Italy
Aliano

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    • Day 158

      Badlands

      April 3, 2019 in Italy ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C

      This part of Lucania is known as the badlands.
      “The endless expanse of dry clay, without a sign of human life, waving under the sun as far as eyes could see, far away, far away, they could melt in the white sky”. [Carlo Levi]
      Basically clay with pockets of sand, the rain carves gullies which are then baked in the firece sun and crack, eventually channelling further rainfall and forming these steep eroded hills, resembling a moonscape.
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    • Day 158

      The town that dare not speak its name

      April 3, 2019 in Italy ⋅ ⛅ 16 °C

      Who could resist visiting a town known as the “town of misfortune”; Chillu Paese, (That Town,) in the local dialect as saying its name is believed to bring bad luck.
      The curse on Colobraro is as old as the place itself; but it wasn’t until the 20th century that the evil was fully awakened, thanks to a lawyer and a witch. The lawyer was proud never to have lost a case. In the middle of one case he rashly proclaimed that if he told a lie to the court the rooms chandelier would come crashing down. Of course, it did, but he still won claiming the opposing side had resorted to witchcraft as they had no better arguments.
      The townspeople and those from neighbouring villages began to believe that some of That Town’s women were actually witches who practiced dark magic. In the 1950s, people especially feared La Cattre, a wrinkled elderly woman many claimed was a sorceress. Anthropologists then began visiting the town to investigate its mysteries, but according to local lore they, too, soon fell victim to freak accidents and illnesses.
      Another legend concerns the remains of the Norman fortress of which only a few stone walls survive. It is inhabited by a mischevous sprite, being the soul of an unbabtised child. Wearing a red cloak with a hood it plays tricks on the unwary but will grant any wish if you can catch hold of its hood.
      This particular tale is very old and is often fused with the mythology of the brigands for which the region is famous. In this version, the brigands, who were welcomed and sustained by the ordinary folk as a gesture of defiance to uncaring authority, buried enormous quantities of plunder around the countryside. And forgot where it was hid. The sprite know though and if you catch one by the hood it will lead you to the treasure. However, you must not let go of its hood or it will run away and laugh at you, revealing nothing.
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    • Day 158

      Ghost town

      April 3, 2019 in Italy ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C

      Alianello is half way up to Aliano and was abandoned in 1980 after an earthquake (6.9 Richter). The inhabitants moved 1km up the road and built a new town but the buildings still stand.
      Apparently Charles Dickens visited but I cannot discover if he wrote anything about it. Carlo Levi passed through on his way up the mountain but he too did not have much to say about it. I passed through it and also have nothing to say about it.
      Whilst I was nosing around I met a chap born in 1951 who did have quite a lot to say, but mainly about the civil administration and how they reburied Carlo Levi in a fancier tomb in Aliano when they realised what a drawcard it would be for the town. He mentioned that it used to be spelt Gagliano, something which had confused me since there is another town of that name a hundred km away, but CL had pointed out that etymologically it should be Aliano, so that is how it appears now. He was most enthusiastic about the enormous debt they owe the writer.
      Another interesting thing he said was that the Sauro river which converges with the Agri in the wide valley underneath used to be navigable and the people were able to take a ferry down to a larger town for work. That ended when the river was dammed. I tried to put dates to this, but could not understand his dialect: on the face of it the river must have begun to dry up long before the construction work to tally with what others have written.
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    • Day 158

      Exile

      April 3, 2019 in Italy ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C

      The fascists banished various non-believers, including some business rivals, to this part of Italy Basilicata. Amongst them was the writer Carlo Levi, imprisoned here between 1935 and ’36.
      It is hard to comprehend the unmitigated poverty of the peasant life he found. At one point the region was was an extremely prosperous trading centre on the Mediterranean circuit, but this all changed when the Spanish and Lombards arrived. They taxed everyone so harshly that many of the prosperous left, leaving the poor behind with nothing to do but rely on the produce of the land. Living at 850m with their fields on the plain almost vertically below, meant that they could spend 4hours a day commuting and at the end of it the clay soil was not very fertile: absentee governments which forced the larger estates to grow wheat soon found that the yield was insufficient to pay taxes. Only olives grow. The peasants endured even through the endemic malaria which was only eradicated during the 1980's. Child mortality was 50% and survivors were afflicted by the disease and malnourishment so they had little to live for. But they endured enough to give CL the title of his book, "Christ stopped at Eboli", which was a popular refrain to explain their semi-pagan, unpromising lives.
      Since he had a medical degree, CL was not allowed to read and paint as he would have liked, but was coerced into treating whatever he could with what little pharmaceuticals were around. For this as much as for publicising their plight, he earned their eternal gratitude and the enmity of those 'middle classes' (priests, doctors, government officials,) who feasted on the misery of the poor.
      Now, perhaps thanks to the literati who make the pilgrimage, the town is being restored and tarted up. The car allows residents to escape and the small streets all have an Ape 50 parked in them.
      As you leave the village you pass the “Fossa del Carabiniere” (policeman’s grave) because once some bandits threw a drunk Carabiniere down the steep slope.
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