Ghost Towns

In this part of Italy that seems so blessed today, despite its poverty, it is easy to forget how much human suffering has shaped the landscape.  I suppose that has always been the case. This is ‘Megalla’ Hellas, ‘Magna’ Grecia, ‘Greater’ Greece in both senses of the word.  Greek traders from the Mycenaean period who saw this landscape must have been agog at the rich agricultural lands and the relative abundance of water.  Settlement followed several hundred years later in the spectacular form of Greek colonies everywhere along the coast of southern Italy and Sicily.  But the very elements that have made the area ‘great’ have also made it a target of human depredations and there is a 2,500 year history of periodic misery to witness.  Add to that the vagaries of nature and you have a situation where human populations are constantly on the move, looking for simple security and a modicum of peace and quiet.  And that has given rise to a number of spectacular ghost towns here, one of which we visited yesterday.

Cappacio Vecchio is one of no fewer than four towns associated with the name.  The first settlement on the southeastern flank of Monte Soprano was Caput Aquis, from which our town derives its name.  Monte Soprano is richly blessed with springs of delicious, healthful water (it still has a huge water reservoir on its southern flank), and this was the ‘Source of the Waters’ for the aqueduct which supplied the Greek city of Poseidonia, which we know in its Roman guise as Paestum, home of the rich archaeological remains.  

But as bradyseism, that relentless rise and fall of the lands here powered by seismic pressures, led to the gradual siltation of streams and the creation of huge swamps in the Plain of Paestum, the city of Paestum became an unhealthy, malarial environment.  People naturally sought the slopes of the hills and mountains some 5-10 miles inland.  Then there were the depredations of the Saracens, as early Christians called the Muslim armies from the east.  The Saracens famously occupied Agropoli itself in the tenth century and made its fortress the headquarters from which they launched raids on surrounding towns, including Paestum.  Even then Paestum was an important city, the seat of a diocese of the early church.  Last night Fernando showed me paintings of the Medieval town and photos from the early excavations which clearly suggest that the reason we call the Temple of Hera the ‘Basilica’ is because that is what it was, at least after Rome Christianized.  The temple was converted into a basilica in the paleochristian sense and the bishop’s palazzo can clearly be seen next to it.  But in the eleventh century the bishopric was moved to a new location up on the mountain, somewhere close to the Roman waterworks, and Paestum further declined as Cappaccio, as it was now called, grew.

Perhaps it was at this time as well that a shrine was built to the Madonna of the Pomegranate, Madonna del Granato, where the modern Sanctuary that we visited is now located.  Here are more ties to old Paestum, where Hera was worshiped as a mother goddess and giver of fertility.  Hera is repeatedly shown seated on a throne with a pomegranate, symbol of fertility and eternal life, in her right hand.  Just as is the Madonna.  Some people find those resonances of paganism in Christianity disturbing, and I suppose I can understand that point of view.  But to me it is a sign of the genius of early Christianity that they could assimilate so many elements of the old religion.  The modern sanctuary is stunningly beautiful, as usual, a Medieval jewel with nave and side aisles, two lovely chapels in the side aisles, a gorgeous stained-glass window behind the altar of the nave, and several precious remnants of the original Medieval frescoes.

A road just to the north of the church leads along the flank of Monte Soprano about 900 yards, where a huge concrete water tank and a sign direct you to the trail up the side of the mountain and to the Medieval city, Cappaccio Vecchio.  ‘Trail’ in the loose sense of the word.  Ms. Sandy almost balked several times as she confronted the sad condition of the trail, now little more than a cowpath, complete with pies.  Add to that the fact that there were thunderstorms abroad in the lowlands, which we could easily see over Salerno and along the sea.  But, listening to her idiot husband yet again, she scrambled to the top of the ridge, where a somewhat better trail conducted us west to the crag which defines the promontory of Monte Soprano and where the Castle of Old Cappaccio nestles up against the imposing rock.

The Castello, as so often, is in a perilous state of ruin, which somehow makes it all the more romantic and suggestive.  The castle was besieged by Frederick II of Suebia in 1246 when Cappaccio joined the so-called Confederacy of the Barons against Suebian rule.  Some four months later it was taken and put to sword and fire and the houses of the town razed to the ground.  Today the only testimony to the little town are segments of the citadel walls and the monumental city gate plus a huge scatter of stones from the houses themselves.  And everywhere among the scatter are marble and sandstone on this mountain where neither occurs.  I’d say it’s a safe bet that at least 30% of ancient Paestum is up here, recycled from the old town to build the ‘new’.

Today the town is completely deserted.  After the devastation wrought by Frederick the inhabitants moved some three miles to the southeast, but still some 1300 feet above sea level.  That is a town we have visited several times because of its spectacular vistas of the sea and the Paestan Plain, as well as its breezy coolness when the temperature soars down in Agropoli.  But once again Cappaccio is on the move.  The little town is absolutely stunning and it is to be hoped that the fresh air, incredible panoramas and ease of auto travel will retain the old and perhaps even attract new population.  But it doesn’t appear so.  Everywhere there are signs of desertion.  And a new town, Cappaccio Scalo, has grown up back down on the plain, close to the superstrada, to stores and restaurants and the beach.  And to old Paestum.  It seems that Cappaccio wants to return to its birthplace.

Yet another ghost town that we hope to visit soon is Romagnano al Monte, perched on a vertiginous slope above the rivers Bianco and Platano.  The town is first recorded in 1167,  but it certainly was the site of its own castle several centuries before.  A pestilence in 1656 wiped out half the population at a stroke.  Famine and brigandage made life tough in the following centuries, and in 1857 the town was struck by a massive earthquake. In 1881 the town reached its largest recorded population, some 950 inhabitants, and four churches were built and maintained.  But on November 23,1980, the earth shook for 90 terrifying seconds.  Many of the houses collapsed, most others were seriously damaged.  And the little town was abandoned forever, its inhabitants establishing a new town in the lowlands at Ariola.  And there on this mountain aerie still perches the beautiful little Medieval town, quietly basking in the sun.  That story is repeated again and again in the Cilento:  Roscigno, Sacco Vecchio, Casel Velino.

     In a way it's sad that the Medieval towns are being deserted.  At least to a pampered American living in a nice house with all the modern amenities.  And little worry about the chances of deadly earthquake or pirate attack.  In another way it is an entirely hopeful sign.  Of course Cilentans now prefer to live in modern houses which, by law, are earthquake-resistant, and have all the modern amenities, in towns with streets wide enough for two cars to pass in opposite directions, with access to modern stores.  The most hopeful signal of all is that Italians now base their choice of home on hope and aspiration rather than misery and fear.

Surf 'n Turf

     Our North Carolina mountains are beautiful, fuzzy old mountains that we love.  And we have some of the best beaches on the east coast.  But it’s a luxury to be able to visit the shore and the mountains all in less than a day.  And be back in time for a sunset and dinner.

Today we visited Il Porto di Agropoli, Agropoli’s scenic little port facility, now mostly for yachts and smaller pleasure craft but still the home of a healthy fishing fleet as well.  The shutterbug was intent on visiting the fleet when it docked for some good pictures and I knew I’d have my work cut out for me since that involved waking her at seven and being able to communicate in something more than grunts before 7:30.

In the event our trusty canine cadre came to my rescue.  Promptly at 7 am, spurred by who-knows-what crisis in the neighborhood, all three dogs ran down the Astones’ stairs and around the corner in front of the house, barking maniacally, and off they went on a mission.  Where they continued to bark for the next ten minutes.  I was in the kitchen trying to generate some caffeine from the trusty Moki when I heard stirrings in the bedroom.  I have to say, for someone so abruptly awakened, Ms. Sandy was remarkably cheerful, and we had breakfast and were dressed and out the door by 7:30, pretty good for two old duffers.

We took the lazy man’s route to the Port, around the Centro along the shore of Trentova and by the little Tower of San Francesco, where St. Francis preached to the fishes.  Five minutes longer but without the hair-raising labyrinth that takes you through the Centro by way of tiny one-way streets and countless doglegs.  We arrived by 7:45 and there was the whole fleet, neatly docked from their early-morning trawls.  Along the quay boat crews were patiently unraveling nets and carefully freeing their catch before plunking little fish and crustaceans into plastic buckets of sea water.  We made a quick inspection of the whole fleet and found plastic cartons of beautiful little fish already out for sale.  We settled in and watched two fishermen as they slowly inspected the nets, occasionally throwing some small fry into the bay where a seagull eventually did cleanup duty, more often saving the catch to a bucket.  Out on the quay came a fascinating array of seafood.  In one container were pretty little triglia, rock mullet, with their orange stripes and eyes.  Elsewhere cartons of alici, the anchovies for which this stretch of the coast is famous, flashed silver in the sun.  Another container held scombro, Mediterranean mackerel, beautifully opalescent, and one of our favorites, little cicale di mare, ‘cicadas of the sea’, little mantis shrimp with the two large spots on their tails which deceive predators into believing they’re monsters.  These guys are the devil to pearl out of their shells when cooked but have a unique, sweet flavor that’s worth the effort.  Then there were the assortments:  sole and scorpionfish and skates and sea bass and monkfish, a huge octopus, tiny little murex.  We were so tempted to buy, but we’re so ignorant of prices and of course haggling is obligatory at the docks, so we contented ourselves with listening to several retailers, perhaps restaurateurs, perhaps owners of local pescatorie, fish shops.  I’m happy to say I never heard any actual insults of mamas, though there was some obviously good-natured banter and the deal was sealed with a few extra small fry or perhaps a fish or two of some less expensive variety.  Altogether a very successful trawl for us as well:  wonderful images and memories and a huge wave and “Arrivederci!” as we drove away from a nice old gentleman whom we had befriended at the dock.

Back home we had enough time for a cup of tea and some sad news.  It seems that gentle Rolando’s brother has died in Torino and he will be taking the train northward tomorrow to pay his respects.  Shortly afterwards Fernando arrived for a piccolo giro.  Now when Fernando says ‘short trip’ we have learned to prepare for at least five hours, so we made it clear in advance that the Americani had eaten an early breakfast and would be expecting lunch before 3 pm, Fernando’s usual lunchtime.  And off we went to Monte Gelbison, one of the highest mountains in the Cilento at 1,705 meters (5,594’).  And a very special place, since at the peak is located the Sanctuary of the Madonna of the Sacred Mountain, a place of pilgrimage for at least a thousand years.  I’m cribbing shamelessly here from my friend Roberto Pelecchia’s wonderful book, One Hundred Marvels of the Cilento and the Vallo di Diano.  Sadly, unlike Roberto’s other fine book on the beaches of this area, not available in English.  The mountain had been a religious retreat probably since the early days of Christianity, but the first records we have are from the Saracen era, when these fearsome invaders held the mountain because of its strategic  position and gave the mountain its Arabic name, Gebel-al Sanam, ‘Mountain of the Idol’, apparently in reference to a Christian icon.  Ergo, Gelbison.  Probably there had been a Basilian monastery on the mountain from the tenth century.  In the 1100’s, with the arrival of the Normans, the mountain was abandoned, but in 1323 placed under the aegis of the Bishop of Cappacio who donated the sanctuary to the Order of the Celestini, another order of monks.  The complex was lovingly restored in the last century and even today thousands of pilgrims from all over the Mezzogiorno make pilgrimage to the site in August.  Many follow the age-old footpath, paved with slabs of local limestone, from the foot of the mountain at Novi Velia all the way to the top. 

Sadly, our little pilgrimage was not so devoted.  We made the trip in Fernando’s trusty car.  But first a stop (Fernando couldn’t resist asking whether we wanted lunch before or after the pilgrimage) to the Ristorante La Montanara.  Where they specialize in porcini mushrooms.  Now, Pilgrim, if you are one of those benighted souls who has never converted to funghi, it’s time to sit on the mourner’s bench and make your peace with the culinary gods.  And forget your darned morels, the absolute king of mushrooms is the Porcino, the ‘Little Piggy’, fat, squat boletes with an incredible depth of flavor.  Which grow in profusion on Monte Gelbison.  And not really anywhere else to speak of in the Cilento.  It seems that Monte Gelbison is richly blessed with the cooler temperatures and humidity which porcini crave.  And, Praise Pellegrino Artusi, patron saint of Italian cooks (sorry, I couldn’t resist; his name means ‘pilgrim’), this restaurant did porcini with incredible flair!  We ordered a bottle of local white wine (which turned out to be nothing of the sort, it was from Salerno, some 50 miles away, harrumph!), Sandy ordered a Lasagnetta with scamorza, the wonderful smoked cows’ milk mozzarella that they make in the area, combined with our piggies.  Fernando ordered Fusilli with mushrooms and I Tagliatelli ai porcini.  Pure heaven.  Fernando tells us the restaurant specializes in grilled porcini and they would be happy to grill one up for Sandy, whose eyes were glazing over with bliss, right there on the spot, indicating with his hands a mushroom cap the size of a saucer.  She looked tempted but declined.  And, by the way, no need for Americans to suffer deprivation, porcini are available dried in almost all specialty food stores and their taste is incredible, one of the few times when you lose nothing by not having access to the fresh product.

And so, on to our other pilgrimage, some nine miles to the top of Gelbison through increasingly fresh air, wonderful mountain smells, the sounds of cascading water and mountain birds, and stands of beech, linden, oak, chestnut.  The last 600 meters was on foot up a ramp with switchbacks, a Via Crucis with Stations of the Cross, enough at least to make us feel as if we had made some proper effort to reach this incredible place perched on the highest crag of Gelbison.

The sanctuary is actually a complex of buildings around a large piazza.  There is the lovely Church of the Madonna of the Sacred Mountain, of course, with its nave and side aisles graced with stained-glass windows.  There is a much smaller Chapel of Saint Bartholomew.  Plus a large dormitory, I presume on the site of the original monastery, where modern pilgrims can find rooms during the Feast Days.  The piazza itself is walled and everywhere the drops on the other side are precipitous and the views spectacular.  I’m not talented enough to describe them adequately nor stupid enough to try, so I’ll let Sandy’s pictures tell the story here.  But I’m told on a really clear day you can see the Aeolic Islands off the northern coast of Sicily to the south and the Amalfi Coast and the whole Bay of Salerno to the north, a range of 120 miles.  A bit too misty for such views for us, but we did have incredible views of a huge swath of the Cilento as well as of three of the other high peaks, Monte Stella, Monte Cervati and Monte Bulgheria.  Breathtaking.  The complex is topped by a huge metal frame cross, some 105 feet tall and 45 wide, which is illuminated at night.  Such things don’t really appeal to me, not here or in the states where they seem to be common in the South, but I suppose they make a statement of some sort. 

To me the far more profound statement is the sheer devotion it has taken over these many centuries to create this complex on such an untenable rock in such a remote and inaccessible location.  Just the logistics of hauling the building materials up this mountain boggle the mind.  It is impossible not to admire such piety, even for a skeptical old Protestant like me.

Two Lost Cities

Over the course of the last week we’ve headed out twice in opposite directions to explore the histories of two lost cities.  If you don’t want to wade through a raft of academic prose I’ll save you the trouble and give you my serious, semi-informed professional opinion:  WOW!

Our first trip was to the north some 30 miles to the modern town of Pontecagnano.  A modern town which sits atop a very ancient city whose name, sadly, we do not know.  It deserves better.  The area, we now know, was inhabited from at least the Eneolithic (Copper) Age, some 2,000-3,000 years BCE.  The Archaeological Museum that we visited was beautifully arranged in galleries which depicted in chronological order the development of the town.  From this early period come stone tools and artifacts, as well as weapons and tools in copper.   I grew up in West Tennessee and just across the Tennessee River in western Middle Tennessee were some of the most skillful flint nappers anywhere in the New World.  But these Old World implements would have made them cry.  Narrow, delicately wrought celts some 10” long, as well as a huge assortment of spearpoints, arrowheads, drills.  And the knives and swords in copper were not just technically sophisticated but gorgeously decorated.  This was already a very sophisticated culture.  

Little surprise, then, that the Bronze-Age Etruscan settlement which came later (ca. 900 BCE) was a happening place as well.  The settlement itself, sadly, we do not have, probably because it sits squarely under the modern town.  But from several necropoleis (‘cities of the dead’) in the vicinity have been located some 9,000 tombs.  Nope, that’s not a typo, I said nine thousand.  Located, but sadly not all excavated.  My friend Fernando says that the Italian attitude is, “OK, we’ve done 10, that’s enough for government work, let’s go have some pizza.”  Now Fernando is a bit of a cynic, so I’m not sure how accurate that is, but I can’t help bemoaning the tombs that haven’t been explored based on the incredible hoard which has come from the few that have.  You’ve probably read a bit about the Etruscans, enough to know they had a highly developed urban society already from the ninth century BCE.  But you probably associate them with Tuscany, the area of Italy which derives its name from them.  And rightly so, that was doubtless the Etruscan heartland.  But these restless people created colonies in the Po Valley to the north as well as all along the Tyrhennian coastland.  And they had a huge presence in Campania as well, at cities like Capua,Fratte, Eboli, even Paestum.   And Pontecagnono, based just on the evidence we have, was their most important outpost in the south and easily one of their most thriving cities in all Italy.  Why?  Because this town was what we call an entrepôt, a center for the exchange of goods, specifically Etruscan goods for Greek goods, located along the Campanian shore (again, bradyseism has moved the sea several miles to the west).  We now know that Mycenaean Greeks had extensive trade contacts with people in southern Italy at least 400 years before the first Iron Age Greek colonies were founded in Italy.  And the Etruscans had something that gave the age its name: iron, iron in huge quantities, mined from the coastal regions of the Colline Metallifere and the island of Elba.  Iron was the hardest metal known to man at the time.  Imagine the huge technological advantage that proffered for tools and armament.

The forerunners of our Pontecagnanesi had lived in simple wattle-and-daub huts; the Etruscans lived in proper stone houses, often with running water and drains.  They dressed in the latest fashions and ate and banqueted lavishly.  And their women were notorious for their high spirits and liberated status, so much so that later Greek and Roman historians were scandalized (and doubtless titillated).

Of course the real treat for me is that the Etruscans had adopted and adapted the Greek habit of wine banqueting, right along with Greek and Greek-style wine vessels.  In fact, we have more ceramics of Greek manufacture from Etruscan sites than from Greek ones!  And gorgeous stuff, to judge by the displays at Pontecagnano.  Imagine yourself as part of an Etruscan couple here, all decked out in your finery, comfortably settled on a dining couch (rich Etruscans, like the Romans later, ate reclining on couches and let their slaves do all the carving and serving; finger foods were de rigeur among the Etruscans).  Meanwhile, an especially beautiful slave boy (and you will find him attractive whether you are male or female) has mixed with water the local wine, an excellent vintage, in a huge krater (mixing pot) of local or imported Greek manufacture, has poured some of this mixture into a beautifully decorated oenochoe (wine flagon) and is pouring some thence into your kantharos (two-handled drinking cup).  A gorgeous young couple rather scantily clad dances for your pleasure to the accompaniment of flute and tambourine.  If, under the influence of wine and song, you and your spouse feel the urge for some connubial bliss, why just excuse yourself to the other guests and have at it!  And no, I’m not making that up, at least according to the report of one incensed Greek historian.  And the best news of all?  The party continues in the afterlife!  The reason we know so much about Etruscan daily life (sadly, their literary records are scant and difficult to interpret) is that they decked out their tombs for the eternal banquets they expected in the hereafter. Death at the door?  Invite him in and party on, dudes!

Three days later we journeyed southward to the little hill town of Roccagloriosa, “Glorious Rock,” just above the Bay of Policastro and facing, across a river valley, the imposing mass of Monte Bulgheria.  The mountain derives its name from the Bulgars who showed up in the sixth century AD and scared the pants off the locals, giving us by way of a tortuous history, the word ‘booger’, as in ‘scary person’.  Roccagloriosa sprawls out along a ridge almost at the top of Monte Capitenali, with spectacular views of the Mingardo River valley to the west and the Bussento River valley to the east, not to speak of that hulking giant to the south.  The little town itself is a charmer, with three beautiful Medieval churches and two piazzas that provide  spectacular panoramas.  But again it is the nameless ancient town which is especially impressive, in this case a Lucanian town of the fifth century BCE.  Again, habitation here goes way back, in this case all the way to the Neolithic.  But it is the later Lucanians who developed a real city.  We don’t know exactly who the Lucanians were, though we’re relatively sure they were a native Italic group of Samnitic ethnic type and language who probably began to migrate from the mountains of the central Apennines into the lower reaches about this time in search of fame and fortune.  They were a bellicose people but they also had a developed agriculture, proto-urban society, a delicate esthetic sense, a love of Greek culture, and a passion for wine.  In this case archaeology has given us both the town itself and a number of richly furnished tombs.  The town is located at a strategic position ideally situated to control the rich farmlands below.  There was a monumental city wall around three sides (the fourth was naturally fortified by the terrain), a public square, well built stone houses, some with enclosed courtyards, several sanctuaries, including one which evidently attracted pilgrims from all over Lucania to worship Mephitis, goddess of fertility, of the underworld, of earthquakes and other ‘mephitic’ phenomena.

Archaeological artifacts from the town and the necropolis are housed in a small museum as well as an antiquarium.  Here the vessels are lavish (one tomb alone held more than 30 pots) but of local manufacture imitating Greek prototypes.  One tomb held a complete wine service in bronze, beautifully wrought.  One especially wealthy aristocratic lady was buried with a gorgeous necklace with alternating pendants of godheads and lions, not to speak of silver, gold and bronze broaches and the little decorative pins we call fibulae.  And one of the snake bracelets the Romans would later make famous, in this case solid gold and exquisitely wrought with details of the scales and a delicate little serpentine head at each end.  Obviously the Lucanian afterlife was not too shabby either.

But sadly, these two important towns are still largely lost, despite extensive excavation.  How?  For one thing, their artifacts are housed in places that no one visits.  The museum at Pontecagnano is state-of-the-art, splayed out in a modern facility on three floors and six different galleries.  The displays are as well designed and expertly executed as anything you will see in the Met or the Louvre.  And on the day we were there we three were the only visitors they had had all day and the first in three days!  It is easy to blame the Italian government for shortsighted inefficiency, but what else can they do in this case?  The fact is that Pontecagnano is a nondescript, largely Fascist-era town which will never be a tourist destination, and the only people ever likely to visit this wonderful museum are therefore academics.  Meanwhile Roccagloriosa has the opposite problem, a gorgeous milieu which should attract tourists by the hundreds, but a tiny museum (three rooms) with essentially only two displays, plus a slightly larger antiquarium housed in a medieval church.  And no visitors.  On the day we were there I had called and was told the two were open from 10 am to 7 pm.  When we arrived we discovered they were actually only supposed to be open from 5:30 pm till 8.  When 5:30 rolled around the docent showed up but of course she could not be trusted with the key to the museum, that was the job of some otiose political hack who phoned to say he would arrive in 10 minutes and showed up in 45.  The antiquarium had some beautiful displays and a very pleasant if overmatched young lady to give us the tour.  But again I suspect we were the first visitors they had seen in many a day.
      The solution to this problem is obvious:  artifacts need to be recorded digitally and made available on the internet.  The upside of this process is that materials from museum depositories can be digitized and made available at the same time, and material in depositories represents probably 90% of the material extant.  And much of this is painfully difficult to access even for legitimate researchers, much less the enthusiastic layman.

The two towns are also lost in academic politics, sadly.  In my studies I have found a consistent tendency among academics to see all things native in southern Italy as primitive and backward until the Greeks and Romans showed up.  There is a mountain of evidence to the contrary and it grows higher by the year, but far too many scholars are content to parrot the standard paradigm instead of examining for themselves how sophisticated these southerners were and from a very early time.  The Greeks themselves called this part of the south Oenotria, Land of Wine, and everything I have seen suggests that they knew whereof they spoke.  Almost surely viticulture and viniculture were prevalent in this area from the late Bronze Age if not before. And wine has always been, and I hope always will be, both a catalyst and hallmark of culture.