And now, I venture off into the great unknown.
I certainly had plenty of blank spaces on my personal Italian map heading into this trip. Much of the east coast, for starters. Often, though, even in the midst of those mysterious voids, there were towns I had heard of, famous sites I could picture. But southwestern Italy, the foot within the boot, from Campania down to Calabria? Outside of Reggio Calabria, the launching point to Sicily, I couldn’t name a damn thing.
This particular stretch, from Paestum to the beginning of the Cammino Basiliano in Lauria (not to be confused with Laurino), is an even more pronounced blank space–the blankest space, I suppose. I had to find some way to connect the dots, so using gps mapping technology, I cobbled together as many different unpaved tracks as possible.
As I moved through this first walk, I couldn’t decide if I had done brilliant work or if I’m a masochist. Probably both, I suppose.
I had managed to line up this first stage with a local route, waymarked with the red and white blazes by the Club Alpino Italiano (CAI), which takes responsibility for many of the mountain trails around the country. Initially, this led me back towards the coast from Capaccio, before looping back up onto the ridgeline. Less than an hour into the walk and I was already atop this thin backbone of mountains separating Capaccio’s narrow valley from the much broader one to the north. Looking back, I could see all of yesterday’s walk along the coast unfold beneath me, with Salerno and the Amalfi Coast in the distance.
Following the “trail” onward was somehow simple and complicated at the same time. Simple because of the waymarks, of course, and my understanding from the gps that this remained atop the ridgeline for many, many kilometers. No great skill required in holding to that trajectory. And yet, there was no such thing up here as a classic trail; rocks jutted up like blades at different angles, as though I were walking across George R.R. Martin’s infamous throne. The walking was beautiful, but it was also exceptionally slow-going. After three hours, I hadn’t even covered ten kilometers; in the abstract, I could survive that pace on a 36-kilometer day, but I had arranged to meet my host at the convent at 4:30pm, and that loomed large as I neared mid-day.
Ultimately, I hedged my bets, taking advantage of a side trail to hustle down to a parallel mountain road, following that through a pair of small towns before climbing back up to the trail later on. While that probably added a couple of kilometers, I was able to dial up my pace to around 6km/hour and make up some distance. The added bonus was getting to pass through the historic town of Magliano Vetere. To the extent that a viable pass exists over this thin line of mountains, it’s here, the Preta Perciata Pass. As such, this has long been a strategically important spot in what otherwise seems like a fairly obscure, overlooked area. While the first recoded reference to the town dates to the 9th century AD, some evidence has been found of pre-Roman remains, likely corresponding to people who, like those Paestum residents, had to flee illness in the lowlands for the hills at some point. Rumors also exist of a Gothic presence in the sixth century.
The most famous story from this area, though, comes in the immediate wake of Italian unification. Far from securing peace and stability across the peninsula, the war left many regions quite unsettled, with roving bands of former soldiers operating in the shadows. One such group, composed of former Bourbon soldiers, was led by Giuseppe Tardio of Piaggine. On June 3 and 4, 1863, Tardio and his band of 90 men swept through the surrounding communities, raiding with near complete resistance. That’s not how it was supposed to work; a contingent of the national guard had been posted in the area to specifically protect against such a thing, but they bailed at first blood. Other locals in the region, however, took resistance into their own hands, as groups of volunteers closed in around neighboring Magliano Nuovo from three sides. Tardio and his men tried to escape through the mountains, and Tardio himself managed to duck the noose, but most of his comrades weren’t so lucky.
Magliano Nuovo itself surpassed Magliano Vetere by the 11th century, as Basilian monks moved into the area and established a convent there. Back on the trail, I looped around Nuovo, not even realizing it was a town until I had made it halfway around the rocky spire. Along the way, I discovered one of the Basilian monks’ lasting marks on the area–the 15th century chapel of Santa Lucia, built right into a mountain-side cave.
A sharp descent followed, leading me deep into the valley below, past rugged farmland and some very rustic farmers’ homes, and then across a dry riverbed. I’m racing against time down here, as I have many river crossings to follow over the next few weeks, and I’m counting on beating winter rains. So far, so good. Finally, the magnificent view of Laurino opened up before me–a pitch perfect hill town, with dramatic mountain cliffs framing the image. I looped past a medieval bridge and then made the last climb of the day, into the town center, before descending back to my home for the night–a 14th century convent dedicated to Saint Anthony.
Even before that convent was established, the Basilian monks had settled into this region as well, and there’s a link between the different Laur-based names in the area and their “lauri” cave hermitages. More of that to come, as I officially set forth on the Cammino Basiliano in a couple days. For now, though, I’m content to rest and refuel, as today’s challenging walk is going to be followed by an even more demanding one tomorrow.
