Pellegrinaggio Artusiano Day 3

Before talking about today, a few words on Yesterday's dinner. We were staying in the Vecchio Convento, a nice hotel/restaurant in the heart of Portico di Romagna that has wonderful rooms with turn of the last century furniture. For dinner we were joined by about 20 Artusian devotees, some who had driven all the way from Florence, and I have to say the meal was worth the trip.

We began with Cacimperio, what is essentially a fondue, though Artusi takes digs at a French cook in presenting the recipe, and then says it will work well as a starter, but is a trifle. Ours had some truffles in it, which made it less trifling, and then we had Rifreddo di Lepre, a duck paté en croute, which was followed by zuppa di cipolle, onion soup -- Artusi warns that those with frail digestions should avoid it -- and tortelli, pasta with a ricotta and greens (just a tough) filling in a butter and sage sauce. We then had the umido, or stew, anatra domestica con polenta, stewed duck with polenta, and as a side dish, stewed fava beans, which have a bitterness to them one will like or not. Dessert was biscotti, chocolate and almond, and what Artusi calls Latteruolo, which is essentially latte alla portoghese, a delicate variation on crème caramel.

Returning to day three, this was -- on paper -- the most difficult day of the trip: 27 km, the first 20 uphill to the Passo del Muraglione (907 m) from a starting elevation of about 300 meters, and the last 7 down to San Godenzo -- the first town on the Tuscan side of the divide -- at an elevation of about 400 meters. To make the day even more interesting, the weather people for once got it right, and we awoke to steady rain and lead-gray skies. The others all packed extra pairs of shoes in their back packs and donned ponchos of the sort that have a hump with which to cover their packs,

I instead switched shoes, putting those with leather uppers into my suitcase and donning shoes with Goretex-lined uppers and, since my rain jacket didn't have a hump, added my pack to the baggage to be carried forward, slung my camera bag over my shoulder (just one lens), and got out my umbrella.

Which everyone else laughed at as we set out, but I found the steady drumming above my head to be rather comforting, and was quite happy that it provided enough cover to keep the camera bag dry, and to let me take the occasional photo without soaking everything. Then the rain started coming down in earnest and I just walked. Beautiful colors, deep greens and muted browns, with occasional gray stone houses in the fields. The road changed pitch repeatedly -- and there were a few downhill sections that were vexing indeed, because altitude lost must be regained -- with the result that at times I was quite close to the river, and at others was far above it, and looking down into the rushing whitewaters from sheer cliffs was quite impressive.

At one point I came to an abandoned house whose roof had mostly fallen in; the wet and the ruin made for a remarkably melancholy atmosphere. A few more miles, mostly uphill, and I caught up with Roy Berardi, the lone Romagnolo of our party, who told me the roofing of the abandoned house was Ardesia, the traditional Romagnan roofing material that is no longer anywhere near as common as it once was. When we got to a hamlet he stopped to change his shirt -- water was filtering into his poncho -- while I slogged on, eventually reaching the border between Tuscany and Romagna, which is not -- as I had always thought -- at the pass, but rather well before it.

The restraining walls in Tuscany aren't as well kept as those in Romagna -- there are places one could sip through them and in some of them it's a long way down -- so I was glad motorcyclists are a weekend phenomenon. There was snow by the side of the road in more sheltered spots -- old snow, but snow just the same, and eventually I came to a flat, followed by a series of switchbacks, during which -- Miracle! -- it stopped raining. It's surprising how much shade an umbrella casts, and it felt rather nice to be able to fold it up; more light means more energy, I was feeling quite happy when I got to the Passo del Muraglione, which is literally marked by a wall that divides the two lanes. Alas, the happiness was short lived; our leader Leonardo, who -- with the others, had preceded me, and was getting ready to continue while I attacked my sandwich -- told me there weren't 7, but rather 9 more km to go.

Beautiful views over Tuscany, and the mountains facing us had snow at our elevation, and then I started the walk down, which was considerably steeper than the walk up had been. Pretty countryside, with evergreens that gave way to deciduous trees as I descended, and at one point while I was taking a picture of a milestone I noticed something gray about a hundreds yards below -- it was the side of a car. Food for thought, and a bit further down I came to chestnut groves, and after that the countryside opened out to pastures in the flatter part of the valley, and there was San Godenzo, with the abbey where Dante met with other Florentine exiles in 1302 to discuss a strategy for reentering Florence. The meeting was ultimately unsuccessful -- Dante died in exile -- but that didn't stop me from entering the Abbey to leave an offering in the basket before entering our hotel (Eredi Agnoletti, which is also a restaurant, right next to the Abbazzia).

We were once again greeted by the Mayor, who gave us a tour of the Abbey and then invited us for an aperitivo in the porticoes below the Abbey. Which was quite nice; a woman had excellent olive oil, there were finger foods and fine castagnaccio made from local chestnut flour, there was some tasty pinot nero, and I met a guy from the Microbirrificio Conte di Campiglia who was pouring an excellent lager and a frankly impressive porter.

Dinner was prepared by Emma Agnoletti, and we were joined by several dozen Artusiani, who made a wise decision to come: All sorts of antipasti, including cold cuts, giardiniera (pickled vegetables, which fellow Pilgrim Serena looked at with a critical eye and pronounced freshly made), crostini with liver paté and polenta crostini with wild mushrooms, followed by ravioli with greens and cheese seasoned with butter and sage, potato-filled tortelli with a tasty meat sauce, and, since Emma was afraid that wouldn't be enough, tagliatelle with mushroom sauce, and one of the pilgrims ate an entire tray of them. Then mixed grilled meats with fried artichokes and (if I remember right) potatoes, and, to make certain nobody would leave hungry, cinghiale in dolce forte, wild boar with a savory chocolate sauce, which is an ancient dish that's extremely hard to find now. Very good, too. And then dessert, zuppa inglese, English trifle, and frittelle di riso, rice fritters. All washed down with all sorts of wine -- we finished all the Romagnan wines we had and drank lots of Tuscan too, and I was glad it was just a flight of stairs to our bedrooms.