Warm spring sunshine has awoken the village. Everyone is out. Most of the pensioners cycle to the bar, post-office or supermarket in sit-up-and-beg bikes. Others walk, taking their dogs or their elderly relatives for an airing. We have started driving around with the windows down. It lets in the spring air and allows us to greet our neighbours now winter has gone.
Spring has arrived. The road verges and the interludes of green between the olive trees have popped meadows of tall fine grasses. These are dotted with bright yellow dandelions and buttoned through with a splash of poppies. ‘Weeds!’ says GS- ‘Strim the lot!’
Bees rush from bloom to bloom. Ardent birds sing or fly past with improbably large twigs. The House martins are back, swooping to repair under eves nests of mud. The first swallows are just arriving, the swifts not yet here although BB says that she has seen one or two in Rome. Disorientated crickets crash land in trees and on walls, it is still too cold for them to rasp. Bright green lizard basks and dart in new foliage. The crowns of apple trees have burst into clouds of pink tinged petals that one morning will gust away in a snow shower of blossom confetti.
The last of the snow has long melted into white water rushing to the sea although tiny patches of white still linger on the peaks of the distant mountains. The palette changes from amaro to limoncello. The temptation of a hot chocolate so stiff you can stand a spoon recedes. The sun feels so hot you find yourself peeling off that just-in-case jumper and turning your face to be warmed. Yes, Spring might be late this year but it has definitely arrived in our corner of Tuscany.
Last weekend was the Liberation of Italy.
BB came up from Rome for the weekend. We piled into the car to head for the Sagra del Pesce – a three-day fish festival at a nearby town. We had just turned onto the twisting lane that circuits the lake when BB came to a sudden stop, anchoring in front of a handmade sign.
‘Sagra del pesce. 22, 23 e 25 Aprile’ It said
‘No, wait’ said BB ‘What date is it?
‘24th– ‘
It’s not on today – the 22, 23 and 25th of April – but not 24th!’ That scuppered our plans.
‘Where shall we go?’
Our brains were whirling as to what restaurant might be open on a bank holiday Monday.
‘Let’s go to the sea instead! You know I was swimming in the sea off Ostia last weekend – first swims of Summer!’ said BB.
You can’t beat and Italian fish lunch by the sea. Seconds later we were back in gear, twisting around the old narrow road, before turning down Strada del Lucciole, the Firefly Avenue our nick name for this road. Lucciole means fireflies or is slang for prostitutes. During the day the road is usually dotted with weary ladies who sit on beach chairs waiting under umbrellas, characters whose faces could sink a thousand marriages. At night headlights pick out the skinny, androgenous slightly menacing he-shes. Last bank holiday though, it was empty, just another quiet Tuscan road carving between olive groves, fields and drainage ditches.
The Strada del Lucciole adjoins La Via Aurelia, the old Roman road that tracks up the western coast of Italy, going north from Rome. So, north or south?
Turn north on the Aurelia and forty minutes away is our high summer corner of the Cinque Terre, Tellaro, a picturesque village, discovered, but not overrun. That waits for the hotter days.
Half that distance is flash Forte di Marmi for sushi restaurants, designer shops and flapping liveried stabilimenti – sun beds shaded by tents. Forte is Mecca for Russians although apparently by some miracle they are now all Ukrainian. We rarely make it to Forte, distracted by the reclamation yards stuffed full of expensive tempting antiques en route. Or there is Viareggio with its carnivals and clowns- if you want to spend an hour trawling for parking. Or there is the nudist beach near Torre del Lago. Or Trattoria Gatto Nero, The Black Cat, at Pietrasanta. Yum
But for us a quick dash to our local beach at Marina di Vecchiano means turning south. You have to tack back and forth along road, duck under the Aurelia, and then drive the drained marshes of the natural reserve. Here all the wildlife, the rare flora and fauna are protected. It is peaceful flat fields and pine forests. In summer sunflowers turn to face the sun and horses graze. In spring, the land lies ploughed patrolled by elegant white egrets. They search for the serpents, amphibians and fish that call the sluggish rills home. At dusk fallow deer leave the shadows of the pines to graze. Sometimes you can glimpse boar.
I love pasta al cinghiale. I love that the sauce is made from a wild animal that has ranged free. But there is still something chilling about the whistling, barking, shouting and rifle shots that accompany a boar hunt. It is still awful to see a pick-up truck slung with lifeless bodies, surrounded by men in khaki, smoking and necking shots from flasks.
There is an excitement the first time you see live wild boar. It might be the dash of a black bulk dashing across the light of headlights or a mother with her Humbug stripy piglets. Indeed, last weekend we saw the back of a boar dropping out of sight into a ravine.
As soon as we got out of the car the sound of a crashing sea hit us. It was only then we remembered the storm of last night. It had chased away clouds leaving a bright blue sky, a dazzling sun but, by the sounds of it, the sea remained agitated.
Lunch at L'Osteria del Parco, Marina di Vecchiano Pisa 56019
It was 2.30, late for lunch, so first we ate.
An amuse bouche – a fresh tomato passata warmed twice – once by chillies, once by the candle underneath. Stripped bread soldiers turned on the grill.
Oysters so fresh they captured the very essence of the sea.
Pink tuna seared and sliced. A saucepan of shellfish on a toast and tomato base, slivers of raw fish. Just fabulous.
Then home-made tiramisu with a custard so yellow the chickens must be free range grass fed.
Then another offering from the chef – digestivos – liquors made only for this restaurant brought straight from the freezer with frozen tooth glasses. Limoncello, pear liquor, hazelnut, liquorish, mint.
One evening we were sat here, chairs pushed back to expose domed tummies, ruminating another fine meal, the conversation slowing. Out of the darkness came a distinct noise.
‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’
‘Rustling- shush!?
‘Oh My God -it’s a boar! It’s got piglets!’
We had frozen in our seats, not daring to breath lest we frighten the half legendary beasts away.
The wild boar on the other hand had had no such compunction. Before we knew it the restaurant was full of boars and their humbug babies. The waiters produced a sack of stale cornetti and flung them into contented porcine mouths as if feeding the seagulls, us gawping on in astonishment.
It was a frisson, and excitement for us though to be near these massive, legendary animals synonymous with Tuscany. Afterwards we had gone to walk along the seashore looking for shooting stars. We returned taking on the boardwalk amongst the dunes, everyone still listening for tell-tale rustles. GS couldn’t resist and one of family traditions was born. We bring newbies here, we tell them about the boars over dinner, plant the seeds to spook them and then let it marinate: it’s all in the preparation. Then its starlight walks by then sea until we wind our way back to the car. At the right moment GS gooses them with a squeal pretending to be a wild boar. We have had teens levitate and whimper, roll on the floor clutching their hearts, the rest of us roaring with laughter.
But last weekend, it was lunch not dinner and too early for a porcine cornetti feast. So, instead, we answered the background roaring call of the sea.
A short board walk through the dunes took us to sands. .
In summer sometimes a Bedouin tent rises out of the dunes for music and apperitivi. There will be stabilimenti – sunbeds, tents or lifeguards in red shorts. People will invade and Mother Nature will retreat into the dunes and pine forests.
Last weekend though, we were on the cusp. The sea and the beach were still wild, still belonging to nature, man’s summer intrusion not yet underway. Mother nature’s sculptures were dotted around high on the beach where the sand meets the pine dunes, tossed high by the high seas of winter. The sea was tumultuous roar of grey and silver, rushing up the sand to scrub out human footprints. The sand was pocked by the airholes of shellfish.
The waves were too strong for us, the sun too weak, just yet. But for one mermaid it was baptism, time to dance with the high strong churning waves again. The first swim of summer.
Naturalist beaches in Tuscany
https://www.visittuscany.com/en/ideas/naturist-beaches-in-tuscany/
https://www.visittuscany.com/it/localita/marina-di-vecchiano/
http://www.parks.it/parco.migliarino.san.rossore
https://www.tuscany-charming.com/en/route/sanrossorepark.asp
3 Comments
Some lovely photos!
Another excellent read!! Keep it up
I’m definitely going to visit!!