Transumanza

Transumanza

Not a cloud in the sky, an Italian bluebird day and the best clear views I've seen since I arrived in Santo Stefano, as though the ancient gods decided it was ok for me to be here. After Rosa feeds me the caloric catastrophe of chocolate torte and orange coffee cake for breakfast (it would be impolite to refuse... ) I set out for Rocca Calascio... with my stick, of course. Half a mile up the road a shepherd is crossing his flock as his dog sees me and starts barking fiercely, running towards the presumed thief of his sheep. Fortunately for me, the dog is well trained and returns to his master's whistle.

The views are wide and layered with farmland, foothills and mountains. On hillsides in the near distances there is the occasional walker – going to their farms or flocks or towns – using the grassy sheep trails cutting across high up. I find the dirt trail that leads to Rocca Calascio, a castle in ruins on top of a mountain, the tiny village directly below it. It all looks a lot like the set for the cities in Lord of the Rings.

Another mile down the road two dogs are barking and running straight up the hillside toward me. I am frozen, petrified. The dogs are frantic and crazed. I remember that I have brought bribe food, my meal ticket in a way – so that I don't become their next meal as I'm sure they're starving out there all alone for months. I tear open the kryovac package of organic buffalo jerky hauled from the Butte and in a panic try to think of dog commands in Italian when several yards before the wailing dogs break the road, a large rabbit, as panicked as I am, is running for his life. The rabbit glances at me with the same thought that I have ... “Please, please chase her instead.” Poor bunny... the dogs barely give me a glance as the hare bounds up into the rocky terrain and the dogs charge up in the opposite direction. “Lucky rabbit,” I think and haul myself out of there before the dogs realize I'm also an option.

Another mile and I find the smaller, third cutoff up a steep trail and rounding a curve I catch view of the castle commanding the mountaintop and its views. Minutes pass in the sun before I realize I've been standing slack jawed and in awe. This is really what I came for – to see the non tourist Italy. Sadly, it's only a matter of time before this semi-isolated region of Abruzzo is fully discovered. The German tourists must have already found it because everyone here seems to think I'm one. Either it's the blondness or the hat but the Italian heritage that I want to manifest is escaping me for now.

After wandering the ruins and soaking up the antiquity of the grounds, the mountains and the rocks, I come across the tiny foot path that winds into the village. Rosa has directed me to her friend's restaurant for lunch. More ravioli, grilled vegetables and a glass of wine (and none of it even closely compares to Rosa's cuisine mastery) and I'm ready to fight off the canines. The village is very small – a fraction of Santo Stefano but there is much restoration going on here as well. The waiter says that four American families have purchased houses below in the lower village. As we chat, a German family with three kids walks in. I don't look anything like them.

Following the same trail back there are more sheep on the move with their masters – but no dogs. Still, I'm glad for Rosa's stick... and Mountain Earth's organic buffalo jerky.