Something is in the air in Scanno.  Maybe not love exactly, but certainly a frisson of excitement.  And is that wedding bells I hear? Ju Catenacce is about to begin.

It’s the eve of Ferragosto. The terrace of the Caffè Santa Maria in Piazza San Rocco is filling up. The square is confined on one side by a church, and people are bagging places with a good view of the chapel door.

Across the square, at the open end of the terrace, narrow streets meander up and away towards the centre of town, and people are lining up there too.

At last, down the road floats a smiling young woman.  In her long gown with its full skirt, her regal bearing is in stark contrast to the dishevelled, shuffling crowd of onlookers. This graceful beauty is followed by others, many on the arms of their ‘bridegrooms’: when they have all paired up and posed for photographs, the couples disappear inside the chapel to be ‘married’.

Traditionally, only one couple is formally, actually, married during Ju Catenacce, the yearly wedding ceremony held on 14 August in Scanno.  The name, in dialect, means ‘chain’ and it refers to the procession that winds round the town after the ceremony. This is a re-enactment of the weddings of long ago, when the bride and her new in-laws would parade through the streets under a steady shower of confetti and coins from well-wishers for good luck and prosperity. It is not clear when the Ju Catenacce tradition began, but there is mention of it in mid-eighteenth century texts.

As with all nuptials, there is a lot of hanging about.  As we wait impatiently for the couples to re-emerge, I take a look across the road at the small statue of San Rocco, up there in his niche in the sturdy clock tower of the church named after him. Though San Rocco is usually invoked against the plague, he is also the patron saint of, amongst other things, bachelors. How apt, I think, that the weddings should take place in his piazza. On this day, as he looks down benignly on multiple unions, I guess he can bask in a little bit of glory.

Eventually the couples step out of the chapel, pausing briefly on the threshold for photos.  We, the onlookers, now become the wedding guests as we follow the band and the bridal couples in a cheerful, noisy procession around the town.

Later, following a group photo on the steps of the church of Santa Maria della Valle, we find ourselves back in Piazza San Rocco. 

As the couples mingle, I get the chance to scrutinize the brides’ costumes.  I am intrigued by their hats which, though high and box-like, are surprisingly flattering and elegant. The women’s hair is intertwined with silk thread called ‘lacci’ and gathered at the back in a snood, sometimes decorated with gold coins.

Around their necks the brides wear the presentosa, a piece of jewellery originating in Abruzzo around the seventeenth century. The design of this filigree pendant recalls the rose windows of churches and it usually has one or two hearts at its centre. Traditionally, it was given to the bride by the groom’s parents.

After some ceremonial speeches, the couples dance a quadriglia in the square. The dance is graceful and restrained but smiles and laughter are never far away.

There is no wedding banquet – at least not for us, the uninvited guests – but as the hot summer’s day softens into a balmy dusk, we are all offered some pan dell’orso, the traditional cake of Scanno.

All you need to know

Ju Catenacce begins in the Piazza San Rocco, Scanno, in the late afternoon of 14 August every year. See here for directions to Scanno.

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Déjeuner sur L’herbe

Never mind, in the borgo of Calascio we find a bar where the owner does a line in sardonic wit (free) and sandwiches (reasonably priced).  We take our sandwiches out to a grassy promontory. Though the sun is shining, the breeze from the Gran Sasso carries a memory of snow. We are at 1400 metres above sea level and the world is at our feet. 

Having finished our lunch and brushed off the crumbs, we set off on the 3km hike to the actual Rocca but we are not yet out of the higher part of the borgo when we come across a cosy-looking trattoria. This rankles just a little, for though there was nothing wrong with our sandwiches we are assailed by an aroma that promises more than just a cheese roll. Today’s special is on the menu board: fettuccine and asparagus. Dammit.

There’s little to do except order coffee, which we take at the bar while chatting to Canadian tourists who have just enjoyed the fettuccine and look like cats that got the cream. We wish them happy travels and set off again, forgetting to pay for our coffee.

A Tale of Two Villages

Calascio has about 120 inhabitants; instead the mediaeval borgo of Rocca Calascio, situated 200m above and nestling just under the castle itself, has even fewer. The higher village was mostly destroyed during the 1703 earthquake in L’Aquila and since then has endured a slow agony of abandonment. Recently, some restoration work has been done to accommodate tourists. Hopefully permanent residents will follow.

How many Roccas are there in Abruzzo I wonder as I climb. The name can mean castle or fort and it seems that, for protection in violent and unpredictable times, every mediaeval hill town in these parts needed one. The name can be extended to include the habitat around the castle. Many times I have heard people abbreviating the names of their home towns to ‘la Rocca’.

But Rocca Calascio is so well known that it has become a symbol of the Abruzzi hinterland, just as the trabocchi symbolize the coast. It is one of the most photographed spots in the region and is also a film star, having featured in at least four films, including Ladyhawke.

The twelfth century Rocca is also one of the highest in Italy, and is included in the National Geographic’s top 15 castles in the world. It is set in the spectacular Parco Nazionale del Gran Sasso e Monti della Laga.

Part of Rocca Calascio’s charm is undoubtedly the adjacent iconic church of Santa Maria della Pietà, built by the villagers around the beginning of the seventeenth century, probably in gratitude to the Madonna for saving them from brigands.

The Medici in Abruzzo

As we pick our way from the castle ruins to the church over the uneven, tufty grass, I think of sheep and Florence. This area was important to the flourishing wool industry in my home city during the rule of the Medici. Francesco I, Grand Duke of Tuscany, took control of nearby Santo Stefano di Sessanio for the production of ‘carfagna‘, a soft, dark wool used for military uniforms and clerical garments.

The wool was processed in Florence and exported all over Europe. In other words, the sheep from this area contributed to the fortune of the Medici and to the wealth of the city of Florence.

And it is just at this moment in my reflections that I remember the unpaid coffee in the trattoria, so we leave the Rocca and hurry back to the village to pay our debts.

All you need to know

Many roads lead to Rocca Calascio. From Santo Stefano di Sessanio take Strada Provinciale 7. From Campo Imperatore, first Strada Provinciale 17bis and then SP7.

From Rome or Milan, take the motorway to L’Aquila, exit L’Aquila Est and take SS17 as far as Barisciano (about 18km), and then head towards Santo Stefano di Sessanio.

From Pescara, A25 and exit at Bussi sul Tirino, direction L’Aquila. Head to Capestrano, and turn right for Ofena (16km); after 1.5km turn left and head to Calascio.

Leave your car in the carpark in Calascio and follow the easy path up to the Rocca.

Parking is free.

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Still, even now, even here in this quiet town in the hills of Abruzzo, getting ambushed by decibels is not out of the question. Hurtling down the empty street is a vehicle, windows open, music blaring, passengers yelling. I glimpse the occupants as the car roars past: just some teenagers out to beat small-town ennui. In a moment or two they’re gone, the silence folds in again, the dust settles, and so does my galloping pulse.

Torre della Libertà

It’s easy to get lost in Villalago and I do, a lot. In tiny squares appropriated by residents as their backyards I find men stretched out on sunbeds, dozing off their Sunday lunch.  I retreat, feeling like a trespasser.

Two women, possibly the only inhabitants (apart from a few rowdy teens) currently awake in this little town, are sitting on their doorstep amid pots of geraniums. ‘I’m lost’, I announce. The older one smiles in delight, then tells me just to follow the road up to ‘la rocca’.  The views are marvellous she says. 

Behind the women, tucked in among the grey stone houses, is an interesting looking cylindrical tower.  A printed card propped on a nearby chair, (along with an aggressive-looking cactus, should you get any strange ideas about actually sitting down), tells me that this is the Torre della Libertà.

It seems the citizens of Villalago of the 1500s were of independent mind, and the tower bears witness to their refusal to bow to their landlords. It is locally called La Torretta, the little tower, from which I can assume that somewhere there is a bigger one.

I ask the women about the For Sale sign in the window.  The older one shrugs: someone has had the bad idea of converting the tower into apartments. Then she smiles again.  Isn’t Abruzzo beautiful? I smile back  in agreement.

La Rocca

I bid the women goodbye and, following their advice, climb up yet another flight of stairs to la rocca, which turns out to be the larger tower, probably part of the medieval castle.  It now houses a twin-roomed country-life museum and through the bars I glimpse ancient farming tools and the like.

But I’m more interested in the view, which is indeed worth the climb. Far down below, scrubby hills rear up on either side of the magnificent, sinuous gorge, the Gole di Sagittario. I catch a flash of emerald – a corner of the Lago di San Domenico is just visible.

Escher’s Etchings

In the late 1920s the Dutch artist M.C. Escher roamed Abruzzo, taking inspiration from the landscape for his etchings and drawings. He spent time here in Villalago – a fact of which the town is evidently rather proud, given the number of plaques referring to his work. In a shadowy corner there is a reconstruction of his famous 1934 etching Still Life with Mirror, which reflects the lane from a dressing table mirror, itself surrounded by toiletry items.

Maybe it was Escher who inspired the artistic touches I find tucked away round corners and under arches. Here is a suspended sculpture, another example of Villalago’s challenging outdoor seating arrangements.

The way down is more straightforward because at last I find the main flight of steps, wide and mostly straight, that I missed on the way up. Here is the Romanesque church of the Madonna di Loreto, and at the foot of the steps, a fountain with drinking water, guarded by the statue of a bear. There is also the main café with a pleasant terrace but with only two patrons, both of whom appear to be tourists.

No lack of lakes

It is generally assumed that ‘lago’ in the town’s name refers to the nearby Lago di San Domenico, known also as the emerald lake.  But there is no lack of lakes in the area and three of them are within walking distance of Villalago.

I come upon one while heading southwards out of town.  Smaller than Domenico, and less striking, Lago Pio is nevertheless pretty and wonderfully serene. It’s fringed with maple trees, and – hallelujah – furnished with benches all around. There are ducks and herons and fish and, I am told, if you’re lucky you might see whole families of deer when they come down to drink.

From here the main road proceeds to the much grander and more popular Scanno lake and on the way, a fine restaurant.  But that’s another story.

For now, I take a quiet road which passes through a leafy park. This road later becomes a foot and bicycle path, an easy, traffic-free route to Scanno lake. (Note for walkers: a footpath also joins San Domenico lake and Villalago, meaning that San Domenico-Scanno Lake can be covered on foot).

Meanwhile, in the cool green park, I discover life. First, the thwack of tennis balls; then the murmur of human voices. That’s when I see the bar and the tennis courts, where some local children are having a lesson. Between thwacks they glance anxiously over to the sidelines where their parents are too busy gossiping to pay any atttention to their budding Wimbledon champs. Other townspeople of all ages are milling around, enjoying ice creams and beer, shooting the breeze.

Ah, so that’s where everyone is.

All you need to know

From the Rome-Pescara motorway (A25), exit Cocullo. Take Strada Provinciale 479.

Or by train Roma-Pescara, to Anversa-Villalago-Scanno, or to Sulmona and thereafter by bus.  (info 0864-210469)

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It is the oldest sculpted figure in Italy, the Guerriero di Capestrano.

The warrior has been identified as Nevio Pompuledio. But more interesting to me is what the sculpture reveals about the craftsmanship of a people – the Piceni – who lived in an era almost too distant and too different to imagine, in a landscape which instead has perhaps altered little.

Back to the present

When we arrive in Capestrano on a sunny morning in April the castle is closed and, for different reasons, the church too, so we head for one of two bars in the main square. There are seats outside on the terrace but I venture inside to find something to eat.

Inside, the owner, a middle-aged woman with hair the colour of a ripe victoria plum, is on the phone taking a booking for lunch. She gives me a ‘be-with-you-in-a-minute’ nod and with little else to do, I devote myself to eavesdropping. Time passes as the caller fusses about the proposed menu. I can’t help admiring the patient and relaxed way the woman answers every question.

In a northern city this prolonged wait might be enough to raise tension levels a notch but here in the hills of Abruzzo the conversation is calm and unhurried. The lunch, I learn, is for 12 guests, a few days from now.  Looking round the cramped, slightly gloomy interior, I find it hard to imagine where they might sit. On the terrace, no doubt, (though on the day of the lunch, I am sad to report, it rained cats and dogs).

At last the call comes to an end and I order our coffees and the solitary cake – a sort of crostata crammed with almonds, walnuts and hazelnuts – and return to the sunny terrace. Though we’re more than 450m above sea level, the air is warm, and fragrant with the first blossoms. Our coffees arrive and the crostata turns out to be delicious. We sit back and look around us.

Castello Piccolomini

This pretty little town was probably formed around the ninth century by some stragglers who’d been wandering the valley since the Lombard invasion and destruction of their home, the important Roman centre of Aufinum. Over the centuries the citizens of Capestrano were governed by a series of powerful families, including the Acquaviva, whom we met in Atri, as well as the Medici, Grand Dukes of Tuscany, and the ambitious patricians of Siena, the Piccolomini, whose name lives on at the castle, their former home.

The Castello Piccolomini stands like a fortress at one end of the square, the church, now caged in scaffolding following the earthquake that destroyed nearby L’Aquila, at the other.

John of Capestrano

There might, though, be something else to see.  On the way into town, I noticed that here in Capestrano is the house where St. John was born. I decide to find out more from the kind and patient bar owner, who is wiping down some nearby tables. Showing off that I know of more than one saint bearing the name, I ask her which one was born here.

‘Just a local saint’, she shrugs. I press for more details. She tells me that pilgrims come here because St. John has been known to work miracles. I detect a note of scepticism.

‘But’, she adds, giving a nearby table an unnecessarily aggressive wipe, ‘I took my husband down there and he’s just the same as ever’.

Undeterred, I set off for the house alone, down intimate lanes flanked by quaint, crooked houses in bleached stone. Sometimes I catch glimpses of the valley below and I imagine there are days when a bitter wind comes howling up through the gaps between the houses.

Today the air is still and raised voices sail across to me from an open window. I soon discern that the subject of the argument is food and feel reassured. All is as it should be.

At last I arrive at the house of St. John, a modest cottage in hewn stone like the others, but with a generous view of the valley and the mountains beyond.

The saint, I learn, though he was born here, spent much of his long life away from the place, (also studying in Fiesole, near Florence), and he is mainly known as an evangelist and inquisitor. In the latter role he doesn’t seem to have been too tender-hearted.

Coincidentally, he was born on 24 June, the feast day of one of the other St. Johns in my pitiful personal pantheon: that is, the Baptist, patron saint of Florence

Il Guerriero di Capestrano

But let’s return to our Warrior, whose fame and connections with Capestrano surpass those of St. John. The original sculpture, which was a funerary stele, is in the archaeological museum in Chieti, though there is a copy in the Castello Piccolomini.

I have seen the famous warrior. You can read about the experience here.

He stands tall and straight and is armed to the teeth. Neither his dainty hands nor the feminine roundness of his hips and thighs – and not even his headgear, more like a jaunty sombrero than a helmet – detract from the nobility of his stature and expression.

The sculpture is no sideboard ornament. It stands over two metres tall, excluding the base. To think that such an enormous and equisitely carved block of stone lay undisturbed under the earth for 25 centuries till Michele came digging.

Now that’s what I call a miracle.

All you need to know

To get to Capestrano: follow the A24 dei Parchi, Roma-L’Aquila, exit L’Aquila Est, and then SS17 and SS153.

From Pescara, the A25 Pescara-Roma, exit Bussi Popoli, take the SS5 and then SS153.

Currently the Castello Piccolomini is open only on Saturdays and Sundays to facilitate restoration work. Opening hours: 10am-12.30pm, 3-6pm.

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Were I not so impatient to see a certain exhibit, I would linger in the gardens, cool off by the fountains, sigh over the views. Later, I tell myself.

The museum is a gem

Inside, the spaces are airy and uncluttered, the staff courteous and informed. They hover nearby, ready to answer questions. All the exhibits are meticulously labelled and explained in Italian, with a (mostly) good English translation.

The Guerriero di Capestrano, the main object of our visit, is on the ground floor of the Museum but it is placed near the exit.  A wise strategy.  Anything afterwards that is not Michelangelo’s David would be an anti-climax.

Dulcis in fundo, as the Romans said (or at least that’s what Italians will tell you when you’re too impatient to get to the pud).  Leave the best to last.

I imagined we would make a beeline for the Guerriero and rush through the rest.  But I underestimated the rest. This is a truly impressive collection of artefacts, mostly extracted from tombs, illustrating the lives and deaths of the peoples that inhabited Abruzzo in pre-Roman times – the Sabines, Frentani, Aequi and Marsi; the Vestini, Peligni, Piceni, Marrucini and Carricini.

From tiny bronze buckles to carved funeral beds made of bone, embellished with exquisitely wrought figures, from misshapen coins to delicate bracelets that would attract admiring glances even today, this is a truly satisfying banquet.

And we haven’t even got to dessert.  

The Lady of Capestrano

Before we get to the Guerriero, we find his twin piece, his lady, the Dama di Capestrano, found at the same time. Only her torso remains. Smaller and less celebrated than her Warrior, she is important in her own way. Being the only female statue from the time, she provides vital information on how women of the period wore their robes, (pinned at the shoulder by two brooches), and their hair, (in braids to one side).

The Warrior

When I finally get there I am grateful to be alone.  The family with several lovely (I’m sure), children is absorbed elsewhere, my companions lost in some other room gazing at ancient coins.  So it’s just me and the Warrior.

He is awesome, in the true sense of the word. It is one of the most impressive sculptures I have ever seen, and I live in the city of the aforementioned David.

I stare up at him for a long time, identifying the various weapons strung across his chest, marvelling at his small delicate hands. Then I walk in a slow circle around him, admiring his back and broad shoulders, his profile. And back to the front again.

I am beguiled and bewitched. And just a little overwhelmed. He towers over me. But I still feel intimately drawn to him.

It must be the setting. The artful lighting throws his shadow against the back wall so that he is everywhere. The effect is stunning.

We owe the setting to the artist Mimmo Palladino. who wrote ‘I wanted almost to purify the Guerriero of any significance that defines him historically and dates him. Whoever looks at him must draw suggestions that go beyond his chronological collocation.’

And yet, and yet ….  how can you NOT place him historically? For this magnificent sculpture, over two metres tall, is around 25 centuries old.  How can you gaze at him without thinking of the craftsmanship of the people that roamed Abruzzo in the 5th and 6th centuries BC?  A land where, even now, perhaps, there are places where no one has since set foot and where, in fact, the statue lay buried and unseen until less than a century ago.

You can find details of the location and circumstances of his discovery here.

I am reluctant to leave. But out in the garden, we enjoy the views, the fountain and the trees, feeling fully satisfied the way you do after a delicious meal.

Where to find it

In Chieti, head for Porto Andrea

Address: Via Guido Costanzi, 3, 66100 Chieti

Opening hours 9am– 19.30.  Closed on Mondays. Ticket office closes 30 minutes earlier. Tickets cost 4 euro, reduced 2 euro.

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The statue of Ennio Flaiano guards the entrance to the oldest part of the city of Pescara where he was born. Poet, author, playwright, collaborator of Federico Fellini, and the first winner of the prestigious Strega literary award, Flaiano was fond of aphorisms.

One of his favourites is written on the plinth of the statue: la felicità consiste nel non desiderare che ciò che si possiede.  Happiness consists in desiring only what you possess. A wise maxim, you might think, but one which Flaiano himself failed to honour, since he wasted little time in abandoning his native city and all he possessed, and decamping to Rome in search of … well, happiness.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We’ll be returning to Pescara Vecchia later, but for now let’s go back to where we left off, in the ‘new’ Pescara, at the Lungomare.

If, at the Fontana la Nave, you turn your back on the sea, you’ll find yourself on Corso Umberto I. Wide, tree-lined and traffic-free, ‘Il Corso’ leads from the beach to the bus and railway station. About a third of the way along, it spreads into a huge piazza.

Living Room Square

One of the first squares in Pescara to emerge from the rubble after the second World War was aptly named Piazza della Rinascita (Rebirth). Nobody, though, calls it by its proper name. Intended as the new heart of the post-war community, a place for citizens to convene and converse, it is fondly known to locals as Piazza Salotto:  Living Room Square.

It looks sprucer today, having gained some fancy eating and drinking places and, recently, an interactive (un)musical fountain, but its function is the same. Shoppers and strollers ambling down Il Corso are obliged to cross it, and might linger a while on one of its benches.

It is also a popular venue for various forms of entertainment. This is where, in 2006, when Italy won the football World Cup, the team’s two Abruzzesi players were given a rock star’s welcome by a deliriously happy crowd.

Il Corso is the scene of the daily passeggio, the late afternoon social stroll. On either side are the same international stores that line main streets from Manhattan to Melbourne. For posher boutiques you have to turn into elegant via Firenze.

Here, especially on Saturday afternoons, strut well-dressed shoppers, some a little over-the-top perhaps, who will afterwards head to the trendy restaurants or bars on via Cesare Battisti around the covered market, now a favoured spot of Pescara’s aperitivo crowd.

Architecture

The different stages in Pescara’s history linger on in its architecture. The colours, now faded, of 1960s optimism still embellish the palazzi around Piazza Salotto. Elsewhere, nineteenth century mansions and their gardens bravely resist the encroachment of shining new glass and steel apartment buildings which, particularly along the seafront, jut out like the prows of cruise ships. Towards the port, traditional brick fishermen’s cottages, now dilapidated and abandoned, crouch beneath tower blocks.

The fascist period, instead, is reflected in the city chambers and clock tower, built in the years following Pescara’s merger with Castellammare.  Solemn and solid, the buildings were designed to intimidate and inspire awe.

Pescara Vecchia

The oldest part of Pescara – the original area of Aternum – is beyond the city chambers on the southern side of the river. It became Pescara Vecchia, old Pescara, when the modern city centre moved to the northern shore.

Nearby is the Museo delle Genti d’Abruzzo, about life in Abruzzo from prehistoric times to the Industrial Revolution.

But the heart of this shabby, run-down neighbourhood of narrow streets, is Corso Manthoné, which recently enjoyed something of a revival due to its interesting nightlife.  

This is where Pescara’s most famous son, Gabriele D’Annunzio, was born.  The house was restored by D’Annunzio himself in honour of his beloved mother, but it took a battering during the war.  It is now a rather sparsely furnished museum that doesn’t hold a candle to Il Vittoriale, D’Annunzio’s last spectacular home, brimming with curiosities, on Lake Garda in the north of Italy.

D’Annunzio’s mother is buried in an ostentatious and, in my opinion, rather ugly tomb in the nearby Cathedral of San Cetteo, to which D’Annnunzio dedicated personal funds.

It’s not easy to avoid D’Annunzio in Pescara Vecchia. Reminders are everywhere. On one wall is his portrait, while written in cursive on the metal roll-down shutter of a popular bar is his most famous poem, La Pioggia nel Pineto.

But, as mentioned above, it is that other famous Pescarese, Ennio Flaiano, whose statue stands guard at Corso Manthoné. Fittingly, he stands facing outwards, turning his back on the city of his birth.

Pescara Station

Before we leave Pescara, it’s worth mentioning the railway. This (and the old station, which was not hit) was the target of allied bombs in 1943 that killed 3000 people (some reports give the figure nearer to 6000) and destroyed well over 1000 buildings.  A German train travelling the line, packed with explosives, was also hit, and pieces of flying shrapnel injured people for miles around, including my inlaws’ closest friend, who lost his eye.

The railway once ran right through the city, splitting it down the middle. Traffic was regulated by a series of level crossings. Spare a thought for the hungry motorist, speeding home for his midday meal but brought to an abrupt halt by the descending barrier (called a croce di Sant’Andrea, St. Andrew’s Cross), and with no option but to switch off the engine and endure the soporific effect of interminable goods carriages rattling past.

With the building of the new station in the 1980s, the railway was raised above the city streets and the inconvenience brought to an end.  Now train travellers heading north or south can enjoy a fleeting glimpse into the windows of apartment blocks and the lives of the Pescaresi who inhabit them.

For information on Pescara: Pro Loco Pescara Aternum

Pescara is 210 km from Rome and can be reached by autostrada A24 or a daily bus service

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Ah yes, she said, without turning around from the pasta pot. Today’s the Festa di Sant’Andrea.

Now, being Scottish, I know perfectly well that St. Andrew’s feast day is on 30 November and not in July. But I said nothing. This was my mother-in-law.

And anyway, what difference does it make if St. Andrew’s Day is celebrated in Scotland on 30 November with ceilidhs and haggis, and in Pescara in the height of summer with a procession of fishing boats? After all, Saint Andrew the Apostle is not just the patron saint of Scotland (and a host of other places as well), but also of fishermen.

And so it is that on the last Sunday morning in July, following Mass in the church of Sant’Andrea, during which the statue of the saint is blessed by the bishop, we join a procession winding its way to the port. We cross an area where abandoned fishermen’s cottages are dwarfed by new apartment blocks, and pass along the Lungomare, where tanned beachgoers turn to gape.

At the front of the procession is a brass band, playing Navy tunes, followed by the bishop and the mayor, and other dignitaries, with a group of faithful citizens bringing up the rear.

The most important figure is, of course, the statute of the saint. At one time it was borne aloft on a float; now practical needs have overridden tradition and it is wheeled along on a truck, a change I worry might have dented the saint’s dignity.

At the port, the statue is transferred to a boat, and those citizens lucky enough to be invited swarm aboard. We are not one of them. Instead we join the crowd on the wharf and watch the boats sail under the Ponte del Mare and out towards the open sea, where a fleet of fishing boats await them.

The procession then sails along the coast as far as Montesilvano, where a laurel wreath is thrown into the water to commemorate those drowned at sea.

And yes, there are morning fireworks.

And for a few nights, along the Pescara Lungomare, snaking between stalls flogging everything from underwear to kitchenware and fried fish to candyfloss, is a seething mass of revellers. If you don’t like crowds it’s not something to attempt.  But if you endure you will be rewarded, for around midnight on the final evening the crowd descends to the beach to watch a dazzling fireworks display, a brilliantly choreographed duel of light between fountains flaring upwards from the sea and sparks showering from the sky.

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For what would Pescara be without the sea, without its lungomare and luxurious lidos, its pier and pescatori? 

What would it be without its marina and mega yachts? 

A fitting name

The city’s name (but for one letter, the same as the verb meaning to fish) evokes the sea. It was around the year 1000 that Aternum, as the Romans called it, became Piscaria, like the river on whose banks it stood. In 1927 the town was joined with Castellammare Adriatico on the river’s northern shore. Efforts to revert to the Roman name were thwarted by Pescara’s most famous son, Gabriele D’Annunzio, who appealed directly to Mussolini.

The Ponte del Mare

Pescara is a modern city, much of it built after the Second World War, when it was partly destroyed by heavy allied bombing and by the withdrawing German army.

Some of it is so modern it gleams. Take the new pedestrian and cycle bridge, the Ponte del Mare, that extends the lungomare and the Adriatic Cycle Path over the river. Steel girders glint as it sweeps skywards and swoops down again to the south side, towards the panoramic wheel and the porto turistico, where crowds flock in the summer to concerts and summer fairs, pausing on the way to wish themselves aboard the billionaires’ yachts docked at the quay.

If lidos were cars

And then there are the lidos, or ‘bagni’ as they are called here. Pescara beach joins that of Montesilvano to the north in a seamless 10km stretch of golden sand.  But if lidos were cars, Pescara’s would be Ferrari compared to the Fiat Pandas of its northern neighbour  Some have their own swimming pool, most have restaurants or at least a fancy cocktail bar. On the beach, instead of umbrellas, there might be imitation palms, offering enough shade for 12 people.

As we stroll northwards along the broad and pleasant lungomare, or the riviera, we stop to watch a game of beach volley. The young players are, of course, lithe and athletic, the picture of health and fitness. There is little clothing but lots of glistening bare skin, dusted here and there by grains of golden sand. As I watch, the thought comes, not without a pang, that in my own cold-climate adolescence I might have missed out.

The riviera widens into the Largo Mediterraneo, a bustling square flanked on one side by palazzi and on the other the beach. It is a popular place to meet and mingle, as well as being the symbolic meeting place of the sea and the city.

Fontana la Nave

It is only natural that one of the city’s symbols is a ship. On the beach side of the Largo is a modern sculpture in Carrara marble, the Fontana La Nave, by Pescara-born Pietro Cascella. The design is of a galley propelled by oars.Though its position has an unobstructed view of the sea, the prow faces inwards, as if to directs its seafaring energy and power towards the city itself.

I have seen this fountain in another setting. It was initially exposed in Piazza Santa Croce in landlocked Florence, the connection being that the then mayor of the Tuscan city was a descendant of Gabriele D’Annunzio. The sculptor Cascella also lived and died in Tuscany. But the ship fits better here on the Pescara riviera.

The Largo is often the scene of concerts and events, which spill onto the beach. And from here begins the main shopping street, Il Corso.

Another Pescara

For it’s not summer all the time and there is indeed life in Pescara away from the sea. Inland are commercial offices, residential areas, schools and a university, a hospital and cemeteries, a bus and train station (a colossal glass and concrete edifice once described by my mother-in-law, after spending 15 frustrating minutes trying to locate the exit, as ‘beautiful but not practical’), an airport and an industrial zone. And then there are the shops.

That is where we’re going next.

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I’m assured it’s correct. Fifty, it seems, is a normal May Day lunch gathering around these parts. Several women take part in the preparation of a meal that will satisfy several families and a multitude of friends and hangers-on.

Gabriella suggests I get in touch before making Le Virtù so she can give me some extra tips. I don’t tell her that the chances of me ever producing Le Virtù for 50 people are just marginally stronger than me winning the Eurovision Song Contest.

Even if I had the skills, this is a dish that requires stamina and patience, not to mention an intimate familiarity with the region’s produce and cooking traditions.

Below, for all those more ambitious than myself, is Gabriella’s recipe for Le Virtù. There are simpler, shorter recipes around, but this one is traditional, handed down through generations. I have copied and translated it faithfully, doing battle with names of ingredients in the Teramano dialect that change just a few kilometres down the road.

Reduce quantities for a more manageable number of guests.

Le Virtù Teramane

(serves about 50)

Ingredients

Herbs/flavouring for the soffritto (mirepoix):  large bunch of parsley; large bunch of dill, roughly chopped*; small bunches of thyme leaves and marjoram leaves; 4 spring onions, diced; 4 celery stalks, diced; 3 carrots, diced.

* Note from Gabriella: dill is the essential ingredient, giving the dish a particular flavour.

Vegetables: 1.5kg borage, roughly chopped; 1.2kg sow thistle; 11 artichokes, boiled and sliced; 700g raw spinach, chopped; 1kg chard, chopped; 600g cress; 500g green beans, cut into small cubes; 4kg fava beans; 1kg peas; 400g endives, cleaned chopped and boiled; 2 small lettuces, chopped; 4 zucchine, diced.

Dried pulses, (soaked the night before and boiled, separately, al dente, conserving the cooking water):  800/1000g pinto beans; 250g black-eyed peas; 300g haricot beans; 400g cannellini beans; 500g brown lentils; 200g runner beans; 500g chickpeas, (runner beans and chickpeas should be soaked for 24 hours).

Meat and bones:  1kg prosciutto cut into small cubes; 4/6 ham bones soaked for several hours before boiling; 800g small meatballs, without garlic or parsley, cooked in a non-stick pan with a little oil; 800g pork rind, boiled for half an hour, then cut into cubes and cooked for another hour;

Pasta:  50g fresh pasta or 10g dried pasta per person

To prepare the stock 

Boil the bones the day before, changing the water four times. Remove the bones; cool overnight then filter and reheat, adding water from the boiled legumes.

Method 

(If eating at lunchtime, begin cooking at 6am; if at dinner at noon).

Cook the herbs in oil (or lard) and add the prosciutto, then add the legumes, and pork rind. Add the liquid a little at a time. Cook for 1 hour and then add the fava beans, and later the other vegetables, meatballs, peas, and towards the end, the zucchine, spinach and lettuce; add salt.  Keep stirring and adding the liquid. Cook the pasta al dente and add to the mixture.  Season to taste.

Serve and enjoy. Bon Appetito!

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At the end of April, they would clean out the pantry of all leftover vegetables and pulses and freshen up drawers and shelves in readiness for the summer fruits.  The wilting winter greens and various fresh and dried pulses – beans, chick peas, lentils – would then be combined, together with a ham bone or two and the new spring herbs foraged from the fields, in a hearty, flavoursome minestrone and served for lunch on May Day.   

Origins

Exhausting though spring cleaning may be, it can leave you feeling virtuous, which is the most likely explanation for the name. Some say, instead, that it comes from Roman times when the fruits of the earth were known as ‘Virtutes’.

According to legend the original recipe called for seven of each type of food – seven pulses, seven herbs, seven types of vegetable etc. – to correspond with the seven Christian virtues. The most pernickety customs have thankfully fallen by the wayside, including the need for the dish to be prepared by seven virgins.

Lucky for us, nowadays there are a few restaurants in Abruzzo – and some dedicated, hard-working women – to carry on the tradition.

May Day

And so here we are on the first of May, hungry and eager to taste Le Virtù prepared for us by Fiorella.

Rather untypically, the day is miserable and wet, so we have gathered in Annarita’s cosy garden house.  It’s an informal gathering but she has taken pains to use lots of red in the table setting in honour of the workers’ holiday, adding some white and green for the Italian flag. 

Outside the rain lashes down but there is a party atmosphere as Le Virtù are ladled onto plates and passed around the table. After a joyous exchange of Bon Appetito! our boisterous group falls on the food and into a religious silence. For a while there is only the sound of the rain outside; then come murmurs of appreciation, a spontaneous ripple of applause, and finally, requests for seconds.

No one feels guilty about asking for more. The dish is so evidently wholesome and nourishing that just eating it makes us all feel virtuous.

The Abruzzo attitude to food

As I clean my plate I reflect that perhaps this dish, more than any other, reflects the Abruzzo attitude to food: the need to use everything and throw nothing away, the hard slog, care and time that go into producing a meal, the importance of celebrating the seasons with seasonal fare.

I’m grateful to the hard-working people who allowed me to share this treat.

Click here for a traditional ‘Teramano’ recipe.

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