DESTINATION: ITALY : MILD WILD : Italy’s Unexpected Abruzzo Region

I wished I could understand. The bus driver was discussing the meaning of culture with a number of teenagers as we snaked up hairpin bends from Molise into Abruzzo. I took frowning note of a half-frozen lake several hundred feet below, and strained my ears. But it was no use. The conversation was in dialect, and my Italian is minimal anyway. The meaning of culture remained a mystery.

The incident was in a way emblematic of my visit to the mountainous center of Italy. The regions of Abruzzo and Molise (formerly known jointly as the Abruzzi), lying sprawled over the spine of Italy a couple of hours’ drive southeast of Rome, are steeped in culture and history. Isolated, though, by rough terrain and harsh winters, the area (roughly behind the knee of Italy’s “boot”) is a virtual blank on many tourist maps. Its wild beauty strikes me as more akin to that of Colorado than to one’s concept of domesticated Europe, but that’s what makes it a refreshing break from the crowds and fast pace of Venice, Florence or Rome. This is not a high-end destination--no luxury hotels or grand restaurants, just nature’s beauty and bounty. And inexpensive, which was very important; I was on a round-the-world trip on a teacher’s shoestring budget.

The region had fascinated me for years, ever since I first read about the Abruzzo National Park, with its populations of wolves and bears brought back from near extinction. I also wanted to visit an ecclesiastical treasure nearby, the Benedictine Abbey (Abbazia) of San Vincenzo.

A driving tour could take in all of this, as well as the gorges of the Gran Sasso and numerous hill towns crowned by picturesque castles and churches. Without a car, though, I decided to concentrate on a few sights, and found myself falling in love with this Italian backwater.

It was April. Birds sang amid the vines. Nearby, a medieval path led down to the valley, across which a massive fortress stared back at the Abbazia San Vincenzo, as it has done for 900 years. From time to time a bell chimed.

I was a guest of the abbey, whose mother superior I’d met some years before in Washington state. To pitch in, and to get some exercise in the sun, I was working, tying young branches in the abbey’s vineyard under the direction of a local contadino (peasant).

The abbey is about 15 miles from the national park proper, but within a protected ecological zone. Mountains rise abruptly only a few miles away in any direction, the higher ones nearly always snowcapped. Fields, olive groves, vineyards and orchards carpet the valley and reach as far up the slopes as they may. Medieval villages huddle on fortified prominences, and a few more recent settlements dot the plain. Through it wanders the Volturno River.

Founded in the 7th century, the abbey has undergone several cycles of expansion, abandonment and reconstruction. During the 8th to 10th centuries it is thought to have housed 500 to 1,000 monks. In the 11th century, after being razed by Saracens, the entire establishment was moved across the river, where it survived for several centuries before succumbing to the ravages of history. Now, thanks to the abbess, Mother Miriam, and a small group of American nuns who arrived in 1990, the basilica and cloister have been rebuilt of local golden tufa according to the plans drawn in the 11th and 15th centuries; other buildings are being renovated, and the timeless Benedictine round of prayer, work and study goes on.

Excavations have unearthed a veritable monastic city, including workshops, barns, churches and some astonishing early frescoes. Those in the crypt of Epiphanius, an early abbot, are the most easily viewed (though a guide is necessary to visit any part of the excavations). Dating from the 8th century, the crypt is covered with vivid illustrations of biblical themes, mostly from the Book of Revelation--the Apocalypse--on which the community seems to have been fixated. Four angels with compasses and varicolored wings line the apse (you can almost feel the wind pulling at their feathers), while from the left a parade of virgin martyrs enters, carrying their crowns. To the right, St. Stephen appears to toss off the rocks being hurled at him. Further biblical scenes, all vaguely Byzantine in style, adorn the remaining surfaces, while the hand of God enters over a small window, illuminating everything. It’s a striking glimpse into the 8th century mind.

The abbey is open by prior arrangement to retreat participants and others respectful of the monastic rhythm. Guests are invited to participate in the abbey’s day to whatever degree they like, whether working a couple of hours in the vineyard or attending services.

Guests--men and women--stay in spacious but simply furnished rooms, and take meals (three a day) communally. I enjoyed the house wine (red and slightly sparkling), olive oil from the abbey’s groves, cheese and butter from its cows and vegetables from its garden. There is no set charge, but a donation of $40 to $50 a day is appropriate.

The countryside invites strolling; the castle at Cerro al Volturno and the hilltop villages of Rocchetta and Castel San Vincenzo are within walking distance of the abbey. A couple of fellow guests ambitiously took off up the nearest mountain. A farmer watching them asked, “Are they crazy? Bears are up there!”

The people I encountered on my walks were amazingly friendly. While I don’t speak Italian, I recognized the first question, “Where are you from?”--and sometimes I was invited for coffee. In the towns, I encountered a few people with some English, but a bilingual phrase book was sufficient to get around.

One day I took the bus to Isernia, the administrative center for the adjacent region of Molise--disparaged, I noticed, in the “Let’s Go” guide to Italy. OK, so it’s not Rome or Ravenna. It’s just a normal, fairly modern Italian town going about its business, which Rome isn’t.

Isernia does have one claim to fame: For a few years it was thought to be the home of the oldest human settlement in Europe. In the late 1970s, highway construction workers unearthed a veritable mausoleum of fossilized animal bones, accompanied by well-worn stone tools found to be 740,000 years old, suggesting this was a butchering site. (In 1994 an older site was found in Atapuerca, Spain.)

A replica of the first Isernia excavation, together with displays about the flora, fauna and habitat of the time, is in the Civic Museum, on the Piazza Santa Maria. On the day I visited, the exhibit was swarming with schoolchildren, who seem in Italy to spend much time in museums, actually interested in what they are seeing. Of course, the Isernia students may have been looking at their own ancestors’ dinner fare.

Isernia has one other claim to fame: the dubious distinction of being home to the Pontius family, as in Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor who sentenced Jesus to death. The claim is based on inscriptions from mausoleum slabs, one of which can be seen in the Fontana della Fraterna, three blocks from the Museo Civico.

During my stay in Abruzzo, the cherry trees bloomed, but then the weather turned foul. For days I watched the snow line creep down the mountains. When the skies cleared, I took the bus for the park’s highlands, noting the progressively thinning foliage and the schoolchildren in thick winter coats. My protection was limited to a woolen sweater and a polar fleece vest.

I was headed for Civitella Alfedena, a hilltop village 30 miles north of Isernia, just outside the national park. The park was established in 1922 and has gradually grown; even today lands continue to be acquired. Outside its current 66,000 acres, 90,000 surrounding acres of mountain, village and farm make up an external protection zone. It’s a paradise for the outdoors person, with miles of trails through forests and alpine meadows, along rivers and through ancient villages and ruins.

In season--May to October--you can rent a bike, horse or mule for exploring, go canoeing or windsurfing on the lakes, or take a guided excursion. (Visitors must stay on trails, and there are only a few approved campsites.)

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the season. Alfedena and the surrounding mountains were under a foot of snow. My expectations of spectacular hikes and potential encounters with chamois and wolf were dashed. The citizens were philosophically digging out their charming and now treacherous cobblestone streets, while the unpleasantly familiar whine of tires on ice pierced the air.

Since there was no hope of exploring the back country, I dropped into the Museo del Lupo. The modest museum, which also houses the information center for this area of the park, is devoted to the history, social life and rescue from extinction of the Apennine wolf, part of an educational program similar to American wolf-protection campaigns. The park now boasts about 50 wolves. In the end, I wasn’t fortunate enough to see or hear any of them, but it was nice to know they were there. Other “star” species here are lynx, red deer (similar to our elk) and the Marsican brown bear, plus 230 species of birds, including the golden eagle.

It was a little jarring to learn that the Marsican bear (Ursus arctos marsicanus), of which there are 100 or so in the park, must by its Latin name be a close relative of our grizzly (Ursus arctos horribilis), which it in fact resembles. The tourist literature didn’t advise any particular precautions, noting merely that while the Marsican bear was not known to be aggressive, it was best to be careful. Maybe Mediterranean bears are more laid-back.

One drawback to having come in the off-season, besides the weather (“Non e normale,” I was assured), was that many restaurants were closed--though bars were cheerfully open. In a tiny grocery store, I bought a sandwich for lunch, then strolled around.

Alfedena is one of those medieval villages set upon a crag, and it was nearly abandoned a few decades ago due to poverty and emigration. The popularity of the park has brought the village back to life. New and restored buildings, happily, retain the original architectural style and flavor. Together with Pescasseroli and Barrea, Civitella Alfedena is one of the park’s main centers of tourist services.

Cleverly, I determined to walk downhill, away from the snow. After a descent of 1,000 feet or so, I was out of the snow zone, although mud forced me to stick to the roads. I followed the shoreline of Lake Barrea, crossed the Sangro River and climbed back up to Civitella Alfedena.

All around, snow-covered peaks burst through field and forest and swept up to the sky. Horses and other livestock grazed on the lower slopes, apparently coexisting with the wolves and bears. The park is organized more on the lines of the Adirondacks than as a typical American national park, with some zones dedicated to nature alone and others to agriculture and traditional uses.

The only other Americans I met were a few Abruzzese--natives who’d emigrated and were back for a visit.

That evening I picnicked in my room at Albergo la Torre, though I could have dined in the hotel. Game was big on local menus then, the tag end of winter, with venison and wild boar apparent favorites. My room, a single, was small but modern, the only problem being its open-plan bathroom--that is, with a shower but no stall or curtain; after a shower, there was not a dry square inch. And it was cold; conservation laws limit the hours for central heating.

The morning dawned in a downpour. So I did the sensible thing and boarded a bus, which soared up and down 20 miles of narrow mountain roads and out the west end of the park.

Next time, I’ll come in summer or early fall. It will be more crowded, and prices will be higher, but the back country will be accessible, and temperatures, I am told, will be balmy. And next time, maybe, I’ll understand the meaning of culture.

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GUIDEBOOK

Parking in Italy

Getting there: Delta and Alitalia fly from LAX to Rome with one stop, no change of plane. Round-trip fare starts at $830.

By car from Rome, take Autostrada Roma-L’Aquila to Autostrada A25 and exit at Pescina; take highway S83, which traverses the park through Pescasseroli, Barrea and Alfedena, to Route 17 and Isernia.

There is train service from Rome to Avezzano, where a bus traverses the park.

Where to stay: The Albergo la Torre, Civitella Alfedena, telephone and fax 011-39- 0864-890121, charged me about $40 a night. Breakfast or dinner can be arranged.

Doing the park: Parco Nazionale d’Abruzzo has a Web site, https://www.pna.it. In summer, camping is allowed in a few campgrounds and in back-country refuges; reservations must be made in advance. For information: Ufficio di Operativo Pescasseroli, fax 011-39-0863-912132; or the Ufficio di Zona Civitella Alfedena, Via S. Lucia, 67030 Civitella Alfedena, fax 011-39-0864-890141.

Abbazia San Vincenzo is open to retreatants by arrangement. Write to Abbazia San Vincenzo, Rocchetta al Volturno, 86070 Isernia; tel. 011- 39-0865-955246.

For Isernia-area farm stays and hotels, check the Isernia tourism Web site at https://www.netpoint.it/piaceremolise/agritur.htm.

Things to do: The Abbazia San Vincenzo’s basilica and gift shop can be visited from 10 a.m. to noon and 3 to 5 p.m. most days; tours of the excavations can be arranged through the abbey.

Maps of the national park are sold at park offices in the main villages. In summer, guided excursions are offered on foot, on horseback or by boat to some of the most scenic areas; book through one of the park offices (Ufficio di Operativo Pescasseroli, as above).

For more information: Italian Government Tourist Board, 12400 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 550, Los Angeles, CA 90025; tel. (310) 820-0098, fax (310) 820- 6357, Internet https://www.italiantourism.com.