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| old convent outside Frazzano' |
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| nearby countryside |
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| all roads lead to Galati |
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| me and my panda! |
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| Frazzano' church |
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| entrance to convent |
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| another old villa |
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| small villages dot the countyside |
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| panda waits patiently while I climb up to the convent |
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| I've travelled from beyond the last hill |
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| St Cono |
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| Steps up to the convent...I had the place to myself! |
Easter Sunday I felt like being on my own, so I took off with Panda for the day.
After visiting San Marco, I decided to go on a “trip to nowhere” something I used to do when I was younger. In those days I would take off (usually “down South”) on my own, very early in the morning with no particular destination, and I would stop when I wanted, turn off where I wanted and end up finding somewhere new to sleep, occasionally even sleeping in my car, somewhere with a water view. It was a great way of exploring and discovering new places.
It was with the same spirit of discovery that I took an unfamiliar road that seemed to cross over the mountains when I left San Marco. My destination was Frazzano, a small community that someone had mentioned in passing a few weeks ago.
As I started to climb up the first mountain road, Panda and I were in synchronicity. She moved effortlessly through the gears and hugged the sharp corners with ease. The sun warmed the side of my face and with the window down I could hear the sound of cicadas above the hum of the engine. Soon we had left all signs of habitation and the deserted road was ours for the taking. Occasionally we passed an abandoned house or a shepherd’s hut, but mainly we just cruised along past fields of wildflowers (purple, yellow and red patches of colour among the many greens), citrus and olive groves, the ubiquitous cactus and flowering cherry and almond trees.
When we came across a village, it was a brief encounter. Initially it would appear in the distance, usually a patch of terracotta squares on a hill, with the shape of a church spire or two and perhaps even the silhouette of a castle ruin in a prominent position. Then we would be at its outskirts, a sign announcing its imminent presence. Almost immediately would be a bar with someone sitting outside watching the passing traffic, then a small piazza would appear, with the obligatory cathedral or church and municipal building nearby. The road would usually skirt around the piazza and a sign would indicate the way to continue through to the next small town. As I slowed down to negotiate the haphazardly parked cars that I would inevitably find blocking the main street, I would often smell the fresh laundry hanging outside the balconies or the tomato sauce simmering on the stoves.
And in this way panda and I travelled for a few hours, through a number of small villages and towns, until it seemed we had crossed at least three mountains. Just outside Frazzano’ we stopped at a convent perched high on a hill and I left panda while I climbed the steps to look around. Around the parking area were the images of all the local patron saints and I noticed at three of them were dark skinned. It was a reminder and acknowledgment of all the various peoples (including Arab and African) who have at various times lived in the South, and seeing them reminded me of the story of the Black Madonna of Tindari.
The legend of the Black Madonna of Tindari (told to me by a number of local women) is that a mother took her child to the Madonna to seek her blessings, but on seeing that the Madonna was dark-skinned recoiled in horror and made an uncomplimentary remark. At that moment her child flew from her arms and fell from the top of the hill (where Tindari is located) to the water below. The woman became distressed and begged the Madonna to help and in an act of mercy and a demonstration of her unworldly powers, the Madonna made a bank of sand rise from the sea to cushion the child's fall and the child was saved. The story of how the Black Madonna arrived in Tindari is also interesting. It is believed that the statue which is certainly of Byzantine origin, was one of many works of art smuggled out of Constantinople in the 8th and 9th Centuries. A storm forced the ship carrying the Black Madonna into the port of Tindari, where the sailors deposited their load at the local abbey for safekeeping. She now sits behind the altar with the inscription "nigro sum sed formosa" (black am I, but beautiful).
As I leave the convent and continue along the narrow road, I wonder if I can somehow make my way back to Capo without having to retrace my steps. At the next small village I am lucky and find a small group of people chatting in the piazza. My question seems to cause some confusion with half convinced that I have to return and the other half convinced that there is a way, but it is complicated and I might not be able to find it. I ask them for the names of some major towns that I have to pass through as landmarks and they mention Galati. I am thrilled as I have been there before.
It is a solitary, but relaxing trip all the way to Galati. I look back and realise just how far I have travelled in a few short hours. As I pass the now familiar bar, small bakery and house of the “client’ I have visited here earlier, it is like coming home.
Back in Capo, my hosts can’t quite believe the trip I have done. Even though they travel to the villages I have visited for work, they were not aware of the alternative very scenic route I have discovered.
Twice now I have ended up in Galati by chance and twice I have discovered something new.
It strikes me that just as all roads lead to Rome, and in my case all roads lead to Galati, all paths in life lead back to the same place…
We can come at it in many ways, some of us may even try to avoid it, but eventually we will all return home.
A presto
Mon x
