not to be harmed but, seeing the damage that they provoked to the citizens’ economy they were to be accompanied out of the town. The mice had won!
Glorenza is situated at the end of the high part of the valley and at the beginning the valley floor, with the Adige rushing and gurgling past it under the guise of a cheerful and musical torrent. It overflowed in the late 1800’s, the water level is marked on the town walls. It is a gorgeous little town, totally encircled by walls interspersed with little round towers with conical roofs. Outside the walls the locals have created kitchen and flower gardens now in full bloom. I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from it all but having seen the Grunen Baum hotel restaurant in the main square we were ready for a long lunch to regain our energy for the afternoon before us. We parked our bikes in the rack just next to the restaurant entrance we got ourselves an outside table where we could eat and watch the busy town scene in front of us. Heaven.
One does eat better in “Italy” but all things considered we ate well (grumpy service though, although fast) and noticed how the tourism in this area is not in mass. Lots of people, fair enough, but not enough to cause a crush, either to each other or to the locals. The majority were cyclists like us “doing” the cycle path and the others were motorcyclists. Mountain roads with all their zig- zagging are a biker’s dream, the more extreme the better, so you can imagine how many there were all in their black leather.
When we got to the end of our meal we saw the “Italian” group cycle in. Thank goodness that it was our turn to leave, still ahead of them. We got back on the bikes and had a wonder through the town’s streets, all lovingly litter free and flower full. We swerved in and out of the old, crooked portico’s in Via dei Portici. All are brilliantly whitewashed and make a striking contrast with the vivid oranges and pinks of the flowers. Portico’s are often to be found in Alto Adige as they allow for strolling and getting around town in spite of the bad weather which is often to be had with a mountain climate.
Anyhow, we finally headed east, the cycle path now following the ice-born, ice-grey, bubbly Adige along it’s course. This is when things began to get harder. Afternoon activities are always heavy going and it was hot and our bums were getting sore. There was no more downhill incline. The path ran flat, initially under the trees but on the last leg of the day under the August sunshine. The kms lengthened and the moaning began. When are we going to arrive? How much longer ? I thought you said the path was downhill all the way? Morale grew lower. The plain widened at Prato allo Stelvio and at that moment the apple orchards came into their own. They path wound its way among them, orderly row after orderly row, the apples glowing like green and red baubles among the leafy branches creating an almost Christmas tree affect. My mouth watered at the sight of them. But, would you believe it, when I had popped into the supermarket early that morning for supplies I had immediately gone to the fruit section in order to get us some wholesome, local apples and I stopped aghast at the sight of the tag declaring the provenance from Chile. NO!! I found out that the apples begin their harvest season from around September 10th and that therefore until then….tough luck! Those tantalising fruits were only there for the beauty of the eye, not the palate. We always fiercely desire what we can’t get, and “bah gum” I wanted that apple!! By this time we all knew that Lasa was drawing nearer and I had to drop my bombshell that we wouldn’t be consigning our bikes at the station. It doesn’t have a depot. We had to go to the next town down, Silandro, therefore, with a regretful glance towards the Fohlenhof we passed our village and began (fortunately) another exhilarating, cool and leafy descent, to the boys’ joy. So with a “Gernonimoooooo” we bombed it down, at this point, only really wanting to get the day over with. Having said this, we had to do some penance first. Once in Silandro (or Schlanders), in order to get to the station it is almost all uphill and after hours on the saddle that is the last thing you want unless you are masochistically inclined. We almost threw the bikes at the collector and then mercifully sat down to wait 50 minutes for our train back to Lasa. I just relaxed with a coke looking around me at the renovated turn of the century style station just rejoicing in my being still. The train slid into the station, bang on time and in five minutes we were back in Lasa and our apartment. A shower and supper on the table with lots to talk about made up a good evening and we even got around the snooker table in one of the public rooms, popping the balls into the pockets only that at a certain point the only place worth being in was bed.
We had categorically decided that there would be no biking the next day. This was a holiday, remember? The boy’s leg muscles ached as did my unmentionable paraphernalia and so we decided to take advantage of the Fohlenhof’s family holiday, free voucher to visit the freshwater aquarium “Acquaprad” in Prato allo Stelvio. Nico was the really keen one to go while I just went along in family spirit, not really much interested and was therefore astonishingly surprised to find that I was thoroughly enjoying myself. It belongs to a series of museums, each regarding a diverse aspect of mountain life and culture which can be found in different locations around the Val Venosta (Alps?). This unique aquarium, although not very large, gives us an in depth understanding of life in alpine lakes, torrents and rivers. The guide was extremely detailed in her explanations, and very friendly, making the effort to translate the tour into Italian for us as, guess what, all the other visitors were naturally German speaking!
Nico was transfixed by the water snakes(totally harmless but ugh), but the focal point of the aquarium is the big floor to ceiling tank with catfish, a huge 1 ½ metre pike and an Italic-Siberian sturgeon. I know that they are the ones who produce caviar but I associate them with prehistoric fish and I never imagined that these monsters swam in our rivers. Jaws put an end to my off shore swimming and now I realise that even placid, inland waters have their beasts………such as trouts. Did you know that some can become absolutely enormous with razor sharp teeth? Fair enough, they won’t eat you but they can give you a nasty nip, as our guide had experienced. All in all we spent an interesting, slow paced morning which was just what we needed. We decided to go back to Glorenza for lunch and we all had a long nap in the afternoon. I took my book out in the afternoon, down by the ping pong table, while the boys were messing about on the house bikes (they could not resist getting back on them) and soon got talking to Rudi.
He told me of the Fohlenhof’s origins, back in the days of the Empire. The emblem of the agriturismo is of a rearing horse dating back to the days when it stabled the horses necessary to the construction of the road up to the Stelvio Pass, to which we were going the next day. It was here that a new crossbreed was founded between an oriental stallion and a native mare from whom Folie was born. For 19 years Folie was used as a mounting stallion being therefore the ancestor of this new breed of mountain horse which rapidly spread and is now found all over the Alps. The breed’s name is Avelignese in Italian and Halfling in German which inevitably brings to mind the Hobbit and is actually adapt as it is a pony size horse reaching to 137 cms at the shoulder and is usually a bay colour.
He explained how the Lasa marble is quarried, way up the mountain above us in a cavern quarry, less environmentally detrimental compared to open site quarries and how the blocks are sent across the valley suspended by a cable onto a small narrow gauge railway down to the marble depot right in front of the Fohlenhof, on the other side of the railway line. This white marble is older and harder than the famous Carrara marble that is quarried in the Apuan mountains, not far from where we live. A local sculptor has a workshop in the Fohlenhof where he produces his forms of modern sculpture and participates in the most important event in Lasa which is held at the beginning of August called Marble and Apricots, naturally dedicated to it’s two most renowned products.
The Stelvio Pass is THE biker’s Mecca with it’s 49 hairpin bends to the top and has seen many a Giro D’Italia cycle race. To get up to it one has to go up to Prato allo Stelvio, pass the aquarium and then the road starts to climb. The mountains are grim, dirt grey and very intimidating with many scree slopes, witness to the disastrous receding of glaciers. They are part of the Ortler group whose highest peak is the Ortler at 3.899 m. Each bend is signposted in a countdown to the top and I can tell you that we saw many motorbikes zooming effortlessly upwards and many, many cyclists who put a lot more effort into their ascent. At a certain point the gradient rose almost perpendicularly and the zigzagging of the road could be seen all the way to the top and I can say that it certainly merits it’s acclamation as one of the most incredible mountain roads in Europe. Once at the top we went to have a snack at the Tibet refuge, looking down onto this amazing road. As I said, it isn’t a welcoming place but one must just admire both the audacity of the road and what it must have cost those who built it plus the stark austerity of the rock all around. There is summer, morning skiing on the Stelvio Glacier so there were many coming off the cable car in all their ski gear. Although I ski I did not fancy the idea myself, at this time of year and with such an austere and menacing backdrop.
The fun part of the day came when we went back down again. We had brought the Fohlenhof’s bikes along in order for the boys’ ride down, one at a time, behind their dad. I was not too keen. Being a mother can have its drawbacks, as I thought that too much speed would be picked up on such a steep gradient or else that the brakes would overheat from excessive braking and end up not braking at all and there was a lovely panel by the roadside indicating how many bikers had lost their lives down this road. Great. Therefore, the rule was that I would go down first with Enrico and one of the boys behind me. Off we went, with grumpy boys who thought that I was taking all the fun out of the ride and so therefore went so slowly as to allow me to get much further ahead so that they could accelerate in order to catch up with me. Enrico was shouting all the way down I think, so I do believe that he did do the dad bit. As they gave out victory signs to up bound cars they hugely enjoyed receiving the admiring thumbs up for having conquered the Stelvio. Impostors!
Back at the agriturismo we had a nap, I told you that we were relaxing, and then all on my lonesome, I went to find myself a waalweg. What’s that, you say? One may find many variations on this theme in drought plagued areas all over the world, from Peru to Afghanistan. A waalweg is a manmade canal that channels water from its source down mountain sides and pastures where it eventually empties into a torrent. Here, this practice dates back to medieval times and Charters were even drawn up regarding their use and maintenance and those who looked after them were regarded as important figures in society. I went on a walk to follow one up that runs above the town of Burgusio, which has, by the way, one of the best preserved castles in Alto Adige, Castel Coira. The paths are marked but notwithstanding I wasn’t quite sure that I was going in the right direction and as I was quite alone I couldn’t help of thinking of films like the Blair Witch Project and it was therefore with a sigh of relief that, after having quite exhausted myself in a long and steep climb I came onto the waalweg, rushing away in its shallow, narrow bed following the mountainside’s contour. I was disappointed that it did not last very long as at a certain point I lost track of it. I should probably have had a better map, as I came to the end of my walk having put in a lot of effort for the very little waalweg that I saw.
Having perfectly recovered from the first three quarters of our valley descent, early next morning we asked Rudi if we could use the house bikes for the last run of the Claudia Augusta cycle path. We were not running it till its end in Merano but were going to catch the train back up from Naturno. This is the part of the valley where the apples really reign supreme. It was, as it had been for the whole week, gloriously sunny and we left the Fohlenhof in high spirits revelling in the freshness of the day. We flew down to Silandro again and then progressed kilometre by kilometre through the orchards. We had noticed that all through the Val Venosta, potent water sprinklers were irrigating, alternately, different areas, be they orchards or pastures both night and day. Water does not seem to be a luxury in a valley with a notorious lack of rainfall, and I am not sure how much the waalwegs contribute nowadays. What I do know is that we got a good dampening riding though these immense sprinklers as the droplets cascaded all around us. Being already overheated from our exercise we could only squeal with delight and hope that there would be some more up ahead of us. There were a few farmers about with tractors and contraptions on wheels that looked like something decorators use going about their business. Some were cutting the grass along the rows with special mowers that are made for getting around the small tree trunks, probably cropping the grass in order the facilitate the forthcoming apple picking.
Quite a few different types of apples are grown, although the most famous are the Golden Delicious. It is a double coloured apple, green with a red blush and although the cultivation here is extensive, it is by no means on an industrial level. The farmers wish to produce, and are renowned, for this healthy, natural and above all tasty product. Supermarket chains are actually not as keen on purchasing these high quality products as they are more delicate than industrially grown ones and need particular care in handling as they can bruise easily.
The quality of the Val Venosta apples is due to the altitude, which acts as a refrigerator by night and prevents the breeding of parasites, and to a remarkable anti- freezing system. The trees are irrigated even during the cold periods and therefore the water freezes on them but actually keeps them warm on the inside, like a form of insulation. Isn’t that clever? This way the delicate buds are protected from the cold rather than destroyed by it.
By now we were almost at Naturno, we could see Castel Juval up on our left, above the village of Ciardes. This renovated castle belongs to a famous mountaineer called Reinhold Meissner who has transformed it into the Museum of the Mountains, with relics of his days climbing the Himalayas and other mountaineering memorabilia. It is open only in the spring and the autumn although it is impressive to look at even from the valley floor. There is even a waalweg walk up to it.
We were pedalling furiously away as we had a train to catch back to Lasa and we did not want to miss it. As we rode into Naturno and headed for the station we noticed that the Adige had become a fully fledged river, wide and fast flowing. We caught our train and sat down satisfied and content. We had completed (well….almost) the Claudia Augusta cycle ride and it had been entirely worth it. The combination of scenery, exercise and efficient organisation had worked together to provide an excellent recipe for a holiday. It had lived up perfectly to my expectations and I had a happy family around to prove it. Definitely an experience to pass on, don’t you think?
Anyway, our last afternoon was spent sleeping and relaxing and beginning to prepare for the next day’s departure. We ordered a crate of fantastic apricots, some grappa and chocolate to bring home and share with the grandparents and I signed my appreciation to the Gartner family in the house book. The boys had their last rides on the bikes, racing up and down alongside the railway track while Enrico and I savoured the last tranquil moments of a well deserved holiday. As always, at the end of a holiday, home isn’t such a bad idea and one looks forward to getting back and getting on with the usual routine with recharged batteries. At least, that is what is should be like. And so with light hearts, our head full of memories and our tongues eager to tell everyone what a wonderful time we had had, we set off back down through the Val Venosta, the valley of Bolzano, through the Po plain, across the Apennines and back to our little corner, in the province of La Spezia, called home.
Don't tell me......I write too much. If it comes to that, I talk too much too.
I'd say that this is more than enough for a blog so until next week,
Bye bye World.
Helene
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