20th May 2000 Driving Positano to Assisi

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  Assisi, Italy
Wednesday, June 25, 2003

We departed the next morning very anxious about driving on the motorway. This was to be our first experience of the A1, and in particular, I figured if we were to encounter fast and furious traffic anywhere in Italy, it must be between Napoli, Rome and Firenze. Turned out to be an anti-climax. With sound advise from the manager at the pensione, we didn't bother to drive down the Amalfi coast to the motorway. We just ran 10km back out the peninsular, then up over the mountain to the eastern end of Sorrento, along the coast to Castellammare, where we entered the motorway, and headed north. It was a largely uneventful trip. Most of the way we travelled at between 140 and 150 km/h. Let it be recorded that we passed a Porche,( and were passed by another Porche), and that we passed more often than we were passed. Don't bother looking for signs on the motorway, telling you how far to where-ever. They are few and far between.

Made it to within 3 km of Assisi before I "lost it". That's "Cheryl speak" for me becoming unreasonable about her trying to follow instructions supplied by the owner of our next accommodation. Quite rightly, we are both trying to make sense of the same instructions. She doesn't have any additional information than I do. After a minor bout of "lost it", several deep breaths, and the application of some logic, we cut across country, and rejoined the route described, some several kilometres further along the outside walls of Assisi. Back on course for the seven kilometres drive out the other side, we did a little wandering up the side of Mount Subasio on dirt tracks, before finding the right entrance to the property, and there we were; Brigolante.

Just to back track a little, Brigolante is a working farm, seven kilometres from Assisi, and from the south, is a really interesting surprise. Assisi is on the northern side of a huge valley, dotted with towns and villages, farming and industry. At the back of the city of Assisi, Mount Subasio looms large. To get to Brigolante, you have to enter one of the gates in the city wall, at the eastern end. The street inside is tree lined, and winds up into the town. If you stay on it, as opposed to parking in a parking station to walk into the main town area, it eventually leaves the city walls by another gate (only wide enough for one car at a time), at the north eastern corner of the city. What an amazing surprise, it is part of the Subasio National Park. Literally, through the gate and you have Mount Subasio towering up to the right. To the left is a deep gorge, and the roads leads off through heavily timbered countryside. Such a dramatic contrast to the vast flat valley on the southern side of the city. We left the sealed road, on to a dirt road, crossed a narrow bridge, turned immediately right on to another bridge, barely wide enough for our little car, and five hundred meters further up the mountain, the drive to Brgolante. The remains of a sixteenth century fort, in the foothills of Mount Subiaso, within the national park, and listed as a heritage property.

Having arrived early afternoon, Rebecca (the American wife of the son of the owners-but she basically runs the business), was embarased at receiving us in her work clothes and before she had finished preparing our apartment (she hadn't finished drying our towels!!!). Our apartment was on the top floor, with a separate kitchen/dining/lounge room, a very large bedroom with a king size iron bed, with the bed ends painted and decorated with very small pieces of mother of pearl-very unusual, and obviously an antique. The bathroom is also huge, and the entire unit is paved with wonderfully textured rectangular terracotta tiles. We immediatly decided to replace our slate floor at home with these type of tiles. The apartment is imaculate, and supplied with everything. Apart from providing us with hand made soap, home made liqueurs and red wine, she also provide fresh eggs, garlic, olive oil and vinegar.

We unpacked and wandered into the vegetable garden, to pick peas, fava beans, spring onions and parsley for dinner, and generaly lazed away the afternoon. When the shops reopened at 5.00 pm, we ducked in to town, and bought supplies for home cooking for the next few days. For dinner, we took Rebecca's advice, and had an appertiser of fresh raw fava beans dipped in salt, and eaten with a slice of pecorino cheese. Ches had been eating raw peas all afternoon; the sweetest I've ever tasted, and the smell when shelled is amazing. We sat around a table in the courtyard with the Dutch couple staying in the apartment below ours, and shared the beans, and sampled all four of Rebecca's liquers. Ches fell in love with the Bay Berry Liqueur, but this was Rebcca's last bottle and we can't buy any to bring home. I quite liked the Walnut Liqueur, and the Apricot and Cherry were OK.
We then retired to our apartment, where we had Conchiglie Regate (Pasta Shells), with a sauce of anchovies, garlic and pancetta fried in olive oil, and fresh peas stirred through for the last minute, stired through the pasta with ricotta (amazingly creamy and smooth).

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