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Yesterday evening (after I finished the day's post) we wandered down from our distant lodgings and strolled through the streets of Sunday evening Bressanone. Somewhat predictably, the shops were closed. We poked our head into the Duomo, and then drifted through the piazza to the west of the cathedral. The owner of our accommodation had recommended a restaurant, but when we found it, we noted that it had a Michelin star and an upscale clientele. Feeling poor and underdressed in our hiking clothes, we elected to keep looking.
What little crowd there was appeared to be streaming into a nearby pizzeria, so we did the same. It was a good choice. The place was packed, and we were told that we would have a thirty minute wait for our pizzas. The reason, according to our waitress, was that everyone---both locals and tourists---knew that this was the best pizzeria in town.
We were given a table near the kitchen. Normally this is not an optimal location, but we had the best seat in the house for watching the construction of the pizzas. Two young men divided the workload. One made the crusts. He formed three crusts at a time, shaping them in a mountain of loose flour. Then he stretched the bases individually, pulling them along the edge of a polished granite countertop until they were as thin as an old phonograph record. Once he had stretched ten bases, he and his assistant would pour on the sauces, arrange the toppings, and slide them into the large wood-fired oven.
“Friday night,” said our waitress, “We were open from 6:00 to 11:00, and they made 256 pizzas. They are great men.”
Great indeed. As were the pizzas, which were large, exquisitely thin, and unbelievably tasty. Our stomachs stretched with pizza goodness, we staggered back up the hill before the rain returned.
In the morning, we woke to an altered weather forecast. The rain that was supposed to be the worst so far on this trip had been pushed back to this afternoon and into the evening. Perhaps we wouldn’t be completely soaked.
This hint of optimism at the beginning of the day proved erroneous. From the moment we stepped out our door, to our last steps in Chiusa, it rained. Sometimes it was a slow drizzle, sometimes a pelting downpour, but there was never a moment during the entire day without rain.
We hiked out of Bressanone and began a steep ascent to the west. The road yielded to a path that continued the climb through pine trees, past a series of small votive chapels. This is Il sentiero dei Santi d’Europa (The trail of the European saints). There are eight small chapels that are arranged around various themes like “evangelization,” “justice and peace,” “the family.” Each chapel honors three european saints, and features a biblical verse rendered in three different european languages.
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The Second Chapel
The Trail of the European Saints is intended to stimulate meditation on the virtues of the saints, and the pan-European gathering of saints should promote unity among the countries.
At the top of the trail, we discovered the Church of St Cyril. The church is dedicated to St Cyril of Alexandria, a fifth century bishop who was active in the Christological controversies of that time. He seems like an odd saint to find up here in the alps. The church is quite old, with documentary references dating to the 13th century. On one wall is a 14th century fresco which has an image of Mary with a sword through her heart. According to the church signboards, this is the first known representation of this iconography.
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This rain-soaked day was also the first time we have encountered other hikers. We met a German couple outside the church who were hiking from Bressanone to Milano. I imagine the woods will become more crowded as the summer progresses, but we have felt quite alone for our first four days on the Via.
We followed the sentiero del castagno (the Chestnut Trail) south. The rain continued to fall. Low spots in road filled with water and puddles formed. With the relentless precipitation, I found that I was not taking very many photos. I snapped some grab shots with the phone, but I was reluctant to expose my expensive camera to the liquid onslaught.
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It is unfortunate, for this stage of the Via would be magnificent on a sunny day, especially if you could see the mountains across the valley. We are still waiting for our chance. The clouds have kept the high peaks hidden.
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We were completely soaked by the time we reached Velturno. My shirt and trousers were like sponges and whenever I leaned forward, a cascade of water would slosh out of the crease between my shoulders and my backpack cover. Although Velturno would undoubtedly reward further investigation, the inclement conditions had turned our minds to reaching Chiusa, and a hotel room out of the weather.
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The rain made the downhill descent rather treacherous. The tree roots that weave a seine over portions of the path were slick, as was some of the shale and the smooth, weather-polished stone. Slippery mud further compounded our travail. We stumped slowly downward into the valley.
The trail worked its way around the base of the hill upon which the Monasterio di Sabiona sits. Once again we rejected the option to spend more time in the weather and climb to the monastery. Another opportunity lost, but it was certainly an impressive sight.
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Ultimately we made a careful descent on the slippery stones lining the approach to the monastery and stepped gingerly into Chiusa.
After we reached our hotel last night, we immediately unpacked our backpacks and draped all of our wet gear on the steam radiators. The room quickly filled with the smell of drying clothing, a homey, slightly-rancid, scent.
Most restaurants are closed on Monday nights in Italy, but we were fortunate enough to find a delightful brewery near our hotel (less than a thirty second scamper through the rain) that was open and serving food. The brewery, in addition to making its own beer, specialized in artisanal/ecologically-friendly fare. I was drawn to an entree with the delightful name "stinco di maiale." Maiale is pig or boar, and stinco, despite its negative English association, is actually "shin" or "knuckle." It turned out to be a substantial piece of meat, accompanied by roast potatoes and sauerkraut.
The stinco was partially covered with a piece of roasted pork skin. It took me a surprising amount of time and effort to cut off a bit of this skin. That should have been a warning. Once I popped a piece in my mouth, it took even longer to reduce it with my molars to a state where it might be safely swallowed. I chewed and chewed and chewed. I took a sip of wine, and I chewed some more. This was followed by more chewing. Well, you get the idea. I finally wore it down to a point where I could swallow without someone standing by to employ the Heimlich maneuver on me. Relentless. A good jaw workout.
The rest of the pork, however, was falling-off-the-bone tender. I sliced off chunks and ferried them to my happy mouth. I also enjoyed the sauerkraut. And, as a bit of a sidebar, the Austrians (and evidently the good folk of the Sud Tirol) really know how to make sauerkraut. I don't know what their secret is, but it almost melts on your tongue. It is smooth, soft, and creamy. There is no bitterness or graininess. It is a masterpiece. Feeling well-stuffed, we dashed back to our room (though the rain) and tucked in for the night.
The dominant story for today was rain, which clapped a stopper on sightseeing and photography. The temperature was perfect for hiking, but the precipitation washed away some of the enjoyment.
Unfortunately, the weather forecast for tomorrow offers little hope of respite. More rain scheduled for a much longer stage.
Today’s distance: 17 KM
Total distance: 75 KM
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